N.B. Very much a work in progress. There will be further chapters!
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to the wonderful Doug Wright.
"Regulate me, darling, raise me to your lips, two undernourished egos, full rotating hips…" ~ Massive Attack, 'Inertia Creeps'
The Marquis had often philosophised that, whilst one was in the realms of sickness, one also delved into a certain recess of pleasure. One wracked with fever, compared with one in the throes of physical ecstasy, and the similarities are clear. The skin is flushed, reddened spots appearing on or just above the cheekbones. The eyes are glassy, bright, the pupils dilated, the telltale sign of desire and anticipation. Perspiration bejewels various parts of the body, namely the curve of the forehead, the dip of the clavicle. On a less superficial level, the sounds that escape both throats are within the same family - repressed moans, sighs, and other such utterances. If one is in particularly ferocious pain, then the body will writhe, looking to stretch out the aches and strains. Consequently, it is assumed that said movements are indulged in during various physical deviancies.
And, that evening, de Sade was acutely aware of how savagely illness can grip a body. His head throbbed like the Devil's toothache, an expanding and contracting that tested the very elasticity of his being, his skull thumping with a constant, vibrant pulse that sent shivers through him. His skin was hot and dry to the touch, said dryness the main discomfort of a fever – to cool itself, the body sweats, but during a fever, the body sweats insufficiently, therefore an abnormally high body temperature is maintained. His limbs felt leaden, sluggish, his slim fingers tingling when they came into contact with any material.
Despite his discomfort, the Marquis still sat at his desk, the small window just above it open as wide as it would go. A vigorous breeze had started to whip up, and it blustered thankfully through the gap, bringing with it a cool sheet of drizzle. His bed may have been more accommodating than the chair, but the Marquis had decided that this luxury was not worth forsaking. He coughed suddenly, his ribs heaving, the pain in his chest travelling in jolts down his entire skeleton.
He was impossibly miserable.
Until there came the timid knock on his door, and the familiar voice that followed it.
"Marquis? Marquis. They said you weren't well. I've…well I've brought you something. Don't know if it will help."
Illness or not, the Marquis still felt the warm, well-known leap in his pulse that centred gratefully between his thighs, only momentarily overcoming the throbbing in his head. He swivelled on his chair, peering over the top.
"Madeleine, my peach. You know that anything you bring me will aid my recovery. Your mere presence will be sure to lift my spirits, among many other things."
He heard her audible sigh.
"Well, if you're going to be like that, then I shan't come at all! You can't be that ill if your mind is still centred on…that."
Yes, Madeleine, and it always shall be, darling.
He saw her eyes peering through the hatch. Gods, those eyes. The Marquis was not a sentimental man but he could quite happily drown in those azure pools. He masked his knowing smile with a weak, rasping cough.
"Oh, no Madeleine. You do not understand the gravity of my illness. You have no idea how it feels to acknowledge every nerve in your body as it succumbs to the sickness. How my head aches, my child! Only the presence of one such as you can disperse the advances of all medicine…"
He halted when he heard the turn of the thick iron key in the door. He rose to his feet, his posture still proud despite his physical ailments.
He adored the way she kicked the heavy door shut when she had her hands full. The way she clucked her tongue when it didn't quite close, and she had to stoop down to place whatever items on the floor and push it herself. It was namely because it allowed de Sade full opportunity to gaze hungrily upon that creamy, ample cleavage of hers, and how tendrils of chestnut hair fell forward and grazed it. Neither was he romantic, but he had to admire Madeleine's beauty in the most poetic of manners. It was the uses of such beauty that would become crude and base. And that suited him just fine.
She picked up the tray and walked over to the desk, eyeing the Marquis warily the whole time. Only his head moved, and with an owlish turn, he acknowledged what was on said tray. A jug of water sat staunchly upon it, accompanied by a single white cloth. De Sade raised a quizzical eyebrow. He had at least expected some brandywine.
Madeleine must have caught the momentary change in facial expression.
"Disappointed?"
The Marquis' surprise melted away almost instantly, replaced by a catlike smile. He picked up the cloth, its texture slightly stiff due to over-starching, and rubbed a thumb gently over it.
"I must admit that I am. Cold compresses are all very useful, but I've often heard that certain divine liquids are much more effective in curing an old man's aches and pains."
"You've wine of your own, Marquis!"
"I wasn't talking about wine, Madeleine."
A sweet gasp of indignance was wrenched from Madeleine's throat, her eyes wide. Even she couldn't help herself, however, and she soon dissolved into giggles, raising a hand to daintily smother them. The Marquis watched her with lowered eyes, drinking in the sight of her. How he relished every essence, every facet of her!
Madeleine cleared her throat, quite recovered from her impromptu fit of laughter. She gingerly prised the cloth from the Marquis' hands, noticing a shiver caressing his body with cool fingers as she did so. She naively dismissed this as a symptom of the fever, whereas the Marquis was delighting in the gentle contact of her fingers against his own. He often wondered why she caused such combustion within him. He had taken others by force, why not this delightful little morsel? He could quite easily grab her thin wrists, press his body hard up against hers, eager, predatory hands wrenching at her skirts and underwear, clawing at the silken skin of her inner thighs, before thrusting inside her with all of his might, clapping a hand over her mouth to repress her cry of pain. He knew she was virginal, and this added to her infinite appeal. But he chose not to. This woman had a fragile hold over his heart, and the Marquis often contemplated if she was aware of this.
He was broken from his thoughts by Madeleine's kind-but-firm fingertips resting upon his jaw and turning him to face her.
"You're miles away."
She squeaked as his fingers encircled her wrist, the cold metal of his amber ring kissing the pale skin. The Marquis registered surprise in her eyes, and it excited him. He had never given her reason, but he saw the flicker of fear. His reputation preceded him.
"I always am, darling. Miles from here. Now, let us distance ourselves from this desk." He gestured towards the shadowy cavern of his bed. "I can imagine that this would be far more accommodating."
"You know I won't."
de Sade feigned surprise.
"Honestly, Madeleine. I just proffer said approach for it is much easier for you to administer treatment. My wandering hands tremble far too much in this state to even attempt caressing your many delights."
Madeleine eyed the bed suspiciously. It was always an aesthetic obsession for her. It was so different compared to her humble bed! It assumed an almost celestial quality, draped in flimsy, expensive materials, all swooping and gathering to create the most illustrious effect. But, beneath all this gauze and netting lay an all-consuming darkness, endless and unbounded, punctuated only by the human skeleton that hung so eerily from one of the bedposts.
The Marquis caught Madeleine's gaze. "Ah, yes, that. Frightens so many, yet it is what binds us together. What hangs there is now holding this glorious body of yours upright." He boldly allowed his fingers to trail along Madeleine's bared shoulder. He saw the goosebumps raise proudly along her skin. She suddenly jerked her head to look at him, attempting disapproval but failing miserably, full lips eventually twitching into a smile.
"It's not what hold yours upright, I can tell you that now!"
The Marquis' fingers travelled lazily from her shoulder to her hand, delicately encasing her fingers in his own. His voice, whilst still knowing and jovial, adopted a more serious tone. This was rarely heard by Madeleine, and it never failed to set her off-guard.
"You trust me, don't you Madeleine? I do not intend to rupture any feminine barriers that you may place in front of me. I just want to truly enjoy the cure that you offer."
When the Marquis put it like that, Madeleine found it hard to say no.