Author's note: I've been meaning to write this for ages. Pity it's such an old fandom, it probalby won't get much attention, but I'm hoping. Due to the smutty content of this fic (which is only going to get worse...or better, depending on your point of view) I'll post only this first chapter, and the rest can be read at the homepage link in my user info (lj user name scribblebibble) when I post more chapters. Feedback is very much desired. I get discouraged easily.
His eyelids fluttered softly open to the blurred view of an ornate cieling. After a few blinks, his vision had cleared enough for a few details to be recognized on the surface high above. Little cherubim with gilded wings flitted amongst fluffy white clouds with richly coloured banners stretched wide by their infantile arms. None of it moved, it was only Philippe's head which was spinning. But then the man who had been reclining comfortably in an overstuffed chaise to the left of the bed where Philippe lay, naked, ceased his silent observation and made the young man's world stand still.
"Awake at last, I see."
Philippe turned his head too quickly in order to view the source of the enigmatic voice and a sharp protesting pain exploded within his aching skull, wrapping its sharp talons around the boy's confused brain and squeezing cruelly.
"L-louis...?" the boy managed to sputter as he squinted at his brother through tear-filled eyes.
"Yes, brother, it is I," the king spoke, punctuating his statement with a sip of wine, followed by a rude smacking of his lips.
Philippe began to shiver with a sudden chill, realising for the first time his state of undress. A rush of blood to his cheeks immediately followed this unhappy discovery, and he moved to pull the bed coverings which must -surely- be there, somewhere, over his unwillingly exposed flesh. But no, the bed was completely barren, devoid even of the lush pillows which normally sat at the head, so Philippe covered himself as best he could with his hands.
Louis smirked lecherously at this pathetic and rather pointless act of modesty, as his brother had nothing to hide from him that he did not himself possess. He said so, but Philippe remained so positioned, his head down, his legs pressed tightly together and bent at the knees, his hands determinedly protecting his privates from the wicked gaze of his twin.
"Honestly, brother," the King began, a hint of feigned l'ennui in his voice, "I've been staring at you for the better part of an hour, and there is nothing whatever to be ashamed of...although, you are dreadfully underfed. Hardly any muscle definition to speak of."
At this, Philippe's face twisted into a scowl. As if the King of France could expect someone who had been imprisoned in the Bastille for the majority of his life to be anywhere near as well fed as himself. Such arrogance. It disgusted Philippe, and he was scarcely able to hold his tongue.
"Still, jutting ribs and sunken eyes aside, there is enough of a resemblance between the two of us for this...endeavour to not be totally nongermane."
Philippe didn't like his brother's tone. It implied far too heavily that something unpleasant was about to happen to him. Philippe couldn't help but ask the question that had been bubbling up inside him since he awoke to find himself nude in his brother's bed.
"I was under the assumption that I was to be reintroduced to my prison and the mask..." He tried to choose his words and his tone as carefully as possible, for he'd experienced his brother's displeasure, and knew that one who was the cause of it was no one to be envied. "May I ask...what made you change your mind?"
"Oh, I have not changed my mind, not really," Louis answered, finishing off the wine in his glass with one large gulp. "You are still to return to your former life, my brother. You can be certain of that."
Philippe's heart sank into his churning stomach, the hope that had been building up inside of him falling with it to dissolve into acid nothingness.
"But first, I've decided to have a bit of fun with you."
Now it was fear that afflicted Philippe's sunken heart; fear and disgust. He didn't dare ask what depraved entertainment his brother hoped to derive from him, so he lay motionless in silent resignation upon the pure white sheets.
"Gabrielle!" the ruler cried, his voice echoing in the large room. Within moments, a panel opened in the wall and one of the most beautiful young women Philippe had ever seen stepped quietly into view. He swallowed hard, his throat scratchy and dry, and cupped himself a little more tightly. All ready, he was fairly certain as to the direction his fate was headed, and it made his entire body tremble with anticipation.
"Consider this a favour, brother," the King said as the golden-haired beauty let her robe slide from her milky shoulders and gather into a colourful puddle of expensive fabric at her feet. "My parting gift to you."
Philippe's teeth began to chatter. "I don't understand..." he said slowly, scooting instinctively away as the girl approached the bed.
"What's not to understand? You have never known a woman, correct?"
Philippe didn't want to answer, but he felt his head nod in affirmation, anyway.
"Well, now you will not die a virgin. You should be most grateful for my generosity."
Philippe wasn't about to explain to his heartless brother that he would rather die a virgin than have his innocence taken from him by a complete stranger while such a monster looked on in amusement. He wasn't chained, there was no threat of weapons, not that he knew of, but he was still trapped. Trapped by fear, by shame, by the lust that had begun to ignite its flame in his loins. The girl was on the bed, now, crawling slowly towards him, her every movement filled with grace and purpose. Philippe tried not to look at her, to keep his eyes down, focused on the white of the sheet below him, but soon his line of vision was blocked. Honey skin replaced white fabric. Female aroma overpowered the clean, starched smell of the sheets. He knew he was doomed before she'd even touched him, but as soon as she did...
"It's all right," she reassured him, her voice little more than a soft whisper in his ear. Her hand was hot and soft on his icy shoulder. The touch was completely unerotic, yet it sent rushes of blood to his nether regions and cheeks. He was unaccustomed to a woman's touch, anywhere on his body, and being so near to a naked one when he was naked, himself was an entirely new experience.
He'd flinched when she'd first tried to touch him, and the look on her pretty face told him that she'd mistaken his anxiety for disgust. But his dark blue eyes spoke volumes to her, and made her understand. Looking into those wells of fear and sadness, she couldn't help but feel pity toward the boy, who must not have been too far from her own age. Yet here he lay, probably somewhere in his early twenties, and still a virgin. Louis had not told her anything, other than to not be alarmed by the resemblance between himself and the boy with whom he expected her to copulate. She never had been a particularly clever girl, which is precisely why Louis had chosen her for the deed. She was unlikely to ask too many questions, and she would obey his every command with a minimum of fuss.
"I want you to use your mouth on him, my dear," Louis said, his demand carefully disguised in honeyed tones. "Begin by first kissing him, on the mouth, then work your way down from there."
The girl gave her nod of consent to the king, and set right to work, planting small kisses on Philippe's quivering lips and eventually prying them apart with her eager tongue. Philippe's breath caught in his throat as he felt the sleek intruder enter his mouth. His entire body went stiff, his eyes went wide, and his hands remained cupped around his growing manhood. He'd never kissed anyone like this, before. Eventually, as the kiss depened, he allowed himself to relax a little. He enjoyed the feeling of the girl's gentle fingers running through his hair, the way her warm body was pressed up against his, the hot, slippery sensation of her tongue toying with his own inside his mouth. He enjoyed it far too much. It heated his entire body, casting the cold from his bones as though he'd shed an icy cloak. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to run his hands over her soft, perfect skin, but if he did that, there would be nothing separating his shame from her bare skin, and he couldn't abide that.
Then she turned him over onto his back and straddled him, her warm inner thighs pressing firmly against his forearms. He looked up at her helplessly and she smiled gently down at him. Why was she complying so willingly? How could she possibly want to do this? She didn't seem at all embarrassed. On the contrary, she seemed to be enjoying herself, Philippe thought as she began to enthusiastically cover his neck and chest with licks and kisses. She flicked her tongue over his earlobe, coaxing a quiet sigh of pleasure from Philippe's pursed lips. He kept his teeth tightly clenched as she found her way down to one of his nipples and clamped down on it with her mouth, sucking at it as though to do so was what caused her to live. But as she swirled her tongue round the hardening bud, Philippe's resolve began to slip, and his fear began to dissipate into pure lust, and he allowed himself a small moan.
"She's good, isn't she?" The king spoke up, startling Philippe from his reverie. He'd nearly forgotten about Louis, and now that he'd been reminded of the tyrant's presence, his thoughts immediately turned as far as they could from the talented mouth that was now working its way down his torso. He felt her hands on his wrists as they sought to gently pry his hands from the destination her mouth sought, but he refused to yeild so easily.
"Philippe..." Louis addressed his brother by name for the first time, that night, and his tone was icy enough to make the boy's skin crawl. "She is trying to carry out an order. I wouldn't prevent that, if I were you."
Philippe bit his plump lower lip and closed his eyes. His hands shook uncontrollably as the eager female between his legs lifted them from his engored sex. He'd barely been able to contain himself anymore, anyway. He tried not to notice as Louis leaned forward in his chair to gain a better glimpse of what lay between his twin's trembling legs. Thankfully, the king's appraisal was silent, comprised only of raised eyebrows and nods of approval, which went unnoticed by Philippe. Gabrielle had been waiting for the signal to continue, and as soon as it was granted, she fell upon Philippe's untouched manhood like a hungry wolf, taking as much of it into her red mouth as she possibly could.
The sound that freed itself like a wild animal from Philippe's unwilling lips was enough to make all of the fine hairs on the back of Louis' neck stand on end, sending a pleasurable prickling sensation throughout his entire body. He was suddenly aware of how much clothing he was wearing and, frowning, tugged at his lace cravat in irritation. If Philippe was to continue producing such delicious noises, such exquisite facial expressions (and he would--his life depended on it), this simply would not do.
Philippe wasn't aware of his brother as he began to peel off his unwanted layers of clothing, shedding them like a snake sheds its skin. He wasn't aware of anything but the heat between his legs, the overpowering feeling of lust that burned inside him like never before. He gripped at the sheets in an effort to keep from slipping away, completely. Bright lights of all colours flashed and flickered behind his closed eyelids as Gabrielle's wonderful mouth brought him ever closer to oblivion.
Then the time came when he ceased his writhing and could hold back no longer. He bucked hard up into her face, holding her head firmly in place by a handful of flaxen curls. What he experienced then was ever so much more intense than the pithy orgams he'd brought himself to night after lonely night in that dank cell. This came from the very root of his being, swirling up from the depths of his soul and spilling into hers as he shot spurt after hot spurt of himself into her accommodating mouth. As his ecstacy began to dissipate, he was shocked and ashamed to realize that the moans and gasping sobs bouncing off the walls were his own, and his cheeks once again waxed crimson.
"Well done, cherie," Louis purred from his chair, clothed now only in his silky breeches and baggy shirtsleeves.
"Thank you, your Majesty," he heard Gabrielle say from between his legs as she daintily wiped traces of him away from her mouth with the tips of her fingers. Her voice sounded so far away, even though she was closer to him than Louis. He felt so weak, as though he really had poured part of his soul into her and was now less the man because of it. But somehow he knew that Louis was no where near finished with his "toy", and he wearily wondered how he was going to get through this night without losing his mind.