title : to dare, a quills vignette
author : spyre [egotantrum@yahoo.com]
genre : angst/drama, AU, set during the movie's delicious "strip" scene.
rating : r [sexuality]
pairing : marquis/coulmier
summary : what if the marquis had taken a more physical approach to testing coulmier?
disclaimer : none of these characters are mine. i make no profit for this.
notes : complete. as ever, no beta. poorly written outlet for my own quills UST. feedback is a high; gimme a friggin' fix.
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"Your wig."
So it had come to this. He could smell Coulmier's uncomplicated desire, the stench of a desperate faith tainting its existence, twisting it into a tangible thing that crackled between them and had Marquis' spine shivering.
He'd never seen Abbe's face so reflective of his repression. This was a moment powerful and rare.
With pale gray eyes so beautifully holding in his tears of hurt and the forbidden, Marquis' own passions curdled in his gut; and his pained amusement at how transparent and fragile Coulmier appeared showed in the crook of his mouth. He raised his cluttered hand to remove his wig, though it went off course and passed within a breath of the priest's cheek. It was to be a taunt and it had already worked.
Coulmier was trembling and gripping the pile of bloodied clothes tightly to his chest.
Marquis smirked before pulling the tattered mess that covered his head; under it was dirty, slick, dark brown hair. He stepped back in the same motion and held the wig before his penis, half-erect at the thrill of this game.
Though his heart was bitter, it strained at the flutter of Coulmier's will. Those virgin lips opened and closed, flashes of them knowing the taste of skin hardened more than Marquis' member, but his resolve.
Just as Coulmier's gorgeously tragic eyes became flints of denial and he reached quickly to snatch the article from the bloodied hands, Marquis caught his arm and jerked him forward off balance where he arrested the firm body and kissed that sweet mouth with such force as to break flesh.
Coulmier made a sound of surprised rage, but the iron-like grip at the nape of his neck and around his arm added seconds of eternity to the cursed kiss.
"Marquis!" he screamed when at last he tore free and shoved the naked man away. All heat rushed to his face as shame flooded him and three rogue tears tumbled down his cheeks. He was twitching beneath his robe, the erection unfamiliar and damning. He shook from his toes to shoulders to fouled mouth and raging eyes. The clothes lay on the floor between them. The only sound was their breaths, shallow, one in excitement, the other in betrayed horror.
"Why do this? Haven't you incited enough injury and damage? Haven't you taken enough?"
"I don't deny my appetite and for this you could never forgive me," Marquis words erupted in a burst of conviction and he started forward, standing close before Coulmier till his rotten breath was all the Abbe could smell, "You damn yourself with this, cherub. I see your desire for what is mine, and since I have no quill..."
Coulmier was already shaking his head, his gaze sharp, but he stilled when he sensed the Marquis' fingers, wrapped and knotted in encrusted rags, hovering at his jaw. The words, he could not understand exactly, but the intent was a force that planted his feet.
The touch came, he flinched an increment, scraps of stiff fabric scraping his skin before the cool warmth of Marquis' palm honed his senses. His lungs condensed and his eyes remained locked with those of the man consuming his faith.
The words came as a final tear escaped and Coulmier took an unsteady step back, "I want nothing that is yours."
And the Marquis' frustration swelled at the truth of it, "Perhaps not."
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