


Always

by The Lady Elrond



Category: Quills
Genre: Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-04
Updated: 2007-11-04
Packaged: 2013-12-14 15:09:50
Rating: M
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: www.fanfiction.net
Story URL: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3873180/1/
Author URL: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/859198/The-Lady-Elrond
Summary: Tell me one last story. Marquis/Madeleine. AU.





	Always

**Always**

**_'Love not often...but for always.'_ **

They left Charenton in broad daylight, their escape heralded by the screams of the sour faced maypole Charlotte as they ran, hand in hand, throught the steam and stench of the linen rooms and out into the sweet spring air.

By the time the guards reached the gates, the depraved prisoner and the pretty chambermaid were gone..._'bound for England, or points beyond.'_

"Do not regret, my love," the Marquis murmured that evening as their cabriolet rumbled along the uneven highway,"Do not regret and never look back."

Madeleine didn't reply, only continued to stare out at the moon shining above them and wondered what the future held for them, two outlaws at the mercy of the road. Eventually they reached the coast and bartered passage aboard a ship. That night, huddled together in a little cabin, naked beneath filthy blankets, the chambermaid discovered rapture beyond what she had read about in the sordid novels penned by her companion. Their entwined bodies, slippery with sweat, seemed to fit perfectly together...as if they were, as the Marquis put it, "a quill and an ink well." They rolled and romped to the rhythm of the waves and, as she panted beneath him, Madeleine learnt what it was to be mad, driven insane with lust and passion, and how to wield the powerful and complex instrument between her legs.

They landed on English soil in record time, deaf to the windborne curses of their French gaolers, and soon the Marquis, through his influence and what money remained from the sale of his books, procured for them a hideaway. A tiny cottage in London.

It was hardly the rosestrewn palace of childhood fantasy - but then again, the Marquis was no Prince Charming and Madeleine was not Cinderella and for them it became home. They had everything they needed; there was a battered writing desk, a desiccated bookcase and a large bed...it was more than a home really. It was freedom.

Freedom to write and to love without fear of persecution.

Of course there were times when this freedom seemed worthless in the face of what they had left behind to achieve it. Sometimes, in the dead of night when the orgies were over, the whores and libertines had left and they were alone, Madeleine would weep for the comforting arms of her mother and the soft, loving touch of Abbe de Coulmier until the Marquis, weary of her depression, would take to the streets, slinking home from the brothel in the early morning light when his lover's tears were spent. Sometimes the tables would turn and the Marquis, hungry for his lost wealth, would throw a tantrum and spend the night writing furious letters to his abandoned wife...letters which always ended their lifes as screwed up balls of paper on the floor or ashes lying amongst the dying embers of the fire.

But, as a general rule, they were quite content together...happiest when they were holding each other, their naked bodies bathed in the soft moonlight. It was then that Madeleine, drowsy in his arms, would beg the Marquis for a story and he would whisper a naughty little tale in her ear, arousing her to passion again.

Sometimes they would write their own stories, acting each depraved act out along the way...and often the Marquis wondered when his young protegee would hold up her hands and cry, like so many others had before her, "Enough!"

And each time, as if in reply to his thoughts, Madeleine would push aside his doubts, reaching for him again...

_**"Tell me a story...one last story, my love..."**_


End file.
