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Rumple's been sipping Scotch from his Aunt's glass since the age of fourteen, so he doesn't choke on the burning taste sliding down his throat – Milah seems impressed and a little bit surprised. She probably thought he had never seen a shot of Whiskey before, despite his ancestry. It feels good to exceed her expectations. It's probably why he just downed two full shots of Scotch into his empty stomach. It shoots courage right through his veins and it feels good. He needs courage tonight.
Milah looks up from his shoulder with happiness in her eyes, a silly grin on her face. She's a little drunk too, but it looks much more natural on her. He's bound to be looking stupid. Father grins like an idiot when he's had a few too many, he probably does the same. Milah is always beautiful. He's been thinking of her since she walked into the shop, three weeks ago – and then doing a little more than just thinking, not that he'd ever tell her that.
"I love your eyes," he whispers, slumped on her tiny couch and holding on to her hand so she won't slip away.
She smiles and teases him, "I bet you say that to a lot of girls."
"I don't know a lot of girls," he answers, before he can think it through. He shouldn't have said that. Milah already thinks he's just a silly boy. She seemed shocked to find out Rumple had never been to a pub before.
"You are joking!" she said, cackling and making him blush. "What do you do with your weekends, Rumple? You better start living a little!"
She took him to the pub herself that night, waltzing in like she belonged. No one asked for her ID, or gave him a second glance. The place was crowded and the people were loud, so unlike the quietness of the shop, but it was oddly fun. He'd have liked to have done it before, but no one had ever offered to take him anywhere. Milah was the first to ever pay attention to him and look past his father's cruelty.
Tonight, he nicked a bottle of Whiskey from his father's cabinet and Milah was overjoyed. Never would she have been able to afford something so good. Now that they're sitting side by side, crammed into a small couch, Rumple cannot regret his decision, even if his father finds out and gets furious. And maybe he just screwed up by saying the wrong thing.
But Milah looks delighted at the answer. "Do you kiss a lot of girls?"
The alcohol spills the words for him: "I want to kiss you."
And that's when her eyes seem to sparkle, inviting him in. "You can kiss me if you'd like."
One hand squeezes hers while the other strokes her cheek. He leans in before the courage is gone, knowing fully well that she's kissed men before – better men, men who know what they're doing. He worries about his taste, about his technique, about a million little things, until Milah's tongue slides into his mouth and shatters all cohesive thought.
From her couch to her bed is less than three steps, all jammed into a little space, courtesy of his father's cheap property. When she asks to move from one to the other, his heart all but leaps out of his chest, but follows her there.
Rumple has no idea what he is doing, but he still catches her by surprise by worshiping her body as if she were a goddess. The few men she's ever invited to her apartment were quick, as if afraid she might change her mind and not let them in if they give her time to think about it. Rumple is clumsy, but he moves slowly, willing to make it last. It's his first time, but it might very well be the last, so he'll enjoy it for as long as he can.
He's a little too careful, says he's sorry a little too much, finishes a little too fast when it matters most. But Milah is overwhelmed by his devotion nonetheless, she'll have many more opportunities to teach him how to please her.
Rumple is madly in love by the time she wraps her legs around his waist and whispers for him to thrust deeper. This is good. Better than anything he ever managed on his own. To love her like this is a privilege, and he knows it.
He only disentangles himself from her body when morning comes, though he'd gladly stay there forever, one hand playing with her breast, his nose lost in her curls.
If it's up to him, he'll treasure her forever.