A/N: I'm starting to really love my version of Quasi, based on David Jakobs' performance in Der Glockner von Notre Dame, though I'm German so I might be slightly biased. Hope you enjoy! :)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Belle mutely followed her new husband up the stairwell to their tower loft and upon setting foot on the top level of the mezzanine, the first thing she noticed was it was surprisingly warm and the smell of spiced wine greeted her like an old, long-lost friend. Shadows danced, flickering in the light, playing hide and seek among the lit fire that someone (probably Alice had snuck up here following the ceremony's end if she had to hazard a guess) had lit for the pair of newlyweds.

The fire was her and Quasi's tiny sun for the evening, as was the tête-à-tête. The flames cast long shadows throughout the living section of the tower loft.

The flames curled and swayed, flicking this way and that, crackling as they burned the dry wood. It was good to feel their warmth at last, even if it was only from one direction, Belle thought. The cinders glowed near the cushions, a five-pronged candle was lit on the man's carving table, which had been cleared away.

A slice of grain cake and a tin flagon of what smelled like the spiced wine and a chalice of water rested on the table next to the candle holder, dark as night.

In the corner of the room rested Quasi's sleeping nook, and though she had never once set foot inside, she could see the simple makeshift mattress, blankets, and pillows that her husband (and now her, she supposed) would sleep on at night.

At this, her insides coiled, and she repressed a shiver of anticipated frustration and desire that traveled down her spine, feeling beads of sweat form and start to gather on her temples. Sister Alice had said the act was pleasurable.

Was she ready for this? The love of a good man? She knew deep down in the recesses of her heart that Quasi would never harm her, never betray her trust, or force her to do something that she was not ready or comfortable for or with.

Just this simple thought plastered a quiet vibration that prickled and crawled under Belle's flesh.

She had confided in Alice her worries, about how she had known nothing but abuse at Gaston's hand when she'd been married to him, and the nun who was admittedly something of a former prostitute in her younger years had done her best to assuage the young inventor's daughter's worries of it.

It was said to be so pleasurable that men would pay women for it, hand over their hard-earned gold and silver coins, farthings, and shillings alike, for the 'pit' between a woman's thighs. Belle had no mother figure in her life to discuss with her the nature of these things growing up.

Maurice had done his best, but she had begun to curse her own body the day Gaston Dupont took an interest in her. And now, here she was, married to a man who, although in her own way, she loved, she knew that she had made herself even further an outcast in society, that it was more a marriage of convenience, political pageantry in order to prevent Belle from being cast out onto the streets as an expectant soon-to-be mother in nine months, widowed status notwithstanding.

Her marriage to Notre Dame's sole bell ringer was, no matter what way she spun it, convenient, though she hoped that in time, Quasi would see that Belle genuinely cared for him and loved him.

People had said all throughout her life, especially in the village that she was bright, smart, too smart for her own good, a beauty but a funny girl, they called her. Beautiful. Belle furrowed her dark brows into a frown and bit the inside wall of her cheek at that remark. Beautiful.

Her?! Lies, vicious, slanderous lies, all of it. If that were not the case, she would not have been forced to wed Gaston then.

Belle's gaze drifted towards that of her new husband, whose back was facing away from her and he had taken a seat on one of the cushions of the tête-à-tête.

His face was not necessarily princely, she observed. Not in the classic way that she enjoyed reading about in her precious books when she immersed herself in the fictional world to escape the harsh reality of her own for that precious while. No.

But Quasi had the build of a man she once imagined embracing, back when she was a stupid girl with stupid dreams about loving a man and being loved in return.

Despite the man's physical attributes, the contusion over his left browbone and the small hump near the man's right shoulder that did not impede his ability to walk normally nor stand up straight at his full height of 5'9 and tower over Belle, it did not change the fact that the cathedral's bell ringer had a handsome face if you were willing to see past the contusion, though she had to admit that the man's best qualities were his thick tuft of coarse red hair that fell to the right side of his face, shielding his eyes from view, and his eyes.

A brilliant cobalt blue, crystalline, but suspicious as he regarded his new wife as Belle moved slowly to join him by his side and sit.

His eyes were like fire trying to be extinguished without a prayer's hope in the world of doing so.

He seemed so innocent and pure, and the poor man practically jumped out of his skin with a misfounded skittishness as her left hand drifted over his and settled there, and she studied the glinting yellow gold of their wedding rings as the light from the ember flames of the fire reflected the material.

"Do you like it, Belle? My…our tower…your…your new home, Belle." His soft, tenor-like voice startled Belle out of her swirl of confusing thoughts which were raging like a screaming vortex in her mind. Belle could not help but to swivel her head slowly to the side and blink owlishly at the cathedral's bell ringer.

She did not know how long Quasi had been staring at her like this, while had seemingly allowed her mind to wander while she stared into the flames of the fire. There was no hint of a hopeful smile on his face. No amusement, no excitement, just a strange sense of trepidation and apprehension for his new wife.

It alarmed Belle if she was being honest with herself. She looked around to the left and right, and bolted from her feet and grabbed the slice of grain cake and the tin flagon of spiced wine and scurried back to her husband's side, cutting the cake in half and pouring Quasi a chalice of wine and some for herself as well.

She nodded mutely, swallowing hard past the lump in her throat and silently handed him the plate with the slice of grain cake. "Good," was all he answered, his voice echoing and warbling slightly, which she thought rather strange. "I—I want you to be happy, Belle." He raised the flagon of wine to his lips and drank.

Quasi rose to stand and wobbled slightly but immediately corrected himself and stood up taller, prouder.

"I…" His voice trailed off and Belle did not even have to follow his gaze to determine where he was looking like his gaze lingered and settled upon his sleeping nook. "I will not force you to…to do anything you don't want to," he confessed, his voice sounding pained as he slammed the chalice of wine down on the carving table, his knuckles bone white with the effort to steady himself as he clutched onto the wooden surface for support to right himself.

Belle furrowed her brows into a frown. "Quasi, are you all right?" she asked, but her new husband waved her off instead and slowly turned around to face her.

"What do you think of me, Belle? Please. I…I have to know," he said.

Belle blinked owlishly at the sudden shift in Quasi's mood, shivering slightly at his query, at the unfamiliar harsh and coldness of his words, before she came to the realization that he believed that for whatever reason, that she hated him.

It could not have been further from the truth. Belle pursed her lips into a thin line and strode over to him and wrapped her arms around his middle, intent on making him see the truth, and still, she saw Quasi unmoved, stiff, and rigid.

Though she emanated a tense exhale of relief, her shoulders sagging slightly as she felt his arms come up and encircle hers, his chin resting on the top of her head. At this moment, he found the young woman in his ironclad embrace to be the most beautiful, delectable creature he'd ever had the wonder to behold with his wolfish, wretched sight. The smooth skin of her prominent collarbones was truly delish against his scarred and slightly calloused palms, but he craved it.

Quasi swallowed thickly with a sudden craving for his wife in front of him.

His wife. Just even thinking that word felt surreal. Something that he never thought God would see fit to bless him within his miserable, wretched life.

"Beautiful," Quasi heard himself whisper against her hair, his chin resting on top of her head, yearning to speak the words that lingered in his heart.

"Mmm?" Belle inquired, sounding slightly sleepy, still nestled comfortably in the comfort of his embrace.

"You."

"Really?" Her voice sounded muffled, far away, and slightly startled at the honesty of his one-worded response. Belle shifted slightly in his arms, pulling back slightly to study his face, and Quasi was relieved to see a little color had returned to her face.

Quasi nodded mutely, not needing to say a word, smiling gently, and reaching out a careful hand to caress her cheek and tuck a stray strand of her hair back where it belonged. "Yes." The thought and mere sight of her this beautifully confused at his confession, needing validation from him surged a power that began to fill in the confines of his wretched chest and between his legs, one the monster that lay dormant within his chest could not ignore, and he heard himself give a low, guttural growl of wanton restraint and desire. "I…want you, Belle. If you will have me."

And, not giving his new wife a chance to respond, he silently moved towards the woman who held his heart and gently pulled her shoulder forward so that Belle was now facing him. His hands landed on the cloth draped above her shoulder, feeling the smooth silkiness of her sky-blue wedding dress.

She looked almost ethereal, pale skin cut from pearls, the blue fabric almost glowing in the dark, white against a pitch-black as the only source of light came from a beam of moonlight that streamed in through the window from behind a cloud. Quasi frowned, biting down on his tongue hard enough to bleed, doing his best to resist the monster's growling and straining against its iron-wrought restraints in his chest, and he clenched his eyes tightly shut in ire.

This monster's name was Lust. Desire, a wanton ache that swelled as fire deep within the pit of his chest, and Frollo's words rang in his ears.

You must fight these feelings. Wickedness and lust were what killed your parents, boy.

"Why…why do you love me, Quasi?" Belle whispered desperately, her hands reaching up for his and tracing over the self-inflicted bites and scratches, connecting them all with invisible lines like scattered points on an old map.

She gazed up at Quasi with those hauntingly eerie dark brown eyes, her serene expression forever drenching his memory, and he felt himself drowning then. "How could I not?" Quasi heard himself reply quietly, cutting her cheek in his hand and forcing her head upwards, forcing Belle to meet his hard gaze.

He took the opportunity to study his wife's eyes. Quasi was struck by their coldness, like a stab of ice. Every detail in her iris so clear, so concise.

For his lack of words, Belle was like a piece of art that nobody could understand. And how could God do justice to a masterpiece like Belle that was already, in his eyes, perfect? How?! Belle frowned at the answer he gave and looked away.

Quasi dropped his hand from her cheek, not sure what to do with his hands, though the inner monster within him was growling his displeasure, and he thought for a moment he would hear himself roar in frustration at the lack of skin-to-skin contact, his fingers gave a twitch, his hands urging him to explore every inch. There were many things he loved about the young woman in front of him. He loved the fading sunset behind those brown orbs.

The light that danced through her soft chocolate hair, the sadness from a hard life nestled in the creases of her milky white palms.

Quasi loved all of Belle. Not just the parts that made sense, not just the parts she'd shown him during the months of their partnership and then their relationship. Quasi loved all parts of his wife that he did not yet understand, the parts that weighed on her shoulders, the parts that only Quasi noticed when he stole glances at Belle during the silences that befell them both when he thought she didn't see.

"How could I not like you, Belle?" Quasi inhaled a sharp breath of air and wrapped his arms around her waist, and the softness and gentle touch of his arm against her neck made her back tingle through the material of her gown.

They did not speak, because, in their own way, they were already communicating.

There was so much in Quasi's silence, so much that Quasi just would not say to Belle. Belle could see by his expression there was a lot ruminating through his mind, but if she were to ask him, he would most likely just tell her how her beauty had bewitched him, ensnared him somehow.

But somehow, Belle knew that she would always be safe with Quasi, even if he did keep his secrets. Loving him did not give Belle the right to know every single one of his pains and doubts, to rummage through the wreckage of the man's mind. Some scars were invisible.

She knew he carried his share, as did she. Belle said nothing at first, opting instead to slip her hand into his and stood in silence, just the two of them, connected. Belle moved her head closer to Quasi.

He stood frozen, both from intense fear and exhilaration.

She leaned in, so her forehead rested against his. She closed her eyes and he followed suit, content to just bask in the newfound moment. "Thank you," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. "For everything you've done for me, Quasi."

"For what?" he asked, his voice low and husky, and heavy with desire for his wife, she who had stolen his heart before he'd even known that it was gone, and it made them about even. "I've done nothing. I haven't."

Belle scoffed and smiled at him, her soft smile sending his heart reeling against the confines of his chest. "For being you." Her voice wavered, exhilarated from the almost unbearable tension between them. She reached up and intertwined their fingers together.

He startled a little at the sudden jolt of warmth that seemed to pass through his body, but he liked the heat she gave off.

"You have done what no one else in this world seemed capable of doing around me. You have accepted me for who I am, Quasi," Belle explained. "Not for who you or anybody else wanted me to be. You don't see…all this and think it's too much for you to handle," she grumbled, gesturing to herself as she tugged on a lock of her hair and pulled a face. "You let me be myself, something not many people allow. So many times, throughout my life so far, I could…never truly be myself around anyone else. Not once have you told me that I was not good enough for you or pretty enough for you. You've never asked me to change how I look."

At her last comment, her voice cracked and broke, and she swallowed hard past the lump forming in her throat, looking away.

It broke Quasi's heart, to see Belle this way. It hurt as hell. He shook his head in disbelief gently and caressed her cheek with the pads of his thumb. Quasi hesitated and bit his bottom lip in a fit of angst.

"Of course, I care for you, just as you are, and nothing more. I...do...I... I just…I just want you to be happy, and why…why could you want me? You could have anyone you wanted, and you're here right now with me. A monster. An accursed wretch. A curse on society. Why?" he whispered into the shell of her ear and was given virtually no time to react as Belle had practically to reach up on her tiptoes in order to gently lean in and kiss his warm lips, surprising Quasi.

She pulled apart first, taking shallow, shaky breaths. She bit her bottom lip in that way she always did whenever she was nervous, but if only Belle knew just how much it drove his mind insane with lust. He drew in a breath and traced the outline of her lips with a single finger that was shaking slightly.

"How could I not?" Belle echoed, a wry little smile on her lips as she stepped back.

He gazed at the woman he was now married to, his glistening cobalt blue eyes fierce yet not with anger or rage, but with something else Belle could not identify, though it was familiar. Quasi's hands moved from her shoulder blades to the top of her shoulders, holding her firmly in place.

"I…I care about you, Belle. With everything that I am, though I know that I am nothing at all." God, how he wanted to say those three magical words, but he could not bring himself to say it to her yet. They carried much weight and intensity and were three precious of words that should not be uttered lightly, without any meaning.

Belle stood there, her eyes widening with shock and surprise, but upon hearing Quasi's words, she instantly rose to Quasi's defense, angry that he viewed himself so very little. "You truly hold such a low opinion of yourself, Quasi? We've been over this. Do not speak of such things! You are far more than most men I know, Phoebus and my own father included. I know what our society thinks of your kind, and they are wrong. I aim to change their views on you one day, now that I'm your wife, I hope, if I can, for it's not right, how you're treated," she whispered softly, "but that does not mean that I care for you any less, Quasi," she whispered and bit down on her lip. She stopped moving and twisted her neck to look him square in the eyes.

The Archdeacon and Sister Alice's words resonated within his mind as a young child as the church's caretakers had asked him what he wanted, and all he would have said at the time was acceptance. Of the rest of Parisian society.

But all of those vanished and melted away like snow dying under the first warmth of the sun. In their sleeping nook that he led her to that was nothing but a shadow, Quasi stood close enough for Belle to breathe in his scent of bell polish and pine wood from his carvings.

His arms wrapped around her back and in one gentle pull, she felt her right shoulder become exposed as their skin touched. Belle felt Quasi's hand in the back of her hair, how he lofted the softness as his fingers raked through it. Then his hand moved down her cheekbones to her lips and he kissed her.

Belle hesitantly looked up as he pulled back, and the swirls of mixed emotions she saw within the man's darkening cerulean eyes made her frown.

He knew she didn't love him back, but he couldn't resist. He leaned in a little closer, their foreheads touching. Dear God, he couldn't fight against the thoughts that were going through him. Her very smell was flooding his senses now...

But before she could pull away and head back to bed, and insist he did the same and rest, before she could ponder it further, Quasi yanked Belle to him and covered her mouth with his in a hungry, possessive kiss before she could so much as protest or ask him what he was doing to her.

He broke it off first and pulled back to study her reaction, shooting her a soft smile at how flushed her face was, reaching up a hand to brush her bangs out of her eyes tenderly, his eyes sparkling with a new intensity she'd not seen.

Belle's face was flushed and pink, her lips parted open slightly in shock.

"Did you…did you like it….?"

But her sentence was cut off as Quasi did not give her a chance to finish her thought, as she heard him growl in frustration as his eye twitched in ire. Lust had clouded his mind and Quasi cursed himself when he got like this, she knew it. He caught her head in his hands and kissed her, startling Belle, and nearly knocking all the wind from her lungs. Her hands worked their way around his body, feeling each crevasse of his perfect physique.

At first, their kiss was delicate and gentle.

To her, it felt like she was walking on air. It was magic, the way his lips connected with hers. Her heart was pounding. One hand was buried in her hair, pressing in softly, his other hand briefly skimmed her cheeks and down to her collarbones, leaving a trail of hot sparks in their wake. She shivered. Belle gripped his shoulders as she accidentally bowled him over, laughing as she kissed him again as they fell, fighting her urge to break out into delighted laughter.

To his surprise, he reached out for a chair to steady himself but wound up overturning it, the chair falling to the floor with a loud crash. As they fell, his thigh brushed against her leg through the skirt of her gown, sending a jolt of ecstasy down her spine. She began to understand.

It was turning into something she recognized, though had never experienced it for herself, having only known nothing but suffering at Gaston's hand, though she hoped with Quasi, the experience would be different.

I…really do love him, Belle thought wildly. Quasi let out a groan as she shifted in his lap and her leg brushed against his thigh. His body was hot and burned against hers as his hands wandered, feeling every crevice. His hands came up, gripping almost painfully tight on her waist.

He kissed her hungrily, in that place of desire to move his hands underneath her skirts of the wedding gown Alice had helped make for her, to feel her smooth skin and its perfect softness. Drunk on her kiss, his only desire in the movement was to feel her, to love her.

Gingerly, she shoved him back, her face flushed. When they broke apart, he pulled back to study her face. Her face was pink, her cheeks high with color, her hair disheveled, and her dark brown eyes were on fire, burning hotter than a thousand suns.

She could hear Quasi's deep loathing sighs as he allowed the baser urges within to take control, knowing by this point, it was futile to resist and try to fight. His mind drifted to thoughts of what Sister Alice had asked him when he was younger, what he wanted. His first answer would have been to be accepted.

But that thought seemed insignificant and it melted like snow under the first light of the sun, as he knew now that the answer was underneath him.

Quasi heard the beast within himself, the demon, the monster, the wretch that he knew himself to be, practically growl in agitation as Belle opened her mouth to say something when he broke apart.

"Shh." He hushed her, before moving his finger away from her lips and leaned down and captured her mouth hungrily. His lips were firm against hers, but their kiss remained soft, gentle, slow. They held it for a few seconds before their lips began to move in perfect sync.

Quasi exhaled through his nose, not wanting to break it off, wanting nothing to bask in the heat that her body gave off, to envelope himself in her heat. His entire body felt as though it had been consumed by the overwhelming feeling of relief, combined with eccentric panic, and lust.

He moved his hand to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, lightly lifting her up off of the bed so he could pull her into him, wanting to feel every drop of warmth, adding more pressure to their lips, deepening the kiss.

What do you want? Alice's question rang in his eardrums, deafening, and the only sound that followed their words was the sound of ripping cloth rent the air and he watched the sky-blue wedding dress of his wife's gash in his strong hands, as his fingers curled around the piece of clothing, the only barrier between himself and his wife, like claws, as he moved in and captured her lips again.

Her. Shreds of blue flew in parting directions and he felt the monster within start to growl in satisfaction. I want her.

Just her.