The Beast Inside (2/3)momolepeachSeptember 24 2014, 21:37:17 UTC
Cogsworth served the soup course. Adam went to lift the bowl in his hands to drink from it as had become their custom since Belle had joined him for that first breakfast. But without a layer of fur to protect his hands, the hot china burnt his skin and he dropped it with a howl. The bowl hit the edge of the table and upended, pouring the hot soup into his lap. He jumped up and knocked his chair back with such force that it lid several feet before falling over. Belle was out of her chair at once.
“Now calm down Master,” said Cogsworth, backing away raising his arms in what was meant to be a soothing gesture.
“Get some water!” Belle told him, and he fled to the kitchen to retrieve a pitcher. The master's appearance may have changed, but the servants had not forgotten Adam's legendary temper.
“Are you hurt?” asked Belle, placing a hand on his shoulder but Adam brushed her off.
“That was boiling! It should have warned me!” he waved his hand at the bowl that now lay shattered on the floor. Belle bit down on her lip to suppress a laugh. It really wasn't that funny. He was in pain. Life without talking flatware, she supposed, must take a great deal of getting used to.
“What's so funny?” he roared.
“Nothing,” said Belle, and handed him a napkin. She bent down under the table to pick up the broken pieces of china so that he couldn't see her struggle to compose herself. When she stood up, Cogsworth had returned with the pitcher of water and Lumeire had righted his master's chair. It took some effort; the chair was large and had been specially been constructed for the Beast years ago. Belle wondered for a moment how hard Adam would have had to have hit it to knock it back so far.
“Sit down,” she told him. “Let me see.” She took a towel from Cogsworth and dipped it in the pitcher. She placed it over the Adam's lap and used the corner to dab at the soup stains on his doublet.
Now that the immediate pain was past, Adam felt ashamed. He had expected that the breaking of the curse would change him, that suddenly he would be graceful and charming and even-tempered. In truth, he felt more clumsy than ever and the loss of so many of the things he had taken for granted-like dishes that warned you about their contents-caused his temper to flare up as often as ever. The servants still cringed when something broke, or when he raised his voice. And who could blame them For years, they had watched him smash their inanimate counterparts in their rage. And now, when all trace of the beast was supposed to be gone, he found the rage welled up in him just as easily.
Belle, for her part was more concerned about him than his outburst, and though he felt quite ready to crawl under the table and never come out, he let her examine his hands, which hurt but were not really injured. That only made him feel worse. Satisfied that the burns were not as bad as she feared, she turned to the stains on his clothing.
Belle daubed at his lap with the wet cloth, trying to get the stains out. She was so close to him that he could have rested his head against her breasts. He felt a heat in his stomach that had nothing to do with the spilled soup. She rested her hand on his thigh and he felt a tightness in his groin as another remnant of the Beast reared it's head. It was bad enough that he couldn't control his temper, but now his own body betrayed him. He became painfully aware of just how crowded the dining room had become. Cogsworth and Lumeire argued behind him about the best way to treat is burns and if he had any to begin with. In the doorway, he could hear Mrs. Potts pushing past some of the kitchen staff to see if he was hurt. Belle's body blocked him from view but her closeness was the greatest cause for anxiety. She could not know the affect she had on him.
“I should change” he said, pushing the chair back abruptly. He could not get away fast enough.
The Beast Inside (3/5)momolepeachSeptember 24 2014, 21:44:36 UTC
Belle did not see Adam again that night. He did not appear at breakfast and when he missed their reading lesson, she began to worry. She was sure he had not been seriously hut by the soup, but she was still worried. Mrs. Potts said that he had gone into the west wing last night and they had not seen him since. While he had been less strict about his taboo on visitors, it was generally understood that the west wing was were Adam went when he wanted to be alone. The servants still avoided cleaning the place. Belle, for her part, realized that someone so used to solitude might want to keep a place to himself. When Adam's temper flared, he would retreat there until he was calm and it was best if she let him come to her rather than seek him out. The library often filled the same role for her. But she had a feeling that he was more ashamed about last night than angry.
It took effort to pull back the great oak door but she did so. The west wing had undergone a similar transformation to the rest of the palace, but since the servants were so reluctant to enter, few repairs had been made, and a lot of broken furniture remained. Adam still kept the heavy curtains drawn over the windows. It was dark, but opening them felt like too much of an intrusion so Belle let her eyes adjust. Adam stood in the center of the room, dressed as he used to in no more than a pair of pants and his cloak. He held a painting in his hands. He must have been lost in thought not to notice her until she spoke. He could always hear her coming.
“What are you looking at?
“The last bit of the witch's curse,” he said, and tried to put the painting down without her seeing, but she took it from him. The canvas was torn with claw marks, just as the old portrait of Adam had been. But this painting was of the Beast, his face contorted in rage, a claw raised to strike. Belle realized that the frame that held this picture was the same and that the canvas was slashed in the exact same place.
“It used to show you without the curse,” she realized.
“Originally it was just a portrait of me as a boy. She bewitched it so that it aged as I did, showing the man that I could be if only I could find love. But when I changed back, it changed too. Now it shows the Beast. Maybe it shows me as I truly am.”
Bell set the painting down against a table that had been overturned onto its side. She leaned into Adam and wrapped her arms around his waist, placing her head on his bare chest.
“I love that Beast, you know.”
“How? How could you ever...”
“Shh.” She stood on her toes and kissed him. “I did,” she whispered, “And I do. You are him. You are clumsy and suborn and kind and strong.”
She kissed him again, and his arms encircled her. She felt that strength as he clung to her. He returned her kiss, and she rested her hand on his stomach. His fingers were entangled in her hair, and the smell of old books and skin and desire filled him. He felt himself growing hard again, and hoped she would not notice but then Belle pressed herself against his length, and felt his arousal through the folds of her dress. She did not recoil. A small moan escaped her lips as it brushed against her sex, and Adam felt his resolve drain. The scent of her made him drunk, and she pressed harder against him.
“Belle, we should stop, I don't know if I can..,if we go to far”
“Why would you think I'd want you to stop?”
“If I lose control, if the Beast in me comes out--” “It's always been there. You never changed, not really. It was always you, always you all along And I want you, all of you!” she whispered fiercely, “Adam or Beast, I don't care. I want the man I fell in love with. Let me have you.”
Re: The Beast Inside (4/5)momolepeachSeptember 24 2014, 21:50:44 UTC
She kissed him, sucking at his lip and he gave in at last. He gripped the back of her thigh and pulled her into him. She ground herself against him, but there were too many layers of fabric between them. He lifted her, setting her on the side of the upended table. He slid the layers of skirts and petticoats up and wondered why anyone would ever bother with so much clothing. He knelt down before her and pulled off her shoes, then her stockings. He kissed her bare legs, and she swayed, almost falling off the edge of the table. He placed his hand behind her back to steady her, holding her in place as he traced the length of her leg with his lips. The smell of sex and desire was so rich it overwhelmed him.
When he looked up, he saw that she had already unlaced the front of her gown, revealing a corset and undergarments. Damn these layers! She struggled to unhook the back of his corset, but it had taken the help of a servant to put it on and it wasn't coming off on it's own. He lost patience and reaching around her, grabbed the two sides an tore. The hooks ripped from their eyelets, some tearing out of the cloth all together. Belle was stunned for a moment then laughed with delight.
Two months ago , she would have been shocked, even terrified by such a feet of savagery and strength. But she had wanted the man and the beast and Adam could no longer hold back. He tore at her under-shift, exposing a pale, white breast and he took it in his mouth. Belle trembled and held on to him tightly, in part to keep from falling but also to encourage him to give her more. He licked her taught nipple and his hand traveled up her leg, but he kept grabbing too much silk and could not find what he wanted. Frustrated he grabbed Belle and pulled her down onto him.
He rolled her onto her back and tore off her petticoats, pulling away the layers, not caring what damage he did until at last he revealed the dark brown curls of her sex. He stared for a moment at her half-naked form. The only women he had ever seen naked were the marble statues in the gallery, and all of those were carved with sexes shaved smooth in the neoclassical fashion. But the sight of her curls and the way she shuddered as he ran his fingers through them, and the scent of sex and desire made him want her all the more.
Undressing him was much simpler. Bell sat up and undid the clasp of his cape which fell away. Then, slowly, with a tenderness and lack of urgency that he found exquisite and torturous, she unlaced the front of his breaches, He groaned as her fingers brushed his shaft through the fabric, and reflexively, he began to rock against her hands. His groans caught in his throat and came out almost as a low growl.
The laces came loose and the cloth fell away, releasing his eager manhood. Belle had read Ovid's myths of transformation, about gods of lust and fertility whose massive phalluses were treated as objects of worship by devotees. Now she understood the Roman poet's meaning.
But Adam was not content with her slow ministrations. He pushed her back down and pulled the remains of her under-shift over her head. Belle expected him to remove it all the way but he left it so that the sleeves still held her arms. She tried to wiggle it off but he did not give her the chance. Adam knelt between her legs, and lifted her hips so that she came to rest against his cock. He lifted her so that Belle rocked against him, caressing his tip with her clitoris. She moaned and rocked with him. Adam pressed his tip against her, not entering but enough so that the pressure made her gasp. She tried to move herself closer, but the floor was rough and the under-shift, which still bound her hands, snagged on a splinter. She struggled for a moment to free herself, but only made it worse. She panicked and tried to pull back but Adam held her tightly. Suddenly the fullness of her own inexperience hit her. The boldness that had caught Adam so off guard had been borrowed from the heroines of novels. Belle was a virgin. She looked up at Adam, his brown hair falling wildly around his shoulders, breathing-no panting!--heavily as he prepared to enter her. His eyes filled with lust and desire-and love. He was her Adam, her Beast. And he would not harm her.
Re: The Beast Inside (5/5)momolepeachSeptember 24 2014, 21:55:39 UTC
“I love you,” she moaned, and he entered her. A moan rose in Adam's throat, a moan that became a roar as thrust deeper into her. Belle felt as though the floor had fallen out beneath her, felt a sharp pain cut through her lower body, a pain that she did not want to stop because of the pleasure that accompanied it. Adam drew out slowly, but she wrapped her legs around his waist and drew him back in. She would have collapsed utterly if he had not been holding her hips. She let out a whimpering moan with each thrust. He cried out her name again and again, his eyes wide, his back arching with each jolt of fire his thrusts brought. There had been nights alone when the servants had been banished that he had imagined this moment, but he had never known a woman before this. He acted on instinct only, instinct and the sound of her moans and the way she pulled him in tighter with her legs.
Her moans turned to screams and she could hear the fabric around her hands ripping but it did not give. She longed to throw her arms about him, to kiss his mouth, bite his lips...but the cloth kept her pinned to the ground. Soon the ache became more intense as muscles she had never used before strained around the thrust of his cock and she cried for him to stop. He withdrew, but she saw that he was still hard. How could he be when she was so exhausted?
“Did I hurt you,” he asked? He was shaking. He leaned over her and stroked her cheek.
“No...I mean a little. I just need rest.”
He nodded and stroked her hair. He traced her breastbone, the valley between her chest, then slid his hand down her stomach, coming to res on the mound of her sex. Then he rested his head against her chest and followed the same trail with his lips. When he reached her sex, he blew gently against her clitoris to sooth the ache. She trembled and he kissed her there. The taste of her only made him ache for more, to enter her again, but he would wait. He sat up and realized for the first time that her arms were caught. Carefully, he helped her untangle her right arm from the sleeve that bound it. She touched his chest with it, and following the same path he had down her own body until her fingers brushed the base of his shaft. She remembered how he had reacting when she had unlaced his pants. Slowly, she dragged her fingers down his length, to his tip. He forgot all about unbinding her other arm as she began to stroke him. He made bestial sounds with every stroke, half moans, half growls. At times it sounded like weeping, as if he might break down under her tender touch.
“Please Belle,” he begged, his breath ragged,” To overcome to remain on his knees, he fell onto all fours She keep working his length as he leaned forward, breathing into her ear, “Please Belle, I need you. Let me in again. Let me take you. Please, please...”
And so she let go of him, lifting herself against him. He ripped the last of the cloth away from her and sat, lifting her onto him. She rode him, and when her legs gave out from pleasure he gripped her behind and lifted her up and down. He was so strong, bucking into her over and over. She did not know how many times she came when at last they collapsed on the floor and he spent himself into her. Finally she had exhausted his strength.
It took time for Belle to regain her breath. It seemed like her legs had forgotten how to move. Gingerly, she rolled over and brought her head to rest on Adam's chest.
“See what happens when you let visitors into the west wing?”
She felt his chest vibrate with laughter against her cheek. It almost felt like purring, He kissed the top of her head and wrapped her in the strong arms she loved.
Re: The Beast Inside (5/5)momolepeachSeptember 24 2014, 21:57:04 UTC
Sorry about the inconsistent numbering. Like I said, this was my first fill and I really underestimated the character count. Hope you enjoy and don't mind how long it takes to get to the smutty bits. Think of it as drawing out sexual tension.
This was fabulous! So hot and well written. I never considered how hard it would be for Adam to get used to the changes around him, specially with the talking culinary. I also love the idea of the painting reflecting the beast, and Adam wondering if that is his true self. This is something I would see happening in canon. Thank you!
Re: Not the OPmomolepeachJanuary 19 2015, 03:52:24 UTC
Thanks. I feel like the Beast would have to get used to the physical changes but also the fact that changing back did not change his personality. Maybe he expected Belle's love to be a cure-all but he still has just as much work to do in terms of temper and everything else. And she knows that. And she is still not going to put up with his crap, as much as she loves him. But in a way she is glad some things haven't changed. It would be weird getting to know him all over again.
“Now calm down Master,” said Cogsworth, backing away raising his arms in what was meant to be a soothing gesture.
“Get some water!” Belle told him, and he fled to the kitchen to retrieve a pitcher. The master's appearance may have changed, but the servants had not forgotten Adam's legendary temper.
“Are you hurt?” asked Belle, placing a hand on his shoulder but Adam brushed her off.
“That was boiling! It should have warned me!” he waved his hand at the bowl that now lay shattered on the floor. Belle bit down on her lip to suppress a laugh. It really wasn't that funny. He was in pain. Life without talking flatware, she supposed, must take a great deal of getting used to.
“What's so funny?” he roared.
“Nothing,” said Belle, and handed him a napkin. She bent down under the table to pick up the broken pieces of china so that he couldn't see her struggle to compose herself. When she stood up, Cogsworth had returned with the pitcher of water and Lumeire had righted his master's chair. It took some effort; the chair was large and had been specially been constructed for the Beast years ago. Belle wondered for a moment how hard Adam would have had to have hit it to knock it back so far.
“Sit down,” she told him. “Let me see.” She took a towel from Cogsworth and dipped it in the pitcher. She placed it over the Adam's lap and used the corner to dab at the soup stains on his doublet.
Now that the immediate pain was past, Adam felt ashamed. He had expected that the breaking of the curse would change him, that suddenly he would be graceful and charming and even-tempered. In truth, he felt more clumsy than ever and the loss of so many of the things he had taken for granted-like dishes that warned you about their contents-caused his temper to flare up as often as ever. The servants still cringed when something broke, or when he raised his voice. And who could blame them For years, they had watched him smash their inanimate counterparts in their rage. And now, when all trace of the beast was supposed to be gone, he found the rage welled up in him just as easily.
Belle, for her part was more concerned about him than his outburst, and though he felt quite ready to crawl under the table and never come out, he let her examine his hands, which hurt but were not really injured. That only made him feel worse. Satisfied that the burns were not as bad as she feared, she turned to the stains on his clothing.
Belle daubed at his lap with the wet cloth, trying to get the stains out. She was so close to him that he could have rested his head against her breasts. He felt a heat in his stomach that had nothing to do with the spilled soup. She rested her hand on his thigh and he felt a tightness in his groin as another remnant of the Beast reared it's head. It was bad enough that he couldn't control his temper, but now his own body betrayed him. He became painfully aware of just how crowded the dining room had become. Cogsworth and Lumeire argued behind him about the best way to treat is burns and if he had any to begin with. In the doorway, he could hear Mrs. Potts pushing past some of the kitchen staff to see if he was hurt. Belle's body blocked him from view but her closeness was the greatest cause for anxiety. She could not know the affect she had on him.
“I should change” he said, pushing the chair back abruptly. He could not get away fast enough.
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It took effort to pull back the great oak door but she did so. The west wing had undergone a similar transformation to the rest of the palace, but since the servants were so reluctant to enter, few repairs had been made, and a lot of broken furniture remained. Adam still kept the heavy curtains drawn over the windows. It was dark, but opening them felt like too much of an intrusion so Belle let her eyes adjust. Adam stood in the center of the room, dressed as he used to in no more than a pair of pants and his cloak. He held a painting in his hands. He must have been lost in thought not to notice her until she spoke. He could always hear her coming.
“What are you looking at?
“The last bit of the witch's curse,” he said, and tried to put the painting down without her seeing, but she took it from him. The canvas was torn with claw marks, just as the old portrait of Adam had been. But this painting was of the Beast, his face contorted in rage, a claw raised to strike. Belle realized that the frame that held this picture was the same and that the canvas was slashed in the exact same place.
“It used to show you without the curse,” she realized.
“Originally it was just a portrait of me as a boy. She bewitched it so that it aged as I did, showing the man that I could be if only I could find love. But when I changed back, it changed too. Now it shows the Beast. Maybe it shows me as I truly am.”
Bell set the painting down against a table that had been overturned onto its side. She leaned into Adam and wrapped her arms around his waist, placing her head on his bare chest.
“I love that Beast, you know.”
“How? How could you ever...”
“Shh.” She stood on her toes and kissed him. “I did,” she whispered, “And I do. You are him. You are clumsy and suborn and kind and strong.”
She kissed him again, and his arms encircled her. She felt that strength as he clung to her. He returned her kiss, and she rested her hand on his stomach. His fingers were entangled in her hair, and the smell of old books and skin and desire filled him. He felt himself growing hard again, and hoped she would not notice but then Belle pressed herself against his length, and felt his arousal through the folds of her dress. She did not recoil. A small moan escaped her lips as it brushed against her sex, and Adam felt his resolve drain. The scent of her made him drunk, and she pressed harder against him.
“Belle, we should stop, I don't know if I can..,if we go to far”
“Why would you think I'd want you to stop?”
“If I lose control, if the Beast in me comes out--”
“It's always been there. You never changed, not really. It was always you, always you all along And I want you, all of you!” she whispered fiercely, “Adam or Beast, I don't care. I want the man I fell in love with. Let me have you.”
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When he looked up, he saw that she had already unlaced the front of her gown, revealing a corset and undergarments. Damn these layers! She struggled to unhook the back of his corset, but it had taken the help of a servant to put it on and it wasn't coming off on it's own. He lost patience and reaching around her, grabbed the two sides an tore. The hooks ripped from their eyelets, some tearing out of the cloth all together. Belle was stunned for a moment then laughed with delight.
Two months ago , she would have been shocked, even terrified by such a feet of savagery and strength. But she had wanted the man and the beast and Adam could no longer hold back. He tore at her under-shift, exposing a pale, white breast and he took it in his mouth. Belle trembled and held on to him tightly, in part to keep from falling but also to encourage him to give her more. He licked her taught nipple and his hand traveled up her leg, but he kept grabbing too much silk and could not find what he wanted. Frustrated he grabbed Belle and pulled her down onto him.
He rolled her onto her back and tore off her petticoats, pulling away the layers, not caring what damage he did until at last he revealed the dark brown curls of her sex. He stared for a moment at her half-naked form. The only women he had ever seen naked were the marble statues in the gallery, and all of those were carved with sexes shaved smooth in the neoclassical fashion. But the sight of her curls and the way she shuddered as he ran his fingers through them, and the scent of sex and desire made him want her all the more.
Undressing him was much simpler. Bell sat up and undid the clasp of his cape which fell away. Then, slowly, with a tenderness and lack of urgency that he found exquisite and torturous, she unlaced the front of his breaches, He groaned as her fingers brushed his shaft through the fabric, and reflexively, he began to rock against her hands. His groans caught in his throat and came out almost as a low growl.
The laces came loose and the cloth fell away, releasing his eager manhood. Belle had read Ovid's myths of transformation, about gods of lust and fertility whose massive phalluses were treated as objects of worship by devotees. Now she understood the Roman poet's meaning.
But Adam was not content with her slow ministrations. He pushed her back down and pulled the remains of her under-shift over her head. Belle expected him to remove it all the way but he left it so that the sleeves still held her arms. She tried to wiggle it off but he did not give her the chance. Adam knelt between her legs, and lifted her hips so that she came to rest against his cock. He lifted her so that Belle rocked against him, caressing his tip with her clitoris. She moaned and rocked with him. Adam pressed his tip against her, not entering but enough so that the pressure made her gasp. She tried to move herself closer, but the floor was rough and the under-shift, which still bound her hands, snagged on a splinter. She struggled for a moment to free herself, but only made it worse. She panicked and tried to pull back but Adam held her tightly. Suddenly the fullness of her own inexperience hit her. The boldness that had caught Adam so off guard had been borrowed from the heroines of novels. Belle was a virgin. She looked up at Adam, his brown hair falling wildly around his shoulders, breathing-no panting!--heavily as he prepared to enter her. His eyes filled with lust and desire-and love. He was her Adam, her Beast. And he would not harm her.
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Her moans turned to screams and she could hear the fabric around her hands ripping but it did not give. She longed to throw her arms about him, to kiss his mouth, bite his lips...but the cloth kept her pinned to the ground. Soon the ache became more intense as muscles she had never used before strained around the thrust of his cock and she cried for him to stop. He withdrew, but she saw that he was still hard. How could he be when she was so exhausted?
“Did I hurt you,” he asked? He was shaking. He leaned over her and stroked her cheek.
“No...I mean a little. I just need rest.”
He nodded and stroked her hair. He traced her breastbone, the valley between her chest, then slid his hand down her stomach, coming to res on the mound of her sex. Then he rested his head against her chest and followed the same trail with his lips. When he reached her sex, he blew gently against her clitoris to sooth the ache. She trembled and he kissed her there. The taste of her only made him ache for more, to enter her again, but he would wait. He sat up and realized for the first time that her arms were caught. Carefully, he helped her untangle her right arm from the sleeve that bound it. She touched his chest with it, and following the same path he had down her own body until her fingers brushed the base of his shaft. She remembered how he had reacting when she had unlaced his pants. Slowly, she dragged her fingers down his length, to his tip. He forgot all about unbinding her other arm as she began to stroke him. He made bestial sounds with every stroke, half moans, half growls. At times it sounded like weeping, as if he might break down under her tender touch.
“Please Belle,” he begged, his breath ragged,” To overcome to remain on his knees, he fell onto all fours She keep working his length as he leaned forward, breathing into her ear, “Please Belle, I need you. Let me in again. Let me take you. Please, please...”
And so she let go of him, lifting herself against him. He ripped the last of the cloth away from her and sat, lifting her onto him. She rode him, and when her legs gave out from pleasure he gripped her behind and lifted her up and down. He was so strong, bucking into her over and over. She did not know how many times she came when at last they collapsed on the floor and he spent himself into her. Finally she had exhausted his strength.
It took time for Belle to regain her breath. It seemed like her legs had forgotten how to move. Gingerly, she rolled over and brought her head to rest on Adam's chest.
“See what happens when you let visitors into the west wing?”
She felt his chest vibrate with laughter against her cheek. It almost felt like purring, He kissed the top of her head and wrapped her in the strong arms she loved.
“I'll have to do it more often.”
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