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The Ruined Abbe	By : pip Category: M through R > Quills Views: 2536 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Quills, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Author’s Note: Well, it’s been a while. This is a very cruel chapter. Usually I say that I hope you enjoy it. This time I say I hope you survive it, and that you still want to read more of this story when you’ve done.
Thank you to my latest reviewer, Lord Darling! Ah, there’s more than one first time – I think Coulmier might finally understand that before the end of this chapter. I don’t think I’m taking liberties there either. Sade did have his wife get “artisans” to make certain objects for him. Some were “flasks” with particular dimensions, and others were rather more solid. At least that part of the film is historically accurate.
Warnings for this chapter: Wax torture (and I do mean torture).

Chapter Eighteen
For now, Sade placed the candle on the small table beside the bed, and the flame danced about joyfully as Coulmier sighed and let his head fall back onto the pillow in resignation.
“Look at it,” Sade suggested, and Coulmier did so, turning his head with another sigh. The flame alternately flickered and flared, and the body of the candle itself gave off a much more sedate glow. “It’s gathering a little pool of hot wax,” he said, stating the obvious, and Coulmier swallowed. As Sade spoke, he sat on the side of the bed, and one warm hand roamed over Coulmier’s chest, as if drawing a pattern, or making a map of his intentions. It almost tickled.
“Of course, the majority still get by with tallow,” he said, then paused as if remembering something, his hand stilling in its exploration, one thumb resting over a nipple. “You’d be surprised how hotly that burns.” Something caught in his memory: Royer-Collard, talking of Sade, of an occasion where he had used a candle to cauterise a knife wound.
Then it must be true. Coulmier turned away from the candle and looked at the Marquis for a moment. Sade looked back at him, his expression unreadable, but his words... “Oh, hot enough to make a body dance.” He tilted his head. “I’m not sure if this will suffice for us,” he said with regret, then smiled reassuringly. “We can but try.”
I don’t want to try, he thought clearly, but he didn’t speak because anything he said would likely only amuse his tormentor. Instead, he lowered his gaze to watch Sade’s hand following the curved lines of his ribs, the tiny circles of dark skin that surrounded his nipples. Beside them the candle continued to glow, casting its golden light onto his chest so that he could see where those fingers roamed, occasionally fizzing and crackling as the wick burned lower.
Then, with a sudden fluid movement, Sade swung one leg over his body, straddling him, making sure the length of the frock coat spread out behind him so that Coulmier felt the edges of it halfway down his shins. Unable to help it, he panicked and tried to move, only for Sade to grip his pelvis with the sides of his knees like a vice.
“I think we’re ready,” he said, “and I’d advise you to be quite still for this part.” Sade reached out for the candle as if it were a goblet of the finest wine, careful not to spill any of the accumulated wax that had gathered in the top.
Holding the candle with his right hand, he used his left to press Coulmier’s breastbone into the bed, keeping him quite immobile. Coulmier’s eyes leapt to the candle, then to Sade, then around the cell in search of something… anything at all. Some rescue from this. His eye fell on the statue of the virgin, and then on the pieces of paper that had been straightened out and put back on the writing slope of the desk.
“I tried!” he said in a desperate whisper, urging Sade to make that concession at least. Surely, if he had tried, then he had earned some kind of leniency?
It wasn’t a sigh that the Marquis let out, but more a measured and deliberate exhale of breath. “Oh, I know you did, dear boy.” His lips lifted, and there was just the barest glimpse of teeth. “We’ll talk about that, I promise. But in a moment.”
But a moment would be too late. Coulmier watched, breathless, sure that his heart had ceased to beat, as Sade brought the candle nearer to his midriff, to the point where that first drop of wax had fallen before. Now he could see the shiny liquid mass that was waiting to be poured out, and his stomach muscles twitched helplessly. The candle tilted in Sade’s hand, and it wouldn’t have to travel far since it was already so close to his skin. Everything was still, as if that next moment was ashamed of coming forward.
He never saw it fall, because after that time went by too quickly. He knew that he felt it, burning hot and scalding on his skin, and that he struggled but that Sade was prepared for it. As the liquid fire fell on him, Sade moved his hand quickly upwards so that the droplets made a perfect row up the centre of his chest. Some of them pooled together, creating little islands of agony that spilled over, dripping down his sides only to stop short, frozen into wax again.
The hail of droplets slowed to a stop, and Sade put the candle by the side of the bed again carefully, deliberately. “Well,” he said, slowly tapping his fingers up the same trail the wax had followed. “How is that so far?”
With every second that passed, he could still feel it, and his chest rose and fell rapidly in a series of ragged breaths. Though he had managed to supress the instinctive scream, and though he loathed giving Sade the reaction he sought, Coulmier couldn’t contain it – he whimpered.
“Good.” There was a terrible kind of smug satisfaction on the Marquis’ face, and Coulmier closed his eyes against it, but that didn’t stop him from feeling Sade brush the back of a hand over his right nipple as if in preparation. “Now,” he said pleasantly, “we have a minute. We can talk about your failed attempt to appease me.”
The wax was cooling quickly on his skin now, giving off a vague sweet scent not unlike faded honeysuckle. He breathed it in, and Sade adjusted his position so that he gasped, feeling his soft prick sliding into the inviting cleft of Sade’s buttocks, despite the breeches he wore. His blood rushed down there immediately, and he tried to ignore it – willed Sade to ignore it. A minute only! What did he want to say? “I wrote something,” he blurted out, opening his eyes and looking up earnestly.
“Yes, so I saw,” he replied, and then arched an eyebrow. “Where is the rest of it?”
“There isn’t any more. I didn’t…” Coulmier shook his head slightly. “I mean, I couldn’t… write that.” It occurred to him now as he tried to explain himself that he hadn’t really tried. That he had been unable to frame the kind of things Sade wanted from him in his thoughts, let alone portray them on paper was true, but still – what would it really have cost him to write some of those words, even if they didn’t make literary sense?
“That is unfortunate,” Sade noted, still staring down at him, watching every expression on his face as if there were more truth in his visage than in his words. Coulmier huffed and looked away resentfully. This, here, was exactly what Sade had wanted all along.
“Not for you,” he said dully.
“Is that what you believe?” Sade asked, sounding slightly surprised.
The Marquis rocked against him, on purpose, against his stiffening erection, and he moaned, suddenly understanding that he might have missed more than just mercy. It was unthinkable, and he refused to entertain the idea of it even as his body desired it. How had this happened to him? How did he find himself here, in a world of sin that he was never meant to know, while the things he had given his life to faded away little by little? He moaned again, wretched and miserable, but it didn’t change a thing in the disagreement between his body and mind. “Time’s up,” Sade said quietly, with evident relish, resuming the same position as before so that Coulmier couldn’t move at all, bringing back the candle.
Now it was held over his right nipple, and Coulmier pressed his chin into his neck so that he could see it, why he wasn’t certain. His breathing was rapid and shallow, and that vulnerable part of him moved up and down with his chest. He struggled, and his pectoral muscle made his chest quiver. Was that the kind of dance the Marquis referred to? He thought that maybe if he didn’t blink, if he could just keep watching that it wouldn’t happen, but then Sade tilted the candle in his hand.
“No,” Coulmier denied, closing his eyes after all to avoid seeing it, and then it came. It was like liquid fury, and this time he did scream, though he was only partly aware of it. His body arched up so that his back no longer touched the sheets on the bed, and he knew that only brought him closer to the source of the pain. The pain. It raced along his nerves, touching him so deep inside that he sobbed. That scent was stronger, and he knew it would never again be pleasant to him. When he at last opened his eyes, he was surprised to see the candle by the side of the bed. He had felt it for far longer than it had lasted.
Sade was still looking at his body, and he refused to look himself because he didn’t want to see it, to see how easily the Marquis had hurt him, and how much pleasure he took from it.
He remembered something the Marquis had said once, long ago, about having power over someone, as Sade had power over him now. It was an aphrodisiac, he’d said. Coulmier found himself wondering about that. If it was true, instead of this torture, wouldn’t Sade rather… he couldn’t even finish the thought, much less say it out loud. But as he caught Sade’s eye, he found his eyes drawn to the front of the Marquis’ breeches, and then dared to look up in mute appeal. Sade laughed low in his throat.
“Oh, I will!” he said, in answer to the unspoken wish. “But in a while. First, we have business, you and I.”
Coulmier hadn’t expected much more than that kind of reaction, yet despite that, and though his body trembled and he felt more vulnerable than any other time spent with the Marquis, he said, “It’s no more than gratuitous punishment.”
“My dear Abbé, this isn’t punishment.” Sade narrowed his eyes as he considered. “Think of it instead as… incentive.”
While he suffered, Coulmier was certain he didn’t have to accept Sade’s version of events as the truth. And the truth was that Sade wanted him to fulfil the demand of writing stories for him. This could only be one thing. “It is a threat,” he replied, tired of the argument already but unable to end it.
“It is encouragement,” Sade insisted, then he leaned down and brought his face closer to Coulmier’s, lowering his voice so that it had an intimate, seductive lilt. “Would you like me to teach you the difference? Really?”
This was an disagreement he couldn’t win, and he knew it would be unwise to continue with it. “No,” he said honestly, remembering how many times Sade had shocked and surprised him. He didn’t want this to become even worse, though he couldn’t imagine how it might be. But despite his admission the Marquis didn’t move, until he was afraid he was about to be taught that lesson anyway. He held his breath, nervous.
“Ah,” said Sade at last, sitting up straight again and reaching out to take the candle, breaking the strange spell. “We’re ready.”
The thundering of his heart was loud in his ears as Coulmier realised it was all going to happen again, this time on the other side of his body. He thought he might have begged, but he wasn’t sure if he did it out loud. Whether he had or not, it had no effect on Sade, and the moment stretched out again, even longer than before.
This time, instead of watching himself, or even the candle, Coulmier found himself staring at Sade. In the midst of dreading the pain, he knew there were dreams like this: the demon that crushes the sleeper in their nightmare, stealing their breath. The old hag or the incubus. Perhaps, given his calling, he should believe in them – especially now. But he didn’t. A ghost would be more likely, and he had already discounted that.
Those thoughts flashed by so quickly he wasn’t even truly aware of having them, as he searched Sade’s face for the lines of cruelty and viciousness that would mark him out as some kind of supernatural enemy. But they weren’t there, not to any greater extent than in others. In fact, he looked, as he always had to Coulmier, despite his charisma and magnetism, utterly human; which made this torment a human thing too.
This time when he screamed as it was done to him, he heard it ringing loudly in his ears, over his heartbeat, as loud as the pain. And, as before, when he opened his eyes he had felt it for longer than he should. Everything was back in its place, the candle on the table, Sade sitting astride him watching his face. But the silence was broken by his sobs, and he felt the tears on his face mixing with beads of his sweat, burning almost as painfully as the wax did.
“No more, please, no more.” He heard himself begging, and he couldn’t stop it, and couldn’t regret it either. He didn’t remember closing his eyes again, but he must have. Then he heard the Marquis sigh, but it wasn’t with impatience. He almost jumped when he felt Sade change position to lie atop him, all lean long limbs and muscle, even in his clothes. Despite the weight on his skin, it wasn’t an unpleasant closeness. The heavier, musky scent of the Marquis cancelled out the sweetness of the wax, warm breath on the side of his face, drying the remnants of his tears.
The Marquis stretched out an arm to clasp his hand where it remained bound to the corner of the bed, and one long leg rested naturally between his. The kiss wasn’t hungry but gentle, almost chaste, yet it was still a lovers’ kiss.
“If I set your arms free would you hold me close?” Sade murmured, one hand in his hair, as his own hands twisted in those bindings, wanting to be released.
“What…?” Coulmier had a sudden imaginative impression of holding the Marquis close to him as if they might be brothers, but then imagined him naked, arms around him to pull him close, fingertips pressing into his shoulders, and then lower, down his spine and past the bottom of his back. Something in him became aroused at the thought of being able to touch and caress Sade that way, and he struggled to rise above it as though he were drowning.
“No!” he denied the dream, offended at the suggestion despite his fantasies. Submission was one thing, participation was quite another and he understood the difference.
“A pity,” Sade said, withdrawing slightly to place one of those gentle kisses on his right collarbone. “That might have been a worthwhile diversion.” Another kiss, this time on the left, and then he sat up again. The meaning was all too clear, and Coulmier’s eyes flew open, torn between gazing at Sade or the candle as the Marquis reached for it, understanding what his refusal had cost him.
“Please!” he said, not sure what he was begging for, because he knew without a doubt that even with another chance he’d still deny the temptation the Marquis had put before him.
“Too late now,” Sade said darkly, with a shrug as if it didn’t bother him. And it likely didn’t. They weren’t lovers and never had been. It was far too late to ever be such, especially now. Coulmier watched where Sade took the candle, lower than before, over his stomach and his belly button. He looked up into the Marquis’ eyes, pleading.
“Now I think you’ll dance for me,” he said quietly, and something in Coulmier died upon hearing that. Perhaps it was his hope, or the last remnant of his own will. The Marquis used his free hand to take Coulmier’s prick, rubbing up and down it in such a way that his body couldn’t help but respond, despite his mounting terror of what would come next. But it didn’t happen, at least, not then.
As the Marquis continued to caress him, his hand squeezing and coaxing, Coulmier groaned, beginning to understand the nature of this next part of the game. Pleasure and pain, ecstasy and agony, forever entwined. There was no way to deny him. There was no way to stop it. Despite his understanding of the price for finding release in Sade’s marvellous grip, he just couldn’t help the reactions of his body. They seemed not to belong to him.
It was almost the exact mixture of shame, regret and terror as he had felt when Sade had made him feel that ultimate pleasure before, when he had defiled the cross. Then, he had come in Sade’s hand with the word no on his lips, and it was to be the same now. All he could do was resist, and it became as before, long and drawn-out, so that he experienced every aspect of the physical pleasure in minute clarity, and the lengthening of the final moments was such that he felt the contradiction might tear him apart.
Suddenly he knew this cruelty was far more severe than the one he’d managed to escape. He should have let Sade violate him with the icon. The relief he had felt when Sade advanced on him with the candle, explaining that it would be something different. How foolish that had been! Somehow, Sade had managed to take something that should be easier to bear, and made it much worse.
When the moment was upon him, he did say no, and as before it didn’t matter because it was too late. The wax spilled over onto him, collecting in his belly button and running over, down the sides of his stomach. At the same time, he felt Sade pumping him, pulling from him strings of essence that felt cool where they landed in comparison to the wax. And he knew that his body did exactly as Sade wanted, jumping and arching and twisting until it was over, and for at least a minute afterwards.
“How do you feel?” Sade asked when it was at last fading, the spasms and shudders of his body reduced to occasional jerks that were more like shivers. The Marquis still held his prick, soft now, no longer squeezing or pumping, but as if solicitous, so that it did not fall onto his belly and encounter the still hot solidifying wax. It was such a misplaced and pointless piece of consideration that Coulmier tried to laugh, and instead he cried. Sade let him cry for a long minute.
“Do as I say, and I won’t need to do this again.” Coulmier tried to nod, but he wasn’t at all sure he managed it, wasn’t certain if it was noticeable given the way his head moved while he lay there, broken.
“You know what I want,” Sade continued, demanding. “Write it down. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”
This time he waited, and Coulmier calmed a little, the sobs ceasing as his body stilled, and he looked up, completely defeated. “Anything,” he said, wincing at the harsh sound of his voice, hoarse with screaming and tears.
“Be careful what you promise, Abbé,” Sade warned, and despite everything he still managed to feel a thrill of fear, but it didn’t last for very long. Finally, Sade climbed off the bed, crouching down by the side of it to whisper to him.
“I’m going to free you,” he said simply. “Hands and knees. You understand?”
The instructions were clear, and exactly what he needed. Coulmier couldn’t deal with nuances of meaning at this point, and he found himself ridiculously grateful for it, as if it were a mercy. “Yes,” he said, and the Marquis brushed hair back from his face. It was strangely affectionate.
“Good,” he said, looking into Coulmier’s eyes for a long moment, then he set to work removing the bindings. Coulmier gasped when he realised his wrists were bleeding – a testament to how dearly he had wanted to escape.
“Quickly then!” Sade said, slapping at one of his thighs once his ankles were free too, forestalling his study of the injuries to his wrists.
As fast as he could, he got onto his hands and knees as the Marquis wanted, though his muscles ached and burned, and his skin protested at any movement at all. Flakes of candlewax cracked and broke free of his skin, falling on the clean white sheet below him. Behind him Sade approached with the oil, and at least with this he knew what to expect.
It was almost a relief.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading. Congratulations, it’s over. Make me happy! Rate or review – all welcome, including constructive criticism.
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The Ruined Abbe