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Show Me, part 1
I’ve written fic! Which was supposed to be just smut and not much plot, but plot sneaked up on me anyway, so the smut won’t show until the next chapter. Which will be on hold until I have finished that remix that has a deadline within a week, or so. Which I guess isn’t really of interest to any of you as I don’t think I know anyone here are into Versailles. (And please don’t take that as I bemoan it- I store all my fics here and don’t expect anyone on my f-list to read it.) :)
Title: Show Me
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: Explicit
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 1739
Chapters: 1/2
Characters/pairing: Fabien Marchal/Sophie de Clermont.
Warnings: None for this chapter, explicit sex and spanking in the next.
Summary: Sophie needs Fabien Marchal to survive, but she is not prepared to let him dictate all the terms.
AN:Takes place after season one.
I like Sophie and her survival instincts. She’s in a rather hopeless situation after her mother’s death and if submitting to Fabien’s demands isn’t a good option, it’s still better than being turned out on the street with no means of support at all. And even if she is dependent of Fabien, she doesn’t seem to be afraid of him- perhaps, as she says, she has not much to loose anymore. I see her as a person who retains her autonomy despite her agreed subservience and I hope I manage to show that in this fic.
What isn’t clear in the show, though evident if you check the actual historical events, is that even if season 1 starts in 1667, it ends in 1670. Which means, if you are concerned by underage, that Sophie, who is sixteen in 1667, must be nineteen in the final episode.
If you are interested in historical fashion, then it may interest you that the gown Sophie wears is called a mantua which became popular in the 1670’s. I was very much thinking of this portrait when I envisaged Sophie gown:
(The Artist’s Children by Claude Lefèbvre, ca. 1670-75)
It was late at night and most of the occupants of Versailles was asleep, but Sophie de Clermont stood in her chamber and stared into a mirror. She had been summoned and had changed her clothes, putting the same care into her appearance as if she was to go to a ball. Her gown was new, but not in the silks and velvets she usually favoured, but soft wool in warm shades of green. It was not meant to be worn on a grand, formal occasion, and instead of a boned bodice the fabric was pleated around her body, held into place only by a belt with a jewelled clasp. And though she wore her corset underneath, she had not laced herself as hard as she usually did, which gave her an unexpected sense of freedom. The skirt of the gown was split in front and draped up over her hips, revealing a silk petticoat in gold, the colour repeated in the bows decorating the neckline and sleeves. It suited her well, she thought, the colours complimenting her skin and making it look even whiter than usual. But, most important of all, it was a fashion her mother had never worn. Tonight Sophie wanted nothing about her serving as a reminiscence of her missing parent.
The memory of her mother sent a sharp pang of grief through her. There was nothing left of Beatrice in these rooms, everything she had owned had been collected and removed as if she had never lived there. Fabien Marchal had refused to give anything back, claiming everything needed to be analysed for information. “I hate you!” Sophie had screamed, but he had just shrugged and reminded her of of the deal they had made and that she better keep her temper in check. Sophie had cried, more out of rage than grief, but she had stopped trying to antagonise him further. Now she wasn’t sure if she should be grateful for not having any tokens, perhaps it was easier to not have anything that could serve as remembrance. Memories alone was hard enough to bear.
But if Sophie hated Fabien for what he had done, she sometimes felt she hated her mother too for keeping all these secrets from her. She wasn’t even sure if Sophie had been the name given to her at birth, perhaps it had been changed when Beatrice had created the elaborate fantasy that had enabled them to come to court. Now everything Sophie did, even the ordinary little things she had always seen as natural parts of her life, were tainted by doubt. Not even Mass brought solace now when she knew she had been raised to believe in a religion her mother had viewed with hatred and contempt. Were you allowed to be sincere in your faith when it wasn’t really yours? And though she longed to pour out her heart at confession, Sophie didn’t dare to speak of the secrets she had to carry. More and more she felt like she was walking blind on slippery floors, never knowing when she would fall. But even if this made her think of her mother at times with angry resentment, she missed her so much more and the grief could overpower her at the most inconvenient occasions. But not now, now she wouldn’t dwell on the past, tonight she needed to think of her future.
Sophie carefully scrutinised her face, glad she must resemble the father she couldn’t remember and not Beatrice. She lightly dusted her face with powder, foregoing any other makeup and she had dressed her hair looser than usual, the heavy black mass of curls bound by just a few pins. When she was satisfied with how she looked she took another glance at the small note she had received under her door earlier in the evening. Ever since she had made her deal with Fabien, she had received similar notes several times, demanding her to deliver a report to him. So far all he had asked of her were detailed accounts of court gossip and what she had gleaned from conversations no one knew she overheard. To her surprise she had found she was quite adept in spying and she found a certain satisfaction in doing it well.
People had quickly stopped asking her about her mother’s absence, accepting the explanation of a sudden ill health forcing her to retire home to Pau. It was simply not very exciting news, and no one seemed to have any idea that Beatrice de Clermont hadn’t been who she had said she was. Without her mother to push her forward, Sophie could melt into the crowds of pretty women, spending her days like any other court lady with gossip and card games. She had hoped no one would find her noteworthy, but she gradually realised that a pretty girl alone at court was seen as fair game for the many two-legged vultures there. She had not understood before how much her mother had protected her from unwanted attention, and Chevalier who might have stepped into the role of her protector, had left Versailles with Monsieur. Fabien Marchal had made it clear when Madame died that he would do nothing that would make their connection apparent, and Sophie had spent a lot of time thinking of her options. She needed to find the means to protect herself and if Fabien wasn’t willing to be seen as her patron, she would make him help her, nevertheless.
Sophie found Fabien as she always did, at his desk surrounded by books and papers. He barely looked at her, the only sign he was prepared to listen was picking up his quill to make notes as she spoke. It gave her the freedom to watch him unnoticed, and as carefully as she had studied herself earlier, she now studied him. He was as always dressed in dark brown, but though the cut was simple, the fabric was fine and the clothes well cared for and neatly turned out. The only concession to the late hour was his cravat laying abandoned on his desk and his shirt was open at the neck. When Sophie disregarded her feelings for him, she had to admit he was an attractive man. There was no grey in his dark hair yet, he had all his teeth still and his features was regular and without blemishes. His movements were always balanced and graceful, even in the smallest gesture as now when only his hand moved as he wrote. And he had beautiful hands, strong and capable looking, very clean and with well-kept nail. Hands which was good for doing all sorts of things, many of them terrible and cruel. It was an unsettling thought, and Sophie quickly pushed it away.
When she had finished her report he dismissed her, but Sophie remained, standing silently in front of him. He ignored her for a while, but eventually he looked up, frowning at her.
“Why are you still here? I have no more need of you.”
“Perhaps it’s I who have need of you.”
Fabien leaned back and narrowed his eyes. “What do you want? More money to spend on your trinkets and clothes? I thought you had been given adequate funds to maintain the appearance of aristocracy.”
Sophie clenched her hands in anger at the taunt in his voice though she took care to not let it show when she spoke.
“It’s not that. It’s-”, she paused, her rehearsed phrases suddenly sounding incoherent and vague in her head. She took a deep breath and then continued. “My mother kept me ignorant and used me as a tool. You want use me as well, but I would much rather know what I am doing. You want me to be like a falcon you can release on the unsuspecting prey, isn’t that so? But you wouldn’t release a falcon untrained, would you?”
Fabien eyed her with something close to interest.
“So you are telling me you could be a weapon and it would be in my best interest to keep this weapon sharp. And know how to wield it, no doubt, lest I get it in my back if I’m not careful.”
Sophie raised her chin. “Yes.”
He gave her a long hard stare and Sophie had to fight the urge to turn around and run. She fully expected him to order her to leave anyway, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cowed.
“And what is it you want more precisely? Are you trying out another seduction game? You ought to realise I won’t be amenable to it, and your efforts are clumsy.”
Sophie swallowed again, her nervosity had turned her mouth parched. “I’m not. And I know I’m not good at it, but I think I need to learn how. I know very little about men and there is no one but you I can ask for help. I want you to show me what men want, so I can learn how to handle them.”
Her words made him sneer. “Didn’t your builder demonstrate that for you?”
To her annoyance she could feel herself blush. “We kissed, nothing more.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s the truth! He wanted to do more, but I didn’t. Not then, when everything was different. Now- now I need to understand or I fear it will destroy me. So please, show me.”
There was another uncomfortable silence, and then Fabien rose from his chair..
“Very well. Your proposal is acceptable.”
Sophie gave him a glance from under her eyelashes, not daring to look at him straight in the eye. Her imagination had taken her this far, but now when she had succeeded, she did not know what to expect. He was suddenly close to her, closer than he had ever been before and she noticed, to her relief, that neither his breath nor his body stank. That was more than could be said about many of the men at court. With a shudder of disgust she remembered Cassel’s vile breath which had seemed to cling to her like a poisonous miasma. But the only thing Sophie’s sensitive nose picked up from Fabien was the scent of clean linen and soap perfumed with herbs.
Later she thought she should have guessed what was to come next, but his next words took her wholly by surprise.
“Take off your gown.”
Title: Show Me
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: Explicit
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 1739
Chapters: 1/2
Characters/pairing: Fabien Marchal/Sophie de Clermont.
Warnings: None for this chapter, explicit sex and spanking in the next.
Summary: Sophie needs Fabien Marchal to survive, but she is not prepared to let him dictate all the terms.
AN:Takes place after season one.
I like Sophie and her survival instincts. She’s in a rather hopeless situation after her mother’s death and if submitting to Fabien’s demands isn’t a good option, it’s still better than being turned out on the street with no means of support at all. And even if she is dependent of Fabien, she doesn’t seem to be afraid of him- perhaps, as she says, she has not much to loose anymore. I see her as a person who retains her autonomy despite her agreed subservience and I hope I manage to show that in this fic.
What isn’t clear in the show, though evident if you check the actual historical events, is that even if season 1 starts in 1667, it ends in 1670. Which means, if you are concerned by underage, that Sophie, who is sixteen in 1667, must be nineteen in the final episode.
If you are interested in historical fashion, then it may interest you that the gown Sophie wears is called a mantua which became popular in the 1670’s. I was very much thinking of this portrait when I envisaged Sophie gown:
(The Artist’s Children by Claude Lefèbvre, ca. 1670-75)
It was late at night and most of the occupants of Versailles was asleep, but Sophie de Clermont stood in her chamber and stared into a mirror. She had been summoned and had changed her clothes, putting the same care into her appearance as if she was to go to a ball. Her gown was new, but not in the silks and velvets she usually favoured, but soft wool in warm shades of green. It was not meant to be worn on a grand, formal occasion, and instead of a boned bodice the fabric was pleated around her body, held into place only by a belt with a jewelled clasp. And though she wore her corset underneath, she had not laced herself as hard as she usually did, which gave her an unexpected sense of freedom. The skirt of the gown was split in front and draped up over her hips, revealing a silk petticoat in gold, the colour repeated in the bows decorating the neckline and sleeves. It suited her well, she thought, the colours complimenting her skin and making it look even whiter than usual. But, most important of all, it was a fashion her mother had never worn. Tonight Sophie wanted nothing about her serving as a reminiscence of her missing parent.
The memory of her mother sent a sharp pang of grief through her. There was nothing left of Beatrice in these rooms, everything she had owned had been collected and removed as if she had never lived there. Fabien Marchal had refused to give anything back, claiming everything needed to be analysed for information. “I hate you!” Sophie had screamed, but he had just shrugged and reminded her of of the deal they had made and that she better keep her temper in check. Sophie had cried, more out of rage than grief, but she had stopped trying to antagonise him further. Now she wasn’t sure if she should be grateful for not having any tokens, perhaps it was easier to not have anything that could serve as remembrance. Memories alone was hard enough to bear.
But if Sophie hated Fabien for what he had done, she sometimes felt she hated her mother too for keeping all these secrets from her. She wasn’t even sure if Sophie had been the name given to her at birth, perhaps it had been changed when Beatrice had created the elaborate fantasy that had enabled them to come to court. Now everything Sophie did, even the ordinary little things she had always seen as natural parts of her life, were tainted by doubt. Not even Mass brought solace now when she knew she had been raised to believe in a religion her mother had viewed with hatred and contempt. Were you allowed to be sincere in your faith when it wasn’t really yours? And though she longed to pour out her heart at confession, Sophie didn’t dare to speak of the secrets she had to carry. More and more she felt like she was walking blind on slippery floors, never knowing when she would fall. But even if this made her think of her mother at times with angry resentment, she missed her so much more and the grief could overpower her at the most inconvenient occasions. But not now, now she wouldn’t dwell on the past, tonight she needed to think of her future.
Sophie carefully scrutinised her face, glad she must resemble the father she couldn’t remember and not Beatrice. She lightly dusted her face with powder, foregoing any other makeup and she had dressed her hair looser than usual, the heavy black mass of curls bound by just a few pins. When she was satisfied with how she looked she took another glance at the small note she had received under her door earlier in the evening. Ever since she had made her deal with Fabien, she had received similar notes several times, demanding her to deliver a report to him. So far all he had asked of her were detailed accounts of court gossip and what she had gleaned from conversations no one knew she overheard. To her surprise she had found she was quite adept in spying and she found a certain satisfaction in doing it well.
People had quickly stopped asking her about her mother’s absence, accepting the explanation of a sudden ill health forcing her to retire home to Pau. It was simply not very exciting news, and no one seemed to have any idea that Beatrice de Clermont hadn’t been who she had said she was. Without her mother to push her forward, Sophie could melt into the crowds of pretty women, spending her days like any other court lady with gossip and card games. She had hoped no one would find her noteworthy, but she gradually realised that a pretty girl alone at court was seen as fair game for the many two-legged vultures there. She had not understood before how much her mother had protected her from unwanted attention, and Chevalier who might have stepped into the role of her protector, had left Versailles with Monsieur. Fabien Marchal had made it clear when Madame died that he would do nothing that would make their connection apparent, and Sophie had spent a lot of time thinking of her options. She needed to find the means to protect herself and if Fabien wasn’t willing to be seen as her patron, she would make him help her, nevertheless.
Sophie found Fabien as she always did, at his desk surrounded by books and papers. He barely looked at her, the only sign he was prepared to listen was picking up his quill to make notes as she spoke. It gave her the freedom to watch him unnoticed, and as carefully as she had studied herself earlier, she now studied him. He was as always dressed in dark brown, but though the cut was simple, the fabric was fine and the clothes well cared for and neatly turned out. The only concession to the late hour was his cravat laying abandoned on his desk and his shirt was open at the neck. When Sophie disregarded her feelings for him, she had to admit he was an attractive man. There was no grey in his dark hair yet, he had all his teeth still and his features was regular and without blemishes. His movements were always balanced and graceful, even in the smallest gesture as now when only his hand moved as he wrote. And he had beautiful hands, strong and capable looking, very clean and with well-kept nail. Hands which was good for doing all sorts of things, many of them terrible and cruel. It was an unsettling thought, and Sophie quickly pushed it away.
When she had finished her report he dismissed her, but Sophie remained, standing silently in front of him. He ignored her for a while, but eventually he looked up, frowning at her.
“Why are you still here? I have no more need of you.”
“Perhaps it’s I who have need of you.”
Fabien leaned back and narrowed his eyes. “What do you want? More money to spend on your trinkets and clothes? I thought you had been given adequate funds to maintain the appearance of aristocracy.”
Sophie clenched her hands in anger at the taunt in his voice though she took care to not let it show when she spoke.
“It’s not that. It’s-”, she paused, her rehearsed phrases suddenly sounding incoherent and vague in her head. She took a deep breath and then continued. “My mother kept me ignorant and used me as a tool. You want use me as well, but I would much rather know what I am doing. You want me to be like a falcon you can release on the unsuspecting prey, isn’t that so? But you wouldn’t release a falcon untrained, would you?”
Fabien eyed her with something close to interest.
“So you are telling me you could be a weapon and it would be in my best interest to keep this weapon sharp. And know how to wield it, no doubt, lest I get it in my back if I’m not careful.”
Sophie raised her chin. “Yes.”
He gave her a long hard stare and Sophie had to fight the urge to turn around and run. She fully expected him to order her to leave anyway, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cowed.
“And what is it you want more precisely? Are you trying out another seduction game? You ought to realise I won’t be amenable to it, and your efforts are clumsy.”
Sophie swallowed again, her nervosity had turned her mouth parched. “I’m not. And I know I’m not good at it, but I think I need to learn how. I know very little about men and there is no one but you I can ask for help. I want you to show me what men want, so I can learn how to handle them.”
Her words made him sneer. “Didn’t your builder demonstrate that for you?”
To her annoyance she could feel herself blush. “We kissed, nothing more.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s the truth! He wanted to do more, but I didn’t. Not then, when everything was different. Now- now I need to understand or I fear it will destroy me. So please, show me.”
There was another uncomfortable silence, and then Fabien rose from his chair..
“Very well. Your proposal is acceptable.”
Sophie gave him a glance from under her eyelashes, not daring to look at him straight in the eye. Her imagination had taken her this far, but now when she had succeeded, she did not know what to expect. He was suddenly close to her, closer than he had ever been before and she noticed, to her relief, that neither his breath nor his body stank. That was more than could be said about many of the men at court. With a shudder of disgust she remembered Cassel’s vile breath which had seemed to cling to her like a poisonous miasma. But the only thing Sophie’s sensitive nose picked up from Fabien was the scent of clean linen and soap perfumed with herbs.
Later she thought she should have guessed what was to come next, but his next words took her wholly by surprise.
“Take off your gown.”