At first the people of Villeneuve nearly revolted when they learned that the tavern would be closed up for weeks and they would have to drink at tables standing at the nearby square, under the open sky like beggars. But the weather's been kind enough, and the rumours about what was going on inside soon turned their voices of indignation into that of genuine excitement, so by the time they were allowed back in, everyone expected miracles.
And that was exactly what they got.
The new pictures decorating the walls, and even the ceiling, were the most magnificent any one of them have ever seen, with colours so vivid and wild that one might have guessed Maurice has raided the cellars during his endless nights spent alone with his masterpiece. And the best part of the whole thing was that everyone who was anyone in town got their portrait painted to stay up there for all eternity.
Naturaly, the one on the southern wall was Madeleine's favourite.
On the picture, she was standing to the side of the scene, carrying ale to the heroes returning from the war, and while she modelled for it, Maurice told her how her favourite red dress was the perfect counterpart for the Captain's red coat at the center, thus bringing the composition alive and becoming the most important part of the whole picture. It was pure vanity, but she was thrilled to be aware of that little secret.
She was way too absorbed in admiring it when she could finaly leave the kitchen and the dirty dishes behind to realise that she wasn't alone, but when she finally noticed the tall, dark figure, she nearly dropped her candle with a shriek.
"Did I scare you?" chuckled Gaston, as he leapt gracefully off the table he's been standing on.
"On no, not at all..." she breathed, pressing a hand against her stomach. "I screamed in joy to see you!"
Whether he noticed the sarcasm in her voice or not, he nodded with a smug smile.
"What are you doing here?" she asked. "I thought we were closed."
"You are," he said with a shrug. "LeFou was too drunk to get on a horse, so I decided to take a room for the night too, and came down to take one more look," he went on, motioning towards the ceiling with the candles he was holding.
"Come on," he said after a moment of silence, wrapping his fingers around her arm and pulling her along as he strode towards the tables. "We need more light."
He only let go of her when he first stepped on the nearest bench, then on top of the table, turning around and offering her a hand to help her join him. Being the one who had been putting tankard after tankard in front of him all night, at first she thought him to be completely fuddled with drink, but when she was finally standing beside him, it all started to make sense. Even more so, when he lifted his candles as high as he could, tightening his grip around her hand to urge her to follow his example.
The fire in the hearth was dying quickly now that there was no one to take care of it, but with the light of their combined candles, they could make out most of the painting right above their heads.
"Isn't it beautiful?" he sighed.
"Yes. Georgeous," she agreed, and her choice of words made his grin grow even wider. "Do you have a favourite yet?" she asked pleasantly.
"Of course!"
It didn't surprise her at all that he motioned towards the one on which he stood with his defeated enemies and an admiring LeFou at his feet, with sword held up high and coat swishing in the wind of victory.
"Shall we take a closer look?" he suggested.
The next table was close enough for him to get over on it with a long step, but with shorter legs like hers, she needed more momentum. "Give me some space," she demanded, and as he backed away from the edge, she put her candle down and tucked her hair behind her ears with a determined smile before taking a leap.
Being a knight in shining armour as ever, he caught her by the wrist when she reached the side helpfully, and pulled her close. "Gotcha," he whispered, as she steadied herself by placing her free hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, thank you," she said, then turned to the side without missing a beat. But since they were still standing too close to each other to do it any other way, she put her arm around his waist and let him do the same, even though the tip of his fingers came dangerously close to the side of her breast. That happened often enough when dancing with tall men, not to be bothered by it, because she loved both dancing and tall men.
"So, what do you think?" he asked, raising his free hand to bring the light closer to the picture, but never taking his eyes off her.
"It's magnificent," she replied, making sure to actually look at it first. "But there are too many corpses on it for me."
Her remark made him laugh, but as he finally turned his eyes to the picture too, his expression changed completely. "That's what war's like," he said with a deep sigh. "Corpses."
Five years of peace meant that by know she knew all the war stories he or any of the other heroes had to tell. She expected either the one involving the Portuguese scouts or the one in which he saved LeFou's life by taking a bullet to the shoulder to come up, but no matter how long she waited, it never came.
She looked up at him again.
"Hey," she called out to him, running her hand up and down his side to distract him from whatever his eyes were seeing instead of his own portrait.
He tensed for a moment, but as he managed to snap out of it, he turned to look down on her with a smile that showed too many teeth to be entirely genuine. "Hey," he whispered hoarsely, and before she could have asked if everything was all right, he threw the candle to the floor where it went out instantly on the cold stone surface, then pulled her even closer and bent his neck to kiss her.
She knew for a fact that she was far from being the only woman in town who received her first kiss from Gaston de Villeneuve. She had been fifteen and he sixteen, but his technique remained more or less the same, the key elements being clashing teeth and a tongue never waiting for an invitation.
Oddly enough, now, more than a decade later she didn't find it unpleasant or disgusting at all, and yet, when he finally released her lips she did the same thing she did back then: slapped him so hard his head snapped to the side.
"Ouch," he said with a chuckle, rubbing his cheek.
"Yeah..." she mumbled, flexing her fingers with a frown. But he kept his free hand on her waist and she didn't release her grip on the front of his shirt either, so it was only natural that after a moment or so he leaned in and kissed her again.
It wasn't long before his lips left hers again, only to travel down her throat, and so she soon found herself torn between the urge to taunt him about staying so close in fear of getting slapped again or to warn him not to leave marks. Yet, when she opened her mouth to speak, the truth slipped out: "I want you!"
He lifted his head slowly and with a grin. "Right here?" he mused in a throaty whisper, cupping her backside with both hands to pull her closer.
As much as she would have loved to be taken then and there, she patted his arm with a smile and moved to free herself from his embrace. He let her go without a word, but followed her closely as she climbed down from the table and went to retreive her candle from the next, before she headed towards the stairs. He even did the courtesy of not stomping too hard on the way upstairs and waking the whole house, and it surprised her immensely. She never would have thought him to be capable of walking with steps so light.
"Which one?" She stopped as they reached the corridor of the guestrooms.
He snatched the candle from her, took her by the hand and lead her towards the one at the very end, shutting and bolting the door behind them as soon as they entered.
"Where were we?" He put the candle on the table so that he could pin her against the door properly for a kiss.
Since there was no use starting to act shy now, she sighed into the kiss, reached for the buttons on his waistcoat and started undoing them one by one, easing the whole garment off him with a caress when she was done with them. He seemed to enjoy her confidence and even helped her by raising his arms when it was time for his shirt to go.
"Does it scare you?" he asked in a low voice and with the oddest of expressions as he caught her eyes lingering over the scar on his left shoulder, just under the collarbone. She could tell he was slightly uneasy about the mark the bullet and the surgeon's tools had left behind, whilst hiding it almost perfectly behind the mask of pride over the fact that he received it in the War.
"Not at all," she said simply, running a finger across it, which earned her a sharp intake of breath from him. As she couldn't be entirely sure if it was a sign of pleasure or discomfort, she quickly put her palms against his chest instead and raised herself onto her tiptoes to place a kiss on his lips. It proved to be a good enough distraction, and he wrapped her in his arms eagerly to pull her closer and to start undoing the laces of her bodice.
He worked with surprising speed and dexterity, she had to give him that.
Soon it hung open all the way down her spine, and although they never broke the kiss, she could feel his hands moving on to remove the rest of her clothing too. He rid her of her apron and skirt easily enough, but when he gave the ties of her drawers a sharp, annoyed tug, she quickly untangled her fingers from his hair and helped him out so that he wouldn't have to tear the whole garment off her.
She also slid the strap of her bodice off her shoulders and let it fall to their feet before she put her arms around his neck again, so when he pushed her against the door, only the thin fabric of her shift remained between her skin and his touch. One of her shoes fell from her foot when he lifted her off the ground and she wrapped her still stockinged legs around his waist, and the other, she kicked off as he carried her across the room.
And when he finally deposited her on the bed, she quickly got rid of the shift too.
"God, you're beautiful," he grunted, kneeling between her legs and opening his breeches.
His remark nearly made her blush, so as he positioned himself over her, she took his face between her hands, and gave him a sweet kiss and a low moan as he entered her.
He started taking her slowly, caressing her side and breasts whilst keeping most of his weight off her by perching himself on an elbow, and it made her pull her knees higher and her toes curl with pleasure.
Then he raised himself slightly, grabbing the headboard with one hand and her hip with the other so that he could gain more leverage and watch her writhe beneath him. It also happened to give her a better view of him, especially as she let go of his shoulders and held on to his waist instead, digging her nails in whenever he gave her a really hard thrust and digging them in really deep when she finally came with a cry.
"That's it," he whispered with a wolfish grin as he let go of the headboard and carressed her side.
He put both hands on her hips to hold her firmly while he buried himself into her a few more times before pulling away with a groan so that he would instead release his seed on the inner side of her thigh rather than inside her, then smearing it away with another caress as he leaned in for a final kiss.
She watched with a sigh as he rolled off her to sit on the edge of the bed while he pulled off his boots. She loved seeing the marks of her fingernails had made on the small of his back, and loved it even more when he stretched himself out next to her again, putting one arm under his head and the other under hers.
"You're a treasure," he whispered after a long silence, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger playfully.
"I know!" she chuckled.
Then on a whim she turned to her side so that her face would rest against his shoulder. She could tell it surprised him, but when she placed her hand over his heart, he simply took it into his own and kept it there, while he pressed his chin against her forehead.
Even though it felt strange to stay, she didn't want to go, so she pulled the covers higher up on themselves and willed herself to close her eyes and not think of her husband, who had gone to the War with the other men of Villeneuve and never returned. Or of her mother-in-law, who insisted that since there was no body, and none of his comrades saw him fall on the battlefield, he must have somehow survived, condemning her to remain the wife of a ghost.
"A real treasure," he murmured sleepily, and she couldn't help fidgeting closer with a smile when she could finally feel his breath evening out and his arm relaxing over her shoulder. She's been missing sharing a bed with someone for five years, so she meant to enjoy it, even if it was only for one night.
Thank you for reading!
It's been ages since I've last published anything, but I still love reviews. :)
Also: Sam, you're the best!