FIC: Through a looking glass
Title: Through a looking glass
Rating: R
Fandom: Beauty & the Beast
Wordcount: 518
Disclaimer: Disney's obviously.
Summary: He watches her, even when she thinks she's alone.
~~
If Beast was honest, she was less beautiful than he had expected. But it had been so long since there was anyone worth watching. For the first few years, he had watched the wolves creep closer around the castle and the widening arc of desolation as travellers bypassed the transformed estate. Then the whole forest fell into darkness, and all he watched was the inexorable decay of hope.
He hadn't realized how little there was to see in the world if one didn't know what to look for. When he said 'life' the mirror spun around and shone light into his room; it was cruel as the enchantress had been. He'd once tried 'love' but the sights in the brothels of Paris had mocked him in return.
This felt so different.
Beast swallowed thickly. The crushed velevet robe sloped along her shoulder and breast, and flowed around her knees as she walked. His paws itched around the mirror's frame. He only regretted that the clothes were so worn.
First, her hair. He growled when it tumbled down, brown as polished oak against the robe. Belle looked up, straight at him he thought for a terrified second, and he laid the mirror down with a clatter. It had to stop. But he went back, tail flicking behind him, and asked to see her again.
Again and again he reached for her through the glass, nails etching the sharp outlines of face and hair into its surface. The marks lingered for a second and then vanished. Beast huddled deeper into his cloak as she walked toward the bath. He had once asked, gruffly, if the facilities were to her liking. And then he had insisted on hotter water as though it were a gift. The steam made her hazy and, he prayed, less sullied.
Belle had glowed at dinner, laughing over her soup, chattering offhand with the dishes, probing gently at his memories of the castle. 'This was love, wasn't it?' he asked himself. But he was conscious of the need burning through all his good intentions, the simple fact that she was the only one who had come. The weight of that burden sat heavier on him.
And she was beautiful and good. Garrin, when he had been Garrin, had never had a good woman. Beast didn't know what to do with her. Perhaps he could make her kinder towards him? Already there was an awareness and intimacy that thrilled and terrified him. But as kind as she might become, he wasn't sure if she could imagine anything more than a quiet comfort with him?
As if on cue, the red robe slithered downward and his eyes darkened in response. There were some instincts that men and beasts shared equally.
When he groaned at last, it was a man's husky voice that emerged; a fourth rose petal died in response. The Beast that was Garrin wiped his sticky residue onto a tattered wall hanging and felt the shame sweep in. There was still no love in his heart, but there was kindness and guilt and that was a beginning.
Rating: R
Fandom: Beauty & the Beast
Wordcount: 518
Disclaimer: Disney's obviously.
Summary: He watches her, even when she thinks she's alone.
~~
If Beast was honest, she was less beautiful than he had expected. But it had been so long since there was anyone worth watching. For the first few years, he had watched the wolves creep closer around the castle and the widening arc of desolation as travellers bypassed the transformed estate. Then the whole forest fell into darkness, and all he watched was the inexorable decay of hope.
He hadn't realized how little there was to see in the world if one didn't know what to look for. When he said 'life' the mirror spun around and shone light into his room; it was cruel as the enchantress had been. He'd once tried 'love' but the sights in the brothels of Paris had mocked him in return.
This felt so different.
Beast swallowed thickly. The crushed velevet robe sloped along her shoulder and breast, and flowed around her knees as she walked. His paws itched around the mirror's frame. He only regretted that the clothes were so worn.
First, her hair. He growled when it tumbled down, brown as polished oak against the robe. Belle looked up, straight at him he thought for a terrified second, and he laid the mirror down with a clatter. It had to stop. But he went back, tail flicking behind him, and asked to see her again.
Again and again he reached for her through the glass, nails etching the sharp outlines of face and hair into its surface. The marks lingered for a second and then vanished. Beast huddled deeper into his cloak as she walked toward the bath. He had once asked, gruffly, if the facilities were to her liking. And then he had insisted on hotter water as though it were a gift. The steam made her hazy and, he prayed, less sullied.
Belle had glowed at dinner, laughing over her soup, chattering offhand with the dishes, probing gently at his memories of the castle. 'This was love, wasn't it?' he asked himself. But he was conscious of the need burning through all his good intentions, the simple fact that she was the only one who had come. The weight of that burden sat heavier on him.
And she was beautiful and good. Garrin, when he had been Garrin, had never had a good woman. Beast didn't know what to do with her. Perhaps he could make her kinder towards him? Already there was an awareness and intimacy that thrilled and terrified him. But as kind as she might become, he wasn't sure if she could imagine anything more than a quiet comfort with him?
As if on cue, the red robe slithered downward and his eyes darkened in response. There were some instincts that men and beasts shared equally.
When he groaned at last, it was a man's husky voice that emerged; a fourth rose petal died in response. The Beast that was Garrin wiped his sticky residue onto a tattered wall hanging and felt the shame sweep in. There was still no love in his heart, but there was kindness and guilt and that was a beginning.