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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
- 19
- 20
- 21
Author’s Note:
Well, here we are again. I have shortened the rest of Celie’s story, but it is important for Coulmier to read it, and hence, for you, because there are a couple of things in there that have a bearing on what happens next. I hope you enjoy it. Comments/constructive criticism welcome!
It should be noted that I really have no idea how one would go about becoming a nun in mid-eighteenth century France because I have been despicably lazy in my research.
To BronxWench: Thank you so much for your wonderful comments, which made me smile all the way through work that day. I can only hope that this chapter doesn’t disappoint you, especially since it’s a little easier (at least, physically) on Coulmier. Poor sod. It won’t last. And if you were able to read that horrible thing, then I must have done my job, so I'm happy, even though I really didn't want to write it. *shudders*

Chapter Twenty
Since the beautiful Celie had, as we have already ascertained, a useful imagination and was largely stoic, it would reflect little on her character if we were to dwell on her misery. When it eased enough, she considered carefully those options left available to her, and prayed for guidance. Thus, though she felt unable to trick any man into a marriage that she came to so despoiled, she did see at least one route forward that did not involve being in the power of the Comte. And, since she had prayed for a solution, it was to her as if God had whispered it himself.
All her life she had been a pious and reverent individual, and so she felt at her ease when she ventured out to see the Abbé at the local chapel. Not for confession – of course not – for Celie knew that although the sin was not hers, she would be tainted by it and refused the one means of escape that was currently open to her. In short, she visited with the Abbé and said that with the loss of her father, she felt ready to begin a more serious commitment to the religious life: she asked for his help in becoming a novice.
There was no hesitation in her confessor, who knew Celie at least as well as she knew herself, and knew her nature made her sensible beyond her years. So he issued her with a letter of recommendation, and Celie went confidently forth (after collecting some meagre belongings from her former home) to the local convent, a place which had no sisters, and instead housed only priests.
She was welcomed in, her letter was passed around the brethren, and a message was sent to the mother of another convent some distance away that she would travel on to in the morning. Preparations were made for a simple cell for her to sleep in, and a wonderful, holy evening mass was held that soothed the disquiet in her soul, and made her sure she had made the right decision, despite the crime that had been committed against her person, and her own secret shame in failing to confess it.
Very early, she found herself in her cell with a candle, and sat on the side of the small bed, running her fingers over the novice garment she wore which the priests had provided her with. Celie was not disappointed or dispirited as it was not in her nature to be beaten down for long. Instead she was thrilled with this new adventure, this new future, something that despite recent events, she could surely make a success of.
A knock on her door startled her from sleep, and upon her query she was told it was midnight. Did they hold mass then, too? Celie dressed again, and followed the Abbé into the chapel sedately. Once there, a single glance told her of her error, and in her horror she tried to turn back, but was forcibly marched in between two of the men. Any other girl might have swooned or fainted, but not Celie, she remained conscious for every despicable act that was put before her.
In the hours that followed, Celie saw things she never wished to see, as the wine flowed freely and the men of the convent indulged in terrible blasphemous acts with her as well as with each other. At one point, she even saw one of them willingly violated with a little statue of the virgin.
Though their tastes in the main did not run to women, at least three of them took their time with her, and she protested and fought, much to their infernal amusement since, as they said, they were only consummating the marriage she would soon make with God.
The next morning dawned, and the evidence of the orgy was cleared away speedily. Despite her fears to the contrary, the priests kept their word: they organised a carriage that would take her to the convent she would call home for the rest of her life, and she slept all the way there, blind to the scenery that passed and the rest of the world. Indeed, in the years that followed she never once stepped outside of its walls.
When she reached her final destination, Celie was very different to the girl who had grown up on a farm with only her father for company. Her hitherto natural zest and optimism was subdued, perhaps forever, and she passed into the order without doubt or hesitation, her vows of celibacy were given with relief after the experiences she had been subject to, and it was often said of her in the years that passed that there was no one more dedicated to God. Some even said it almost seemed that she did not suffer the same temptations as others.
After very many years, she ascended to the head of her small convent, which she watched over kindly and carefully. From time to time, a young novice would come to her, and confess to worries over the vows which she herself had so gladly taken. In these instances, Sister Hidolphus always found it useful to send them on a short secondment to the same priestly convent she had visited in her youth.
Those who returned from that place had no further questions, and, like her, they settled into the simple, pure, existence with little trouble. Those who didn’t return… she heard of them from time to time. They might come to her attention because they were involved in some sensational, ruinous scandal or because they had been tried by a local magistrate for solicitation and were completely unrepentant. Certainly, she reflected with satisfaction, being posted to that place had a way of separating the weak from the willing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Deeply troubled, Coulmier laid the sheets of parchment down on the desk, resisting the urge to tear them into pieces or scrunch them up and discard them. The truth was he didn’t dare, having finally managed to do the thing that Sade wanted. Had that really come from his mind?
With morbid fascination, he reread the worst bits and shook his head, unable to shake the feeling of unease the ending left in him. Did he honestly believe that? Had it come to a point where he had rejected those things he loved, that he regarded them now as a weakness? Or was it merely that he had written to please, regardless of his own convictions? And which one was he – weak or willing?
In his confusion he looked around him, and noticed how bare the cell was without his things for the first time. He remembered his previous foresight of the loneliness he would feel without the security of his faith around him, and felt it very sharply now. It was out of the question to pray. This he had done deliberately, and it didn’t matter what the spur for it had been. With this, he was alone in a way he’d never been alone before.
It was well past dawn, and after a period of sorrowful reflection, he laid his ear against the door to see if there were any comings and goings yet. He heard nothing, so he carefully unlocked the door and peered out. Concealed under some linen was more food and water. Coulmier took it in thankfully, mostly to spare Madame LeClerc from any discovery, and closed the door again. Soon, he knew, this period of privacy would be over. Royer-Collard was no doubt consolidating his position and that is why he was left to his own devices now.
After the long night, he was tired, even if he hadn’t noticed the time passing, and so after a little water and breakfast, he laid down to sleep, feeling at last that if he could sleep despite his disquiet, then he could rest, and that he would be unmolested.
He rolled over onto his side, and as before, it was merely a blink before he knew he was dreaming again. He didn’t change position, and he wasn’t restrained or in any state of undress. Behind him the Marquis lounged on his bed taking up too much space, though there was barely enough room for the two of them. Coulmier looked to the desk in the morning light, and the pages were gone. He heard paper rustling behind his back, and knew that Sade was reading. A warm hand came to rest on his hip, leaving every so often to turn to a fresh page. It was a reassuring touch, and it eased the new loneliness in him, though he would never admit to it. Every now and again there was a quiet appreciative chuckle, and he winced at those bits, because he knew which parts the Marquis was seeing.
Yet the moment of his capitulation from before seemed so far away now. Perhaps he was weak, if such transient pain could make him betray everything he valued. In fact, the whole thing seemed so horridly engineered that when Sade finished and laid the papers aside, throwing an arm over him heavily, he shrugged it away.
“Go away,” he said coldly, and couldn’t help hearing a little petulance in his own voice. For a terrifying moment, he thought the Marquis was gone, then that hand snaked around his waist and Sade’s body pressed into him from behind, so warm.
“No,” Sade replied simply. The hand that had crept around him slid up his chest to rest over his heart, and in spite of himself he clasped that hand in his. For all of his resentment, Coulmier knew this physical intimacy could make him forget his worries and fears, if Sade allowed it.
“Leave me be,” he challenged, secretly hoping for the exact opposite. “I did what you wanted.” From behind him, he heard the Marquis draw in a deliberate breath, and instead of clasping that hand, Coulmier clutched at it as if unwilling to let him go, displaying something in his actions that he couldn’t express in words, hoping Sade would understand.
“Not long ago, you asked me not to leave you alone, and I said I wouldn’t.” Coulmier felt a strange mixture of relief and dread. “You remember that promise, don’t you?” Sade murmured quietly. Yes, he did remember it, every word. Endless torment, exclusively his.
“What do you want with me?” he asked, not daring to turn around. What would it be next? Sade kissed the nape of his neck, and a delightful shiver ran down his spine.
“I would have thought that was quite obvious,” Sade whispered in a voice heavy with lust. “More, Abbé. Always more.”
Now he twisted to face the Marquis, and he steeled himself for the sight of his naked body, refusing to be seduced or put off by that dark charisma straight away, because it was important. “So, you tricked me,” he accused, half sat up. Sade only raised an insolent eyebrow as he settled on his back.
The Marquis held up his hands innocently. “Am I torturing you?” he asked, teasing.
“No,” Coulmier admitted, hesitant. Then he waited, feeling utterly lost without the structure of Sade’s guidance or demands: “Yes,” he said then, suddenly angry. He started to get up, but Sade grabbed his wrist, and he could easily have twisted free, but he didn’t.
“Stay,” the Marquis commanded, the playful tone replaced by dark threat, and Coulmier submitted to that so easily he wondered fitfully if he had been waiting for it. But there was no other instruction, and after a minute or so of being laid side-by-side staring at each other, Coulmier reached out to touch, hoping to inspire something, even if it was only lust. In the daylight it all seemed different somehow, more honest. Don’t leave me alone. He remembered saying it, and felt that same desire now.
This was what he had refused before – willing participation – and it was as though the story had prepared him for it. Hesitant, he let his fingers wander up the centre of Sade’s chest, wondering if he himself had ever known that painful torment with the wax. He looked up into those dark eyes and realised the answer was yes: that, and much, much worse. His mind leapt away from that to the pages that lay strewn on the floor by the side of the bed, and Sade followed his glance, smiling slightly.
“Did I…” he began, halting, his mouth suddenly dry when he couldn’t complete the question. “I mean, is it enough?”
“Speak clearly,” Sade warned. “You wanted to avoid having me fuck you with the statue.”
Hearing it voiced so crudely was worse than the suggestion or the thought of it, worse than knowing he had written it, because speaking it made it real, and he cringed, avoiding the Marquis’ eye. Sade waited for his answer. “Yes,” he whispered, as if he didn’t want to be heard, but of course He heard everything.
“And making you like it,” he added, as always making it just that little bit worse, and Coulmier’s fingers stilled where they were circling one nipple as he wondered how to get away from a conversation he had started.
“Yes,” he said again, barely a breath behind the word.
“It satisfies. For now.” Coulmier’s eyes leapt up, suddenly understanding that all he had earned with the awful work was a temporary reprieve. He didn’t want to know, and it seemed every word that left the Marquis’ mouth was deliberately designed to put him on edge, to unbalance him.
“For now,” he echoed, aware that on some level he was agreeing to it, and it occurred to him there might be a way of encouraging Sade to make him forget, if only he was willing enough. Coulmier licked his lips nervously as he contemplated it, and then leaned over to kiss him, angling his head carefully, consciously.
It was completely different to the other kisses they shared, since Sade didn’t dominate it. In fact, Coulmier struggled to notice any response at all in those lips. Oh, they were warm, willing, slightly parted, and because he couldn’t allow it to end, and let Sade speak again, he let his tongue peek out, and Sade opened his mouth.
He’d kept his eyes open, but now he closed them, feeling a warm puff of breath on his own lips as he deepened the kiss, unsure and uncertain in what he was doing, and he knew he was too tentative, too careful, his tongue running over the slightly sharp edge of Sade’s front teeth.
Maybe he expected to taste something, but really all his mind registered was the wetness of saliva and warmth, but then his tongue touched Sade’s, and it felt so shocking he almost pulled away. Before he could, behind him he could feel Sade’s fingertips trailing up the back of his thighs, bringing the edge of the nightshirt with them. It tickled. In fact, it felt so beautiful that he forgot what he was doing, and simply stopped, their lips barely touching, exchanging breath as those electric fingers lifted the hem of the material to his arse cheeks.
Without wanting to break the spell that had inspired the Marquis into participating, he half twisted his body away, ending the kiss for a moment as Sade pulled the garment over his head, and he fought his way out of the sleeves before going for more, his forearms resting on the bed at either side of the Marquis’ head as he kissed him again, a little more confidently, his tongue going a little further now.
But this time he could feel hot naked skin beneath his, and his body moved automatically without him even thinking about it. He tried to groan as his hardening erection rubbed against a muscled thigh, the body hair providing some kind of sensational friction, but it came out as a muffled sound. His left hand skimmed suddenly down Sade’s body, the sound of his palm against skin seemed so loud that he lost his way, and he stopped, pulling back, freezing in position, alarmed at getting so easily carried away when Sade had done nothing, instigated none of it. Sade looked back at him, apparently completely unmoved.
“What do you want, Abbé?” he asked, and he was not taunting or teasing now. “Do you even know?”
What did he want? So many things crossed his mind then – all of them things that Sade had introduced him to, and yet it was none of them. He didn’t want to be simply submissive or resigned, not now, and yet the alternative was out of the question too. He looked at his own hand where it lay over the Marquis’ stomach, frozen in place before it could go any further, then looked at Sade, and he knew. He knew what it was he wanted, and it sounded so strange when he said it, but so right.
“A reaction,” he replied at last, remembering that time long ago when he had touched Sade, and the way his inexperience had made him ineffective and useless, so much so in fact that Sade had been able to mock him. Since then he had become lost, or had been stolen. Whichever way around it was, he wanted to touch, and he wanted it to be different this time. “I want to touch you and make you lose your way.”
There was a brilliant, victorious smile which made Coulmier certain that somehow he had said and done exactly what the Marquis wanted. “Yes. That is it. I’ll teach you,” he promised, “if you are willing. First,” he said with a salacious wink, “you have to move your hand down further…”
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The Ruined Abbe