Hello, amis!
I had this idea last night at 1 in the morning and it wouldn't let go of me, so I jotted down a few bullet points, slept on it, and typed it about an hour ago! I really hope you like it…I'm not a big shipper of É/M, but I really like them in this chapter if I do say so myself. And I do.
I would love it if you left me a review!
She Could Only Nod
Éponine + Montparnasse
A mournful sight was Montparnasse. Montparnasse was a child; less than twenty, with a pretty face, lips like cherries, charming black locks, the glow of spring in his eyes; he had all the vices and aspired to all the crimes. The digestion of what was bad gave him an appetite for what was worse. He was the gamin turned vagabond and the vagabond become an assassin. He was genteel, effeminate, graceful, robust, weak and ferocious…Few prowlers were so much feared as Montparnasse. At eighteen, he had already left several corpses on his track. Frizzled, pomaded, with slender waist, hips like a woman, the bust of a Prussian officer, a buzz of admiration about him from the girls of the boulevard... such was this charmer of the sepulcher.
"'Parnasse!" Éponine hissed, jogging slightly to keep up with the young man's strides. "Montparnasse, wait!" But he kept walking, hurriedly making his ways through the streets, down the darkest alleyways of Paris on his way back home. Éponine had spotted him lurking behind a small home as she roamed the city streets that night, looking particularly suspicious, and the way he had jumped when she whispered his name confirmed her thoughts; what had he done this time?
Montparnasse looked over his shoulder, disregarding Éponine as she tried to catch up, before swiftly ducking under a small stone arch and all but flying down the set of stone steps below it. Éponine tried capturing his attention once more when she reached the foot of the steps. "I'm not moving until you tell me what's going on."
Montparnasse whirled around, his face a mere foot from Éponine's, startling her. "Then see if I come back for you," he growled, turning on his heel and ducking into a small outcropping of rock and disappearing into the darkness. Éponine narrowed her eyes, but followed him anyway. Minding her head, she stooped low as Montparnasse had done and found herself in a dirty alcove lit by a dying fire, next to which an older man stood, facing the stone wall. Éponine stood beside Montparnasse, who threw an arm across her chest to stop her from going any further and held a finger to his lips, his eyes dark and unreadable. Then, he stepped towards the man, clearing his throat. The man turned around, and even in the minimal light provided by the flickering fire, Éponine could see the cloudiness of his eyes, the jagged scar that ran from his left temple, across his nose, and over his right cheek. He was blind and disfigured, and the sight turned Éponine's stomach in knots.
"It is done," Montparnasse said in a low voice.
"Are you sure?"
"Quite, Monsieur."
The man nodded before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a leather pouch that, judging by the jingling sound it made, must have contained at least thirty francs. After a moment, Montparnasse stuffed the pouch in his pocket and exited the alcove, giving Éponine a burning look. She ducked out after him, heart racing. Montparnasse grabbed her forcefully by the arm when they were both outside, half-dragging her up the steps down which they'd come, face set in a grimace. Éponine could already feel the bruises forming where his fingers clenched her upper arm through his black gloves, but she dared not make a sound until they reached home. Finally, after what seemed like hours navigating the maze of back alleyways, Montparnasse banged once, twice, thrice on the wooden door of the small, dilapidated, abandoned house that he, Éponine, and the Thérnadiers hid out in. Éponine's father, recognizing the signal, opened the door and Montparnasse burst in.
"Upstairs, Thérnadier," he commanded. Éponine drew in a sharp breath; no one gave her father orders under his own roof—if you could call it that. However, Montparnasse was capable of being quite terrifying, and Éponine almost pitied her father as he ran upstairs to escape the daggers shooting from the eyes of the younger man. Almost. After he was sure Thérnadier had gone, Montparnasse hurried to the water basin, pulling off his gloves and leaving Éponine in the doorway.
"What the hell was that about?" she demanded, referring to the man in the alcove and rubbing her arm as she stood beside him. "I'm speaking to you!" Montparnasse whirled, and Éponine shank back a little under his gaze, dropping her eyes only to have them fall upon his hands, which were stained with what was unmistakably blood. Éponine stiffened.
"I had business to take care of," Montparnasse replied, turning the water red as he washed his hands. Éponine took a step back, pressing her back against the wall, then turned the corner into the tiny bedroom she had shared with Montparnasse ever since he'd joined her father in his raids. She heard the floorboards creak as Montparnasse entered the room, shrugging off his overcoat. Éponine turned to him warily, shadows flickering across both their faces once more in the candlelit room. He loosened his cravat and discarded it on the bed.
"You're a murderer," Éponine accused. Montparnasse cast his eyes downwards for a moment, attesting to the statement in silence. She knew not what Montparnasse's justification for killing a man was. She knew only that he had done so by his own choice; her father, though cold-hearted and a thief, never went so far as to end a life. "It was for that man, wasn't it? He paid you," Éponine hissed, still rubbing her arm. Montparnasse frowned.
"Let me take a look at that," he whispered, reaching out to her. Éponine flinched away. "Shhh," Montparnasse said, his voice much softer now they were inside familiar walls. Éponine held out her arm to him, where a series of small bruises were already evident. Gently, Montparnasse touched the marks, looking at them from a few different angles, his calloused hands soothing the same place they'd marred. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he said, his hand sliding down Éponine's arm to grasp hers. Softly, he stroked her hand with his thumb, his face far less stony. He was really quite handsome, albeit frightening. "You must know that I have more than one way of bringing in the coin, 'Ponine." Éponine's eyes flickered to his face when she heard him use her nickname. "Your father…he doesn't understand why thievery isn't enough. Not for me anyway." He paused, still looking at their clasped hands. Then, he flicked his eyes up to meet Éponine's. "Do you understand me, 'Ponine?"
Time and time again, Éponine had warned herself not to fall victim to Montparnasse; the way he could make the change from murderer to seducer in a matter of minutes was dangerous, and Éponine knew it. Yet time and time again, she found her heart beating erratically, Montparnasse's breath tickling her skin as his lips danced across her shoulder blades, his deft hands untying the strings of her thin dress as he stood behind her, his body pressed against her back, one arm wrapped around her, resting on her hipbone.
"Do you?" Montparnasse repeated, his voice like silk. Éponine felt a blush creep up her cheeks, wishing he'd back away yet longing for more of his touch. She could only nod, closing her eyes as Montparnasse brushed a strand of hair off her face. He softly pressed his lips against Éponine's, and after a moment of pause, she returned the gesture. "Of course you do," he whispered in her ear, sending shivers down Éponine's spine and all throughout her body. Their lips met again, and this time Éponine did not hesitate to kiss back. His lips tasted of sin and lust, both of which Éponine had come to accept more as blessings than as curses. Only Montparnasse could have this kind of effect on her, this daunting attraction. Only 'Parnasse.
Éponine lay on her side, wide awake, the sheets of the old bed cool on her naked skin. The candle flame was mesmerizing, she'd realized, after lying awake watching it burn down the wick for what felt like hours. She'd thought Montparnasse was asleep as well, until he rested his hand on her waist, running it along her side and snaking it around the front of her body, coming to rest just below her breasts. He kissed the crook of her neck and she could feel the contours of his body pressed against her back and rolled over slightly to look at that youthful face. Sometimes she wished such a handsome man hadn't gone to waste on crime and hate, but it was always during her nights with him that she saw some part of him still succumbed to pleasures of the heart. She didn't quite face him, yet their eyes met and Montparnasse drew his thumb along Éponine's cheek as if he were wiping away a tear.
"Do you love me, ma mie?"
Éponine could still see the chill hidden in Montparnasse's eyes. She could still feel the cold blood running through his veins, and she could still sense the ice in his heart that refused to be melted, even by the fire they'd created.
Yet she could only nod.
Hope you liked it! Let me know what you liked, what you didn't, what kind of thing you want me to write next…I wanna know!