This story is dedicated to Tep, who taught me that such things did happen, and that there are ways to heal.
"Oh, Marius!" Cosette exclaimed. The tentative pressure of his tongue on her nipple was like nothing she had ever felt. She looked down, caressing the back of his head, and he looked up at her with a shy smile creasing the side of his eyes as he kept up the gentle strokes. She leaned back on her elbows, tilting her head up to look at the drapings over the bed, and then she closed her eyes and relaxed into Marius's ministrations.
The first week of her marriage had been much harder than she had imagined it would be.
Despite her worry as Marius struggled to recover from his wounds, their courtship had been a period of delight for Cosette. There were times when his eyes grew distant, when she knew he was thinking of his friends, but with a hand on his cheek, she could draw him back. As the days went on, far more often his eyes were on her. She nursed him in his recovery and brought him presents of books and writing paper. He gave her flowers and wrote her small poems, for which he apologized profusely as his ears turned bright red. While the shadow of the barricade occasionally darkened their time together, as time went on, there was laughter and stories and plans for the future.
On the night of their wedding they climbed the stairs to the rooms that would now be theirs, holding hands and laughing at some joke that a distant cousin of Marius had made before they left the party. Cosette knew that Marius would expect certain things of her, but she was not entirely clear what those things were. When he came up behind her and wrapped her in his arms, she had relaxed into those arms, strong once more, and felt safe. When he brushed her hair over her opposite shoulder, she had tilted her head and let him kiss her neck. The tremor of pleasure that washed over her, shooting straight through her to places she had never felt before, was so unexpected, so delightful, she had moaned in pleasure. Against her back, through all the layers of clothes, she felt him grow hard and press against her.
When he let her go and started to unlace her dress, she laughed as he struggled with the fastenings, but coached him through it. She turned and looked at his face as the dress slid off her shoulders, leaving her standing in her corset and petticoats. She stepped close to him as she unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt. Spreading the layers of fabric, she ran her hands down his bare chest, marveling at the soft skin beneath her fingers. Hesitantly, she reached down and unbuttoned his pants. They slid over his buttocks and she and looked at his cock, sticking out from his body. It was a little frightening, but it was Marius's and Marius would never hurt her. Too eager to finish undressing, she laid back on the bed and Marius climbed on top of her. They kissed and he ran his hands up her legs, lifting her petticoats up to her hips. Her skin seemed to come alive where he touched, erupting in a burst of delight.
And then, it had all gone wrong. He entered her and a rough stick, a thorny rose stem, was shoved inside her. She screamed and cried; she was suffocating. She pushed on him to get off, beating impotently with balled fists against his back.
She was eight and 'sieur had her pinned beneath his weight. He was over her, his horrible breath in her face. She had pushed and beat on him with tiny first and cried and it had done no good. No, no…please 'sieur! Please! It hurts!" He had laughed at her efforts, pinning her wrists with one hand as he forced her. "
Suddenly, she was free and she had sat up and pulled away. When Marius's hand reached out for her, she yanked away, but then she saw him. His confused, hurt face had looked at her and she had remembered where she was, who she was with. With tears in her eyes, she had buried herself in his arms. "I am sorry…I am so sorry…" he had said, over and over again. She cried herself out, wrapped in his trembling arms.
Later, when she calmed down, she sat up and looked into his face. He was crying, too, big silent tears. "I do not understand," he whispered. "What did I do?"
She closed her eyes and turned away.
Hesitantly, he reached out and lightly touched her shoulder. "I was told it might hurt you," he said softly, "but I do not think it was supposed to be like that. I am so sorry, Cosette."
She looked down at her hands, tracing her fingers over the smooth skin on her wrists, "It was not your fault, Marius. I remembered a something from long ago."
She was standing before Papa, Papa who was on his knees and looking her in the eye, "We do not speak of our scars, Cosette. Promise me," he said. "I promise, Papa," she answered.
After that day, that day when Papa had showed her his wrists and his back, they had never spoken of the scars again. She had, on occasion, asked about his, but he had always refused. He had never asked her about what life had been like with the Thénardiers. On any other topic, all other topics, they could talk and laugh and even bicker, but their lives before they came together were off limits. Then there had been that frightening day when they were out on a walk and they had seen carts of prisoners and Papa had gone strange. She had been so worried for him as he had gone glassy-eyed and would not respond.
A week before the wedding, Papa had come to her room while she was brushing her hair and had sat on the edge of her bed. For a long time, he had just looked at her with a look she did not understand. He had seemed so quiet, so distant these last few weeks. Finally he spoke.
"Cosette," he had said, "once you are married, if your husband asks you something, you must tell him. Even if it is about me, or about your past. Your promises to me, the promise you made not to speak of those things…" He had shrugged. "You must honor him. Do you understand?" She had not understood, but she had nodded anyway. With that he had stood and walked over to her. He had stroked her cheek, cupping it in his hand as she had looked up at him. She had put her hand over his, feeling the ridged flesh on his wrists that she still could not explain. There was that expression, that expression she could not read again. "Good girl," he had whispered to her. "Brave girl." With that, he had left, leaving her baffled.
On her wedding night, she suddenly understood what Papa had been telling her. Hesitantly, slowly, through her tears, she told Marius of what had been done to her when she was a little girl, before she had come into her Papa's care. Marius, who had not known such things were possible, cried again with her. That night, she fell asleep in his arms on a pillow damp with both of their tears.
A day passed, and another. Marius was gentle with her, kind and patient. They decided to try again. They kissed and Cosette had given herself to sensation, focusing her whole being on Marius, on now. "Brave girl," she told herself. She unbuttoned Marius's shirt and ran her hands over his chest. He took off her dress and shift and with a tentative, admiring touch, he ran his hands down her naked chest for the first time, sending a shiver through her as his hand trailed a line between her breasts, across her stomach. Scooting in closer, he trailed his fingers up her arm and his fingers found the two old burn scars on her arm. They were smaller now, smooth and shiny and hard and Marius had stopped. The mood broken, he sat back and looked at her arm. "How did this happen?"
She looked down. "You must honor your husband," Papa had said.
Before she could answered, Marius added, "Who did this to you?" his voice dangerously quiet.
Taking refuge in the easy question, she whispered, "Madame. Madame Thénardier."
"Are there other scars?" Marius demanded.
She heard her father's voice, "some scars can be seen" and she nodded to Marius. "Yes," she had said and she had showed him the ones that could be seen.
They had never gotten back to their lovemaking that night. She had fallen asleep, wrapped in Marius's arms.
Two days later, she had sat on a window seat, silently staring out the window. When he had come over to her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, she had felt the tears come to her eyes. "What is wrong?" he had asked. She shook her head. "Do you think me ugly, Marius? Because of…because of…"
"Oh! Cosette….no. Never," he had answered. He had pulled her into a hug, a fierce hug and then let her go. "I…I was angry."
She turned away and felt the tears roll down her face.
Marius moved in front of her and put his hand on her knee. "What's wrong? What did I do now?"
When she spoke, her voice sounded hollow. "I did not mean to make you angry," she whispered.
Marius blinked and then stammered, "No. No! Not at you, never, my love." She looked back at him. "No, never you. Those beasts. They make me so…." He clenched his fist.
She reached out and took the fist in her hands, holding it lightly. "We are done with them," she said softly. "Now it is just us."
Slowly, a smile came to his face and he relaxed his fist. Reaching up to touch her cheek, he said softly, "You are right." Cosette moved over to make room for him on the window seat and he sat next to her, putting his arm around her. "I do not want to hurt you, my love. I do not know what to do, what will please you."
Brave girl. Strong girl. She looked up at him, "Shall we find out together? I think, if we go slow…If I can feel…not trapped."
With a smile, Marius took her hand. "Well, my love, let's find out. You will tell me if…if…"
Cosette had nodded. "Yes."
And that is how she found herself sitting on the bed as Marius licked her nipples. With a shy smile, he told her to scoot back and draw her knees up on the bed, and he kissed his way down her belly until he was between her legs. She felt his breath on her and the rush of blood made her eyes grow dim for a moment. "Marius" she moaned. And then, what followed left her panting and lightheaded as her hands and feet tingled. She reached down between her legs to touch his head. He looked up at her. For a moment, their eyes met – her eyes full of longing and his full of delight. When she shuddered and cried out, he kissed his way up her body, finishing by pressing his mouth to hers, his tongue reaching into her mouth, the smell of her still on his lips. He was careful not to put all his weight on her, but to lay off to the side. On her leg, she felt his hardness on her thigh, but he did not make any move to use it.
"Lie back," she told him and he rolled on his back. Laying next to him, she drew her hand down his chest, reaching out to gently, curiously, touch him. She stroked his hard length and she smiled as he arched up to her touch. Encouraged, she explored his body. She wrapped her hand it and then bent to put an experimental kiss on its head. She felt him stroke her hair.
"You can stop, if you want," Marius said.
She looked at him. "Why would I want to stop?"
"If you, you know."
"Do you want me to stop?" she asked.
She watched as his face turned red. "No."
"Well then," she grinned at him as she climbed over him, straddling his leg with her knees and planting her hands on his chest. She bent to kiss his nipples.
"We have a lifetime to figure this out, my love."
She smiled warmly at Marius. "Do they ever heal, Papa? Do the marks ever go away?" she had asked her father. "Yes," he had said. "with time and patience and love, sometimes they do heal." Thank you, Papa, she thought.
"Yes," he replied. "A lifetime."
A huge thank you to the incredible MissM who both prompted the story to start with and beta'ed it for me. Her input significantly improved the flow and readability of the story.
I am pretty sure that I did not do this story justice, but I ran out of steam to work and re-work it and to sufficiently deepen my understanding of the characters.