My Only Love, chapter 3
Jul. 29th, 2017 01:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scripsiTitle: My Only Love
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: Explicit
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 1556
Chapters: 3/?
Characters/pairing: Fabien Marchal/Sophie de Clermont.
Warnings: Torture, bondage, choking, rough sex
Summary: Estranged from Fabien, Sophie returns to Versailles, continuing her work as his spy. When Fabien decides to play a long game with Sophie as pawn, the hopes of them finding each other again, gets dangerously close to be permanently shattered. A sequel to Falling.
The warnings are coming into play in this chapter.
Sophie was brought into Fabien’s office and told to wait there, then she was left alone. She had hoped Fabien would come and explain himself, but he did not. So she removed the mantle she had worn for her walk and tried to settle down with one of Fabien’s books to pass time. But she found it hard to pay attention to what she was reading, too many thoughts swirling around her head. What was happening, and why wasn’t she allowed to leave? Surely Fabien could not suspect her of anything? She had done nothing but following his orders, and Sophie could not understand what could have made him suspicious, if that was what he was. Eventually a servant came with some food for her, but she found it hard to eat. Outside the room a guard was posted, but he could tell her nothing more than she was supposed to stay where she was.
It was hours later when Fabien finally came. Sophie was half asleep in his chair, but as soon as he entered she felt wide awake. He looked tired, rolling his shoulder as if he tried to ease out stiff muscles.
“What is happening?”
He made a grimace.
“Nothing much. He is not speaking, and I need him to talk tonight. Something happened that made him speed up his plans, and I need to know what.”
“What has he done? Are you sure he is guilty?”
“I know he is.”
Fabien rubbed a hand over his face as if to expel his tiredness.
“I need you to come with me now. I had hoped to keep you out of it, but I need you.”
“What can I do? He won’t listen to me.”
“I know.”
A horrible suspicion formed in Sophie’s mind, and she took a step back, away from him.
“What are you going to do?”
“The less you know, the better.”
“I don’t like this, Fabien.”
He moved closer to Sophie before she could back away further, and reached for her arm, holding her gently. He touched her hair, stroking it as if he tried to calm a skittish horse. Despite her growing apprehension Sophie closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. It had been a long time since Fabien had treated her with kindness.
“Do you trust me, Sophie?”
“I do. But I-”
He interrupted her, his grip hardening.
“Keep that in mind.”
He walked out of the room, giving Sophie no other choice but to follow. Her high heels slipped on the floor and she stumbled, but he paid no heed. She understood now, and it sickened her. Monsieur de Varade had no family in Versailles, and few friends. He had no vices to exploit, no weaknesses. Until Fabien had created one to use against him. There had been no reason to tell Sophie of what was going on because she had only been bait. Unshed tears prickled her eyes, she felt angry at herself for not understanding sooner, and angry at Fabien for doing this to her.
The room Fabien took Sophie to was familiar to her. He had taken here there once before, a long time ago. Then she had been afraid he was going to hurt her, now she knew he would. The question was; how much? The room was brightly lit, and it was all too easy to see every gruesome detail. Monsieur de Varade was tied to a chair, his jacket removed and his shirt torn and bloodstained. His face was bloody and swollen, and to Sophie’s growing horror she saw the fingers on his left hand broken and mis-happen. She clasped her hand against her mouth, afraid she would be sick at the sight and smell of blood. When most of the court found public executions an excellent amusement, Sophie never went because she could not abide to see anyone suffer. Now she could not avoid it, and she swallowed hard, the taste of bile rising in her throat.
Fabien shoved her forward and let go, causing Sophie to fall down on her hands and knees. Monsieur de Varade looked at her in horror, and Sophie stared back, eyes wide in fear which was not wholly pretend. She knew she had a role to play, willingly or not, but until now she had forgotten what she ought to have remembered; that Fabien Marchal was a man for whom violence came easily. And she should have remembered how persistent he was in his work, and how ruthless he could be.
For the moment she was left alone on the floor while Fabien turned to Monsieur de Varade.
“If you won’t talk, then perhaps your mistress will be more amenable.”
Monsieur de Varade tugged at his bonds, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.
“Mademoiselle de Clermont is innocent. She knows nothing of my affairs. And she is not my mistress!”
“I don’t believe you. And she will break and talk, in the end. Or are you telling me you are letting an innocent woman suffer in your place?”
Without any apparent hurry Fabien strolled over to a table which held a number of tools and implements, and after some consideration he selected a riding crop from them. When Sophie moved to stand up, he hit her over the back, the impact forceful enough to send her sprawling on the floor once more. But the heavily boned bodice took the brunt of the blow, and though it left her breathless and hurting, Sophie knew it had looked much worse than it had actually been. She raised an arm to shield her if he was going to hit her again, and screamed;
“Please stop! I don’t know what you want! I don’t know what you are talking about!”
Fabien put down the riding crop and for a moment Sophie thought he would relent, but then he picked up a piece of rope instead. He pulled her up so she was standing again and tied her wrists together. Sophie winced when the rope tightened, but with his back to Monsieur de Varade so he couldn’t see, Fabien ran his fingers along the rope, making sure there was some ease in it. But then he forced Sophie's arms up, threading the rope around a hook hanging from the ceiling in a chain. It hung so high she had to stand on her tiptoes, and the strain immediately made her shoulders and arms ache. Once again armed with the riding crop Fabien started to ask her questions. Sophie did not have to feign ignorance of the answers as she had no idea what it was Monsieur de Varade had done. There was not much acting in her bewildered denials and it was clear Monsieur de Varade bought into it fully.
Fabien’s voice sounded different, flatter, and without emotion, and Sophie could see nothing of the man she knew. Every time she protested her innocence the riding crop came down on her legs and buttocks, stinging, though the heavy fabrics of her skirt and petticoats softened the strikes. When Sophie tried to twist away, he put his hand around her throat, tightening his fingers so she choked every time she moved. Fabien had told her to trust him, but how far would he go? If Monsieur de Varade did not break where would Fabien stop? A tight knot of fear formed inside Sophie, growing a little every time she looked into his eyes and saw a stranger. But at the same time his touch affected her the saw way it always had. The warmth of his hand on her skin, the relentless pressure against her throat, and the burning blows from the riding crop; it was all too close to the games they had played together before. If it had just been the two of them in the room, then she would have been thrilled and eager. The feelings fed of each other, fear and arousal mingling with the anger she still felt. They all blurred together in her mind, tossing Sophie into a maelstrom of emotions. Fabien’s question, and the shouts from Monsieur de Varade became sounds without meaning, drowned by her own laboured breathing. Dark spots danced before her eyes, and for the first time in her life, Sophie thought she was going to faint.
It took her several moments to realise the voices had fallen silent, and Fabien had stepped away from her. With her vision still clouded Sophie could not be sure, but she thought she caught a look of concern on his face. He threw away the riding crop, she could hear it clatter as it fell to the floor, and unsheathed his knife instead. In her overwrought state Sophie could not stop herself from crying out, cringing away from him as he approached her again. But he merely cut the ropes around her wrists. The sudden freedom caused a sharp pain to shoot through her shoulders, and Sophie would have fallen if Fabien had not caught her. He held her close for a brief second, then he gently lowered her down to the floor. Relief flooded through her, but then Sophie froze as the sharp point of the knife cut into her skin at the nape of her neck. The night in Fabien’s torture chamber was not yet over.
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: Explicit
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 1556
Chapters: 3/?
Characters/pairing: Fabien Marchal/Sophie de Clermont.
Warnings: Torture, bondage, choking, rough sex
Summary: Estranged from Fabien, Sophie returns to Versailles, continuing her work as his spy. When Fabien decides to play a long game with Sophie as pawn, the hopes of them finding each other again, gets dangerously close to be permanently shattered. A sequel to Falling.
The warnings are coming into play in this chapter.
Sophie was brought into Fabien’s office and told to wait there, then she was left alone. She had hoped Fabien would come and explain himself, but he did not. So she removed the mantle she had worn for her walk and tried to settle down with one of Fabien’s books to pass time. But she found it hard to pay attention to what she was reading, too many thoughts swirling around her head. What was happening, and why wasn’t she allowed to leave? Surely Fabien could not suspect her of anything? She had done nothing but following his orders, and Sophie could not understand what could have made him suspicious, if that was what he was. Eventually a servant came with some food for her, but she found it hard to eat. Outside the room a guard was posted, but he could tell her nothing more than she was supposed to stay where she was.
It was hours later when Fabien finally came. Sophie was half asleep in his chair, but as soon as he entered she felt wide awake. He looked tired, rolling his shoulder as if he tried to ease out stiff muscles.
“What is happening?”
He made a grimace.
“Nothing much. He is not speaking, and I need him to talk tonight. Something happened that made him speed up his plans, and I need to know what.”
“What has he done? Are you sure he is guilty?”
“I know he is.”
Fabien rubbed a hand over his face as if to expel his tiredness.
“I need you to come with me now. I had hoped to keep you out of it, but I need you.”
“What can I do? He won’t listen to me.”
“I know.”
A horrible suspicion formed in Sophie’s mind, and she took a step back, away from him.
“What are you going to do?”
“The less you know, the better.”
“I don’t like this, Fabien.”
He moved closer to Sophie before she could back away further, and reached for her arm, holding her gently. He touched her hair, stroking it as if he tried to calm a skittish horse. Despite her growing apprehension Sophie closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. It had been a long time since Fabien had treated her with kindness.
“Do you trust me, Sophie?”
“I do. But I-”
He interrupted her, his grip hardening.
“Keep that in mind.”
He walked out of the room, giving Sophie no other choice but to follow. Her high heels slipped on the floor and she stumbled, but he paid no heed. She understood now, and it sickened her. Monsieur de Varade had no family in Versailles, and few friends. He had no vices to exploit, no weaknesses. Until Fabien had created one to use against him. There had been no reason to tell Sophie of what was going on because she had only been bait. Unshed tears prickled her eyes, she felt angry at herself for not understanding sooner, and angry at Fabien for doing this to her.
The room Fabien took Sophie to was familiar to her. He had taken here there once before, a long time ago. Then she had been afraid he was going to hurt her, now she knew he would. The question was; how much? The room was brightly lit, and it was all too easy to see every gruesome detail. Monsieur de Varade was tied to a chair, his jacket removed and his shirt torn and bloodstained. His face was bloody and swollen, and to Sophie’s growing horror she saw the fingers on his left hand broken and mis-happen. She clasped her hand against her mouth, afraid she would be sick at the sight and smell of blood. When most of the court found public executions an excellent amusement, Sophie never went because she could not abide to see anyone suffer. Now she could not avoid it, and she swallowed hard, the taste of bile rising in her throat.
Fabien shoved her forward and let go, causing Sophie to fall down on her hands and knees. Monsieur de Varade looked at her in horror, and Sophie stared back, eyes wide in fear which was not wholly pretend. She knew she had a role to play, willingly or not, but until now she had forgotten what she ought to have remembered; that Fabien Marchal was a man for whom violence came easily. And she should have remembered how persistent he was in his work, and how ruthless he could be.
For the moment she was left alone on the floor while Fabien turned to Monsieur de Varade.
“If you won’t talk, then perhaps your mistress will be more amenable.”
Monsieur de Varade tugged at his bonds, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.
“Mademoiselle de Clermont is innocent. She knows nothing of my affairs. And she is not my mistress!”
“I don’t believe you. And she will break and talk, in the end. Or are you telling me you are letting an innocent woman suffer in your place?”
Without any apparent hurry Fabien strolled over to a table which held a number of tools and implements, and after some consideration he selected a riding crop from them. When Sophie moved to stand up, he hit her over the back, the impact forceful enough to send her sprawling on the floor once more. But the heavily boned bodice took the brunt of the blow, and though it left her breathless and hurting, Sophie knew it had looked much worse than it had actually been. She raised an arm to shield her if he was going to hit her again, and screamed;
“Please stop! I don’t know what you want! I don’t know what you are talking about!”
Fabien put down the riding crop and for a moment Sophie thought he would relent, but then he picked up a piece of rope instead. He pulled her up so she was standing again and tied her wrists together. Sophie winced when the rope tightened, but with his back to Monsieur de Varade so he couldn’t see, Fabien ran his fingers along the rope, making sure there was some ease in it. But then he forced Sophie's arms up, threading the rope around a hook hanging from the ceiling in a chain. It hung so high she had to stand on her tiptoes, and the strain immediately made her shoulders and arms ache. Once again armed with the riding crop Fabien started to ask her questions. Sophie did not have to feign ignorance of the answers as she had no idea what it was Monsieur de Varade had done. There was not much acting in her bewildered denials and it was clear Monsieur de Varade bought into it fully.
Fabien’s voice sounded different, flatter, and without emotion, and Sophie could see nothing of the man she knew. Every time she protested her innocence the riding crop came down on her legs and buttocks, stinging, though the heavy fabrics of her skirt and petticoats softened the strikes. When Sophie tried to twist away, he put his hand around her throat, tightening his fingers so she choked every time she moved. Fabien had told her to trust him, but how far would he go? If Monsieur de Varade did not break where would Fabien stop? A tight knot of fear formed inside Sophie, growing a little every time she looked into his eyes and saw a stranger. But at the same time his touch affected her the saw way it always had. The warmth of his hand on her skin, the relentless pressure against her throat, and the burning blows from the riding crop; it was all too close to the games they had played together before. If it had just been the two of them in the room, then she would have been thrilled and eager. The feelings fed of each other, fear and arousal mingling with the anger she still felt. They all blurred together in her mind, tossing Sophie into a maelstrom of emotions. Fabien’s question, and the shouts from Monsieur de Varade became sounds without meaning, drowned by her own laboured breathing. Dark spots danced before her eyes, and for the first time in her life, Sophie thought she was going to faint.
It took her several moments to realise the voices had fallen silent, and Fabien had stepped away from her. With her vision still clouded Sophie could not be sure, but she thought she caught a look of concern on his face. He threw away the riding crop, she could hear it clatter as it fell to the floor, and unsheathed his knife instead. In her overwrought state Sophie could not stop herself from crying out, cringing away from him as he approached her again. But he merely cut the ropes around her wrists. The sudden freedom caused a sharp pain to shoot through her shoulders, and Sophie would have fallen if Fabien had not caught her. He held her close for a brief second, then he gently lowered her down to the floor. Relief flooded through her, but then Sophie froze as the sharp point of the knife cut into her skin at the nape of her neck. The night in Fabien’s torture chamber was not yet over.
