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Once Upon A Time	By : Madame_Lazla Category: +1 through F > Beauty and the Beast (Disney) > Beauty and the Beast (Disney) Views: 11063 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast, nor do I own any of the characters in it. I only own the pervertedness. In conjunction, this is a work of pleasure - I make no money from it

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
The End

A/N: Sucky title, I know. But I figured the whole “Once Upon A Time” thing would lend itself…meh.

The castle’s mistress, clad in a midnight blue winter gown with white trimming, lifted her skirts as she mounted another flight of stairs. As fit as she was for a woman of the era, she had forgotten how walking anywhere in this maze proved a torturous exercise.

“Honestly, any higher and he’d be setting shop up God’s ass,” she muttered bitterly, taking a minute to catch her breath. Rue the day Man invented the corset. She straightened herself up, striding down the long corridor to the master suite. She had a bone to pick with her darling husband who had made so fraught with worry that she had not slept and conveniently forgot to check in and re-assert his existence before retiring to bed. She was much too young to be a widow and much too busy to bother with insomnia.

She had stayed with the servants in the foyer, playing the gracious wife as the guests – still somewhat reproachful towards her – climbed into their carriages and rode into the winter. She had helped clean the dining hall of the lavish breakfast that had been prepared before anyone had woken up, jovially retelling her adventures. She had even wandered around the library, and yet Adam had still not made an appearance. Gaston’s absence was not that bizarre – the man was probably avoiding her and she made sure to avoid him as well.

There was no sound or sign of life behind the large, ornate doors. Belle smirked – waking him up to chew him out was just the right kind of justice. She boisterously pushed the door open, air in her chest poised to bellow; feet ready to run and pounce on his sleeping form.

Instead, she turned a shade of grey that clashed horribly with her dress and froze, gaping like a fish.

The first prominent thing was the room was the stench: sweat, rusted metal and something Belle had – in the back alleys of Scandinavia – learned was semen. There were dirty, torn clothes strewn over the floor from what Belle could see, for there was next to no lighting in the dank chamber. The only light that managed to get in was a small beam that, cinematically, fell on the bed.

Or what was left of the bed. What was once a luxurious four-poster was completely decimated on the one side, the canopy hanging at a dangerously haphazard angle. There were bits of feather and velvet floating about. The tattered white bedsheets underneath were coated in what looked like dried blood – Belle blanched further – and yellowed stains that bunched the linen. But it was the sight in the bed – blatant under the sunlit spotlight – that would be forever blazoned into her memory.

Two men were collapsed together in such a – compromising – position that it took Belle a moment to recognise that it was her husband and her former suitor. The parts of Adam she could see past Gaston were covered in bruises, scratches and rather zealous love bites. The blonde’s bruised legs lazily wrapped around the raven head’s waist. Belle could see dark patches on the hunter’s flesh that were probably caused by Adam’s calves. Gaston was pressed against Adam from chest to waist and, although what was left of the stained duvet covered his lower part, Belle could surmise that his appendich had not vacated whatever place it had inhabited in the night. There were small scratches on Gaston’s back; thin, red marks that trailed over his muscles. She let her eyes trail over what seemed to be numerous deep bite marks splattered over her rival’s shoulders and neck. His long black hair looked slick with sweat and his arms, the only things relatively untouched, were wrapped around the paler body in a possessive embrace.

They were both very dead to the world, understandably if one looked at their faces. Adam’s lower lip was split and swollen and there was a worrying amount of dried brown substance over his mouth, cheeks and chin. His head was lolled to the side, golden limp hair blocking the rest of his face from view, but providing Belle with a glimpse of what seemed to be a lingering handprint lining his neck. The prince, who was sleeping in an upright position against the headboard, seemed to be resting on his shoulder, and this brought Belle’s shocked gaze to the strong arms, still tied to the bedposts as if he were a sacrifice. Gaston looked just as battered – his nose was at a painful-looking angle, dried brown spread around it and his mouth area and his lips swollen and bloodied. Feathers stuck to the pair of them.

Leaning on the door for another minute, Belle drank in the scene again.
Despite the protests of the staff, Belle was on her way to the village in the half hour. Astride Phillipe, she gazed at the tattered blue book Mrs Potts had returned to her. While grateful that her husband had kept it with her in mind, the book now felt foreign, childish, in her gloved hands. She stopped at the long bridge joining the castle to the forest and dared herself to read a chapter. The words on printed paper sounded stilted, conjured without any experience or feeling. She had smelt, tasted, saw, heard and touched more things than this book could ever hope to tell her. There had been a time when this book had been a lifeline – now it was the umbilical cord holding her to the old, virginal Belle. She was a different person.
With great flourish, she tossed over the bridge, wistfully watching it plummet into the waters so far below she hadn’t noticed they were there. She urged Phillipe into a run, holding back a tear. She did not think she would ever return, to the house or to who she was. She just hoped she was making the right decision, even at the risk of not witnessing Adam’s happiness.
It was not the technicality of genitalia that surprised Belle – she had read books on Ancient Greece and had met a beautiful gypsy boy in Paris who sold fleeting love to gentlemen on street corners. It was the fantastic idea that two men who hated each other so passionately, two men that had been willing to die for her honour (for varying reasons), were bedfellows with a hedonistic array of fetishes. It was bizarre to even comprehend Adam – sweet, chivalrous Adam – would display even an ounce of arousal, let alone go to such lengths. But then, Clopin had told her of the things his customers had asked him to do and this scene seemed a lot safer.
When she finally rediscovered feeling in her legs, she slowly moved herself back into the corridor and out the suite, not wanting to explain herself should they awaken. Her plan was foiled, however, by a loose floorboard that squeaked loudly as she backtracked over it. Gaston stirred.
Belle held her breath, not allowing herself to move. The burly hunter – eyes firmly shut – rolled a shoulder, grunting in his sleep in rather colloquial French before frowning and pulling Adam closer. Belle took her leave.
It would not be easy. There would be no flowers; no candlelight confessions. There would be no declarations of everlasting love. There would seldom be any tender looks or soft touches. No dopey expressions and no holding hands. There would not be a domestic bliss.
But there would be possessive touches and twitching hands suggestively wandering. There would be microscopic signs of affection and candlelight sword fights. There would be carcass and literature. There would be explosive arguments and broken furniture. There would be no restraints on pain or pleasure; eyes darkened by overpowering lust. There would be stains and marks and bruises and voices hoarse from screaming each other’s names. There would be earth-shattering orgasms and heart shattering jealousy. There would be obsession, tireless devotion and obscene possessiveness.
Under all that, there would be love.
There would be a happy ending at last.
- 14
- 15
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Once Upon A Time