The Garden of Evil, Chapter 2
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Wow, um…smut. And slash. Lots and lots of slash.
A/N: Yes, some Marquis/Maddie is in your near future…but this is the “something much worse.” Also, this fic is...therapy, if you will. The plot, like a work of the Marquis himself, is rather minimal to allow for maximum naughtiness. I do have a narrative in mind for the future, but I've got to get everyone into bed first. ;)
By the time another fly had fallen into his pet’s palatial web, the Marquis was lost deep within the recesses of his own thoughts. In among the halls as grandly decayed as his own finery, he was scheming. The Abbe had in him great potential, if only he could overcome his inhibitions. A ripe young body lay beneath his cassock, and a brilliant mind lay behind his eyes. All he had to do was turn the key in the lock, and his talents and attributes would be free to breathe the air, where they might be useful.
And speaking of locks…his own door was opening.
The Marquis bent his knee and brought it in closer to his chest, propelling himself up off of the chaise on which he reclined and into a standing position.
“To what do I owe this fortuitous coincidence, Abbe?” he asked with a slight smirk on his lips, “I was just thinking about you.”
The Abbe smiled. “You lie well, Marquis,” he said, “An unfortunate habit.”
“Add it my list of vices,” the Marquis waved a hand dismissively, “What brings you indoors to visit me on such a fine afternoon?”
“I wanted to see you,” he said, “And give you this.” He pulled a bottle of ink from his pocket.
The Marquis took it and held it up to the light streaming in through the window. “Excellent,” he sighed more audibly than necessary, “You anticipate my needs so well.” His eyes fell on the unusually populated lawn, and he said more to himself than aloud, “We must be the only two souls in the ward…”
In the back of his mind, he could hear the desperate buzzing of the fly dying in his pet’s web. Yes, it was time.
“Come and have a look at this,” he said aloud, beckoning the Abbe over.
“What is it, Marquis?” he asked, coming to stand beside him.
“Over there, by the fountain,” he said, his eyes locked on the Abbe’s smooth, virginal lips.
“I don’t know what you mean…I don’t see anything extraordinary,” his smile began to fade, “Is everything alright?”
“Look further,” he came to stand behind the man, raising his arm as if to point. His hand fell back elegantly, seamlessly, and rested on the Abbe’s shoulder, sliding down to the hand by his side.
“Did you pass her in the hallway?” his voice brushed against the Abbe’s ear, “Is that why you’re flying at full mast?”
The Abbe turned around abruptly, his face barely an inch from the Marquis’s.
“I see the fire that rages behind your eyes, dearest. Whose name is it that you repeat in your slumber, hmm?” he held his lips in a questioning pout, “Is it Madeleine? Or is it Donatein?” The sneer that spread over his features was cruel.
“Marquis,” he raised his hand, “I give you a moment to step away before I…”
“Before you what?”
“Before I…”
The Marquis covered his mouth with his own, sliding his reptilian tongue from its cave and into the sweet unknown, his hands grappling viciously with the black cassock.
“What are you doing?” The Abbe staggered back several paces, smoothing his robe.
“Don’t deny it, love, you want it as much as I,” he retreated back and sat docile in his chair, placing his fingertips together and smirking anew.
The Abbe wiped his mouth. “What are you playing at?” he demanded.
“If you must know,” he turned his hand over and idly examined his fingernails, “I am staging a production of the Book of Genesis.”
“The B-book of Genesis?” He narrowed his eyes.
“Yes, and I am to play the role of God,” he held his arms out grandly, “Don’t you think I look the part?”
“You’ve gone truly mad now.”
“Not at all…Dearest Madeleine has even agreed to play the part of Eve.”
“You are more serpent than God, Marquis,” he spat.
“Are they not one in the same?” he asked, standing and drawing nearer, “Come now, don’t spoil my fun. Someone must agree to be my Adam.”
“Your Adam?”
“Part your lips, my lifeless clayform, and I shall breath into you breath of life,” he placed his hand on the other man’s cheek and drew his mouth back, more softly this time, his lips coaxing, irresistible.
“This is sin,” the Abbe whispered against the Marquis’s tongue.
“I am God, remember?” he gripped the Abbe’s length through his robes, “I decide what is sin.”
The dark-haired man threw his head back in a groan, immersed for a moment in a pleasure not felt for decades.
“Go on, get on your knees,” the Marquis cocked his chin and smiled scornfully, “Your God commands it.”
“Marquis, I can’t…”
“You can, my seraphim. But you won’t. Or will you?” The hand began to work in circles, pressing harder, “Give in to me, hm? Let me have it, I promise you it will be more rewarding than a thousand prayers.”
“Marquis,” he panted, “Please…”
“Please what?” he breathed against the Abbe’s mouth.
Something strange flashed behind the younger man’s eyes. “Not so hard.”
The Marquis cackled and pulled at the buttons of the Abbe’s cassock. “How do you stand so many layers?” he laughed, reaching into the black breeches and beginning to stroke coarsely.
The Abbe braced himself against the wall and took hold of the Marquis’s wig, tossing it aside.
“How long have you wanted to do this?” the Marquis demanded.
“I wouldn’t know,” he panted, “I never let myself dare…”
“Of course not,” they kissed again, “Now, on your knees.”
The Abbe pulled at the fragile silk of the Marquis’s breeches, unhooking the buttons and widening his eyes at the sight before him
“Scared, pet?” an elegant hand ran through his dark hair, nails scratching his scalp.
“Is it so obvious?”
“Deliciously so,” he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, waiting, waiting until…yes….yes…the tentative kiss of undefiled lips on the moist tip. He had to open his eyes and look down at his conquest, had to watch the priest as his mouth slid over the glans.
“Can the bliss of heaven be greater than this?” he sighed, sinking decadently into the feeling of the unskilled mouth, into the vulgar noises and the vibrations of the younger man’s groans. He was going to come quickly this way, there was no question.
“We will build an Eden in these walls,” the Marquis continued, thrusting into the Abbe’s throat, “A garden of desires and depravities…You and I and she, Abbe…France will tremble before us…”
He released his load directly onto the man’s tongue. “Swallow,” he demanded.
“Have you ever been closer to God than now?” he asked as the Abbe stood.
He wiped his mouth and stood dumbfounded, shaking his head.
“Now,” the Marquis panted as he passed a hand through his hair, “Go and fuck poor Madeleine, will you?”