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The Ruined Abbe	By : pip Category: M through R > Quills Views: 2535 -:- 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
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Chapter One
I am not a beautiful young prospect ripe for corruption.
- Don't be so sure.

It's a potent aphrodisiac, isn't it? Having power over another man?

Why did he come here? Still? When it could not be excused? There was no redemption, salvation or even forgiveness to be given here, and yet something brought him…
Coulmier looked down at the man at his feet, naked as had been prescribed to prevent his writing. There were marks on the man's skin, even now. Almost words. The Marquis had attempted to fashion his own skin as a canvas with blunted fingernails. He shuddered.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" he asked, wishing that the honest and forthright compassion that had once resided in his voice wasn't drowned out by censure and chastisement.
Those darkened eyes looked up at him, and there was no such regret in them. Hands clutched at his ankles and the Marquis smirked. "Why do you, Abbé?" He tilted his head slightly, and it was certainly not appealing. Coulmier felt his lips compress into a straighter line as a response. "What do you hope to find here? My willing submission you have, it would seem." The Marquis was mocking him. "Perhaps you come to check upon it, hmm?" he said wickedly, dipping his head to kiss the Abbé's feet.
"Don't be ridiculous," he spat out, but inside he felt the truth of it so keenly that he knew he would flagellate himself later. "I still do want to help you, if I can." That was true too. It had to be, else he was merely a spectator to suffering. The count of his self-imposed punishment increased at the thought.
"Then bring me my things so that I may write again," the Marquis said imperiously, giving up on the act of contrition and subservience so suddenly that Coulmier felt the loss of it. The withdrawal of the Marquis' touch felt like an ache as he scurried away across the floor and rested with his back against the wall, legs thrown out carelessly in front, completely unashamed by his nakedness.
"I dare not!" he whispered harshly, thinking of the doctor, of the closure of Charenton, and he was surprised when the Marquis laughed out loud, as genuinely as he had ever heard it.
"When did you and Madeleine become one person?" he enquired, curious, then sighed, making his double entendre clear, his eyes closed as he no doubt pictured it – them – and Coulmier shook his head. "Tell me how she squeezed you when you breached her," he said on an outward breath.
Despite his efforts, the fantasy voiced was infectious, and he had a sudden image of how she would look beneath him when he – "Don't…" he said suddenly, urgently, and wished again that he could sound entirely sincere. Why did he come here?
"Ah," said the Marquis, disappointed at the truth. Then, as if reading his thoughts: "Perhaps after all you are still angry, and so you come here to try punishment where leniency failed?" His eyes twinkled as he stood up, dangerous even now, without any of his accoutrements. Coulmier felt his heart quicken against his will as the Marquis walked forward, invading his space, and he stood his ground deliberately, his breathing just a little too fast as the Marquis bent forward to whisper in his ear.
"How do you want me? Will it be straightforward punishment? Or shall I be the object you vent your frustrated passions on? Either is agreeable to me."
Coulmier swallowed. "Neither," he avowed, and then made a strangled sound of shock as he felt the Marquis' hand on his stiffening rod that nestled under his robe. He grabbed the Marquis' wrist to stop him, but didn't quite push him away.
"It's all I have to offer," he murmured as if in apology, the words a tickling touch against Coulmier's ear, the low vibration of his voice spreading beyond that organ to other places. "You've taken everything else I have of value."
"Please!" he managed to whisper harshly, feeling that terrible call of blood as it thundered around his body and made his flesh willing, even as his mind was rebellious. Still, he didn't give ground and step away, because that would be weak. Wouldn't it? Mentally, he added several further self-administered strokes of the whip.
"Or perhaps," the Marquis continued silkily, seductive in every breath and flicker of existence. "Perhaps you wish to be tutored. I could teach you many things, Abbé. You would never be the same again, I assure you."
For a moment that seemed to last for all of his life to that point, nothing changed, and it occurred to the Coulmier that he was entirely at the mercy of the Marquis, whether he retreated or not.
"You would thank me," the Marquis prophesied, his voice darker than molasses. "And I would show you pleasure enough to make you beg the God you are so fond of for more of the same."
Clarity as cold as ice water washed over him, and he finally found the strength to push that wicked hand away from his flesh. "Take back that blasphemy!" he demanded, sure he was in the right of it. "For your own soul's sake!"
"Never!" replied the Marquis, a superior smirk twisting his lips into a grimace. "Tell me, if your God truly exists, did He not create me?" He held out his arms and bowed with more than a little evident pride.
"He did," Coulmier admitted grudgingly, trying to watch without looking, an impossibility. Also, he was certain he was falling into some kind of trap. The Marquis was too clever.
"And did He do this in full knowledge of the thing he made? The passions and lusts he instilled, leading to this moment, here, with you? This very temptation you seem determined to resist?" The way he put it made it sound entirely inevitable. Of course that was the point, it was inevitable, and the Abbé's misgivings grew as he replied:
"I would never deny it."
"So then…" The Marquis confided, coming too close again, resuming the same seductive little touches and caresses as before. "What difference is there between you hurting yourself with that silly little whip you keep…" The pause was deliberately drawn out. "…and letting me do it?"
"You twist the truth," Coulmier accused, stepping out of the loose embrace, closer to the door. "I am not here to be a willing participant in your disturbed, unnatural lusts."
"But they are natural," Sade argued, following him. "You said it yourself not a moment ago. You do not mean to deny now that they were put there by God," he challenged.
"Yes, but… we are to be better than that. We are to rise above them, don't you see?." They were face to face now, and while the Marquis did not touch him, Coulmier could feel the man's body heat, burning fiercely. The sensation made him feel like he must be leaning forward.
"Ah. But you don't rise above them, as it were," Sade teased, tapping Coulmier's nose with a finger. "You do it when you are alone," he continued, his eyes glittering again. "So we are to be slaves to our proclivities only in private?"
For a moment, Coulmier didn't realise there had been a question, such was the effect of the Marquis' proximity. "Yes. I-I mean, no."
With a smile of victory, Sade looked away, as if to an invisible audience. "Do make up your mind, Abbé. You make me quite dizzy."
"You disturb my faith, Marquis." He closed his eyes as Sade deliberately nuzzled his neck and drew in a deep breath, as if savouring the bouquet of a fine wine. "That, perhaps, is what God intended when he created you." There was a considerable resentment in him towards Sade now, for confusing him so, and yet when the Marquis turned away and walked back to the far side of the cell, there was also a kind of longing.
"Then your faith is of little strength and will be short in duration, Abbé, given your own sense of self-importance." The words were thrown back over his shoulder, dismissively. "Since you said you wished to help me at the start, if you can't bring me a pen, and you won't bring bandages, ensure that you bring me your little whip upon your next visit." Now he turned, and the eye contact was so menacing that Coulmier felt behind him for the latch to the door, so as to escape it. "And," he continued, "if you lack the courage to properly punish me, then I shall see what I can do about chastising you for revelling in my reduced circumstances."
Within a moment, Coulmier was on the other side, the safe side, of the locked cell door. After a breath or two he opened the upper hatch and looked through. "I cannot talk to you. I don't glory in this, in your misfortune," he said, and for the third time, heard insincerity in his tone that dismayed him.
"Indeed? Yet here you are," Sade mocked. Coulmier slid the little hatch shut and walked away quickly. Behind him, he heard it open again, and the Marquis' voice followed him down the corridor. "Your next visit, Abbé. You have no excuse to come without it." There was a laugh then, and it was a laughter that Coulmier heard for most of the rest of the day.
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The Ruined Abbe