The Prince and the Rascal
(Abbé de Coulmier x Male!OC - chap. 4)
Summary: The Abbé gets involved in an inconvenient romantic affair...
Warnings: slight bad language(?)
A new day started in Charenton, in the worst of the ways.
The Abbé de Coulmier’s eyes got violently hit by a strong sunbeam coming through the window and filling his room, as his back felt the messy bed sheets under him. That nuisance made him squirm a bit and sleepily whine.
He sat up, groaning, his body was waking up more and more, sending him signals of pain from every part, especially his behind; he felt smelly, and sticky, his hair was all damp and ruffled from the night before. He needed a bath as soon as possible. But at least, he had finally his beloved Ange with him. The thought made him smile while stretching.
-Wake up, sleepyhead...- he softly cooed while turning around, expecting an angelic charming sleeping face, but frowned when he saw half of his bed empty again; his heart fell in emptiness, and filled in anxiety. Where did Ange go?!
He frenetically started looking around to find him, in that moment the bubble of peace that they made around them shattered, making the sounds of the outside world reach his ears. By seeing the sun’s brightness and all those noises outside, he could tell that everyone was already awake: fuck, he had missed the morning mass!
François’s face turned pale in a matter of seconds. He accidentally fell from the bed for quickly getting up, and picked up his clothes from the floor, putting them on again in a rush.
Ew, those clothes were a disaster too. A feeling of disgust ran through his body as he wore them.
He put himself in front of the mirror in full panic, like a kid who was late for school, and tried combing his hair the best he could. As he adjusted himself, his eyes noticed the deep purple hickeys and bites on his neck, trailing down his shoulders and collarbones; those marks made him sigh from relief, at least he hadn’t dreamed of it, of him.
Through the mirror, he noticed his hung cassock too. That sight made his mind, already full of the memories from the previous night, give space to all the worries from the consequences of his actions.
Would he have been kicked out of the priestly order?
Imprisoned for having hosted a prisoner again?
Or, even worse, banned from Heaven for being a homosexual?
He stopped in particular on that last worry: after the Revolution, sodomy wasn’t considered a crime for the State anymore, and homosexuality had been finally tolerated, but that wasn’t valid for religion yet.
Not God, not the Pope, not the Vatican. And surely not Heaven, that’s what he had been taught at the Monastery when he was young. Ridiculous, almost shameful.
This made him fill in anger. And then doubting himself: how was it possible that during his whole lifetime, he had been attracted to women, and all of a sudden, he was loving a man so deeply? That meant he wasn’t gay? Attraction to women was just an illusion? Or maybe Ange had brainwashed him with his charm?
The image of his beloved blond man soon appeared and defined in his brain, kicking out every other thought. The priest’s cheeks colored of a light red again, and a giggle spontaneously escaped his lips.
The neighing of horses woke him up again, and made him shake his head, it came from outside. A guest?
He quickly put his cassock on, postponing his needed bath, and stormed outside his room.
The corridor was crowded, as usual, patients wandering and interacting with each other, and then employees, chambermaids, nuns, and guards running around, busy in devotedly working like ants.
But that day, everyone was there to judge him: despite he was checking on everyone around him, and seeing they were minding their own business, he somehow felt observed, at the center of an interrogatory. He could feel guilt build inside him, how could he betray his employees, cheat on his Madeleine, and neglect his activity? The things he was living for, he felt them as if they were worthless to him now.
Now that Ange was gone, his brain had time to reflect: he had thrown away his virginity for a man, yes a man he loved, but that he didn’t know at all. And yet...that night of lovemaking felt as if those two were made for staying together, as if they knew each other forever. The bond was immediate; something that no verse of the Holy Bible, nor the luxurious books of the Marquis, nor even the cheesiest romance novels he had read from times to times, had never explained.
As he walked through the corridors, and briefly bowing his head to the patients and employees, his eyes fell on his own cassock. His body wasn’t the right place for that now meaningless, punitive and suffocating pitch black clothe, not anymore. The tight collar, which had never bothered him since he became an Abbé, was now choking him.
A raspy voice called him from behind, bringing him back to real life. The young priest turned around, and briefly swallowed down, lifting his collar a bit more, oh, God, he hoped his hickeys were well hidden, he hadn’t checked at all while getting out of his room. He bowed a bit.
-Good morning, Doctor. I...I hope you had a good rest tonight.- the brunette man told him with a forced lower voice, fearing he could sound too effeminate after what he had done. The old man nodded, his eyes knowing, or at least it seemed so in François’s head.
-I had a pretty good night, thank you for the concern. I hope you had a good night too.- Royer-Collard replied, a little smile forming on his dry lips, François suddenly blushed but didn’t reply, that old man could bet he did, his aching ass was witness.
-It came to my attention that you weren’t present in the chapel this morning. May I ask you why? Feeling sick?- the Doctor asked him, his gaze inquisitive as usual, the Abbé didn’t know how to respond in that moment. The best idea coming in his mind was lying, but he wasn’t able to. He never lied in his life.
-Yeah..I mean no! I’m perfectly fine. I...I just overslept today..- he stuttered, it was the truth, though, even if his hands were sweating and fidgeting from nervousness. Royer-Collard raised an eyebrow, and the young man widened his eyes for a moment, it was official, that man knew something, he had probably heard.
-Are you sure, my friend? You look shabbier than usual, and ill. Your employees reviewed a flawless and perfectionist Director; missing the mass and breakfast isn’t normal for someone like you.- the old man insisted, approaching a bit. -Here, let me check your temperature.- he added, reaching his hand out at his forehead, but François nervously smiled, and stepped back.
-I said I’m fine! Really, thank you for the concern.- he repeated, he really didn’t know what to say, but didn’t want to risk, the man could have seen his marks if he had stepped a bit closer.
But instead Royer-Collard shrugged. Thank God, he hadn’t suspected.
-As you wish.- he concluded, proudly standing in front of him with his puffed chest, and tightly holding his cane; that man was so old, but yet standing up and with the attitude and strength of a youngster. The young priest wondered how he was able to be like that, was it wealth to make people healthier? Maybe it filled their hearts in pride for what they owned and made them feel superior to everyone else. Patients of his age that were in that asylum weren’t that full of life. Or maybe it was him, the Abbé, a technically wealthy noble but used to think like one of the lower class, due to everyone he met in his life during his charity masses and other social activities. “Windbag.” he thought for a moment, annoyed by his sassy attitude.
-Valcour warned me that a couple guests arrived, and they asked for you. Here, let me guide you.- the Doctor added, lifting his cane to literally push him and force him downstairs, his attitude once again dominating. Maybe it was all that happened in that morning that was uncontrollably frustrating the Abbé, or it could be the annoyance of Ange’s disappearance, maybe it was his lover’s influence; but he was starting to run out of tolerance for that old man.
His vex vanished when they entered the main corridor of the asylum, where the entrance door was, noticing the guests waiting for him by chatting with Valcour and Madeleine. He gasped, his eyes filled in tears and his mind totally forgot the politeness and grace of the flawless Abbé that he was, when he started running towards them.
-Lucille!- the young man loudly called, his voice trembling in joy, and let out a whimper when he tightly hugged her, his heart felt welcomed by her warm embrace.
His childhood best friend of a lifetime, Lucille Chagall had always been like an elder sister to him, a reference figure since he was a kid. The little lady got literally invested by the brunette priest, and strongly returned the hug, his tears were wetting her rich dress, and the always excessive laces on it were itching his face.
-My dearest François!- she happily exclaimed, squealing a bit by feeling the floor leaving her feet, he had lifted her a bit while hugging, her shortness let him.
-I missed you a lot, I will not lie to you. I hope I was of no bother when I sent my letters… You know, I was dying of worry since the Revolution started; we haven’t seen each other since then. The could have hurt you, or way worse!- she told him, and pinched her soft cherry lips together, her limpid blue eyes looking at him like every affectionate mom would look at her child. Her words made him scoff, and shake his head, his hand dried his tears in a quick gesture.
-No need to be worried about that. I assure you I was safe and sound, away from harm.- he lied with a smile, he had instead risked a lot too during that hellish decade, and he was still so young. -They could have hurt you as well, but you look gorgeous, a porcelain doll as usual.- he cooed, putting her down, despite she was older than him, her short height, short blond hair, blue eyes and puffy dress made her look like one of those pretty antique dolls his grandma used to have in her bedroom, delicate and untouched.
His gaze moved to the man that was accompanying her; a very tall and muscular man, a proud attitude too, with short curly ginger hair, blue eyes and a light stubble. He had a smile on his face while looking at François.
-See who came back from th’ grave.- the man joked, turning his smile into a little amused grin. The Abbé raised an eyebrow, attentively studying his face, that man was familiar to him, but couldn’t remember where he saw him. Indeed he hesitated a bit, he couldn’t decide whether pretend to remember or keep staring at him like an idiot.
-I, uh...I apologize, I cannot recall who you...- he tried to say, his mind desperately trying to remember, but it seemed that his long term memory had been suddenly emptied. Lucille noticed and giggled, approaching the man and grabbing his arm, looking at him full of love.
-François, dear, let me introduce you monsieur Matthew Jourdain. Matty, this is my greatest friend from childhood, François Simonet de Coulmier.- she happily introduced them, with a big smile on her face; and in the moment when that charming man’s name reached his ears, François gasped.
-Matthew?! Is that you?- the young priest asked, approaching the man even more, wanting to catch every possible detail of his face, for every detail he noticed, a new memory came back to the surface of his brain. -We haven’t seen each other since we ended our path in Monastery! It’s an immense pleasure to see you after so much time, you’re changed a lot!- he then added happily, Matthew giggled, briefly scratching his nape, quite flattered for his words.
-Aye, huh...I left priesthood not so long ago, I wasnae happy with the cassock on, I dedicated myself on my passion, cooking. And then I met this wee lass, deciding she shall become my wife.- The ginger man smiled charmingly, kissing Lucille’s head, making her happily blush. By hearing those words, François widened his eyes, his smile faded. His eyes briefly posed on Lucille, who was talking to the ginger man, but thoughts muffled her words: how could she, his lifetime best friend and former fiancée, marry someone else? Their families organized the perfect wedding for them, when they would have reached adulthood.
His mind returned back rational for a second; their roads parted when the Revolution started, he didn’t even turn ten yet, and she was slightly older. Both were nobles, there was no certainty that they would have survived, people had been craving royal blood on their hands and weapons for ten years: it was a miracle that she was alive, since Matthew ans him had been shielded by the Monastery where they had been trained for years.
Yet, a deep and erosive feeling of betrayal build in his guts, as if he had just been cheated on a woman he never met on the altar to make her his wife. Or rather, as if the lifetime best friend who never left his side, disappeared.
-Abbé? Are ye okay?- Matthew asked worriedly, a hand resting on his shoulder. The Abbé shook his head and cleared his throat, heavily blushing in embarrassment.
-Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I was...lost in thought.- the brunette man absently mumbled, briefly studying their faces; they visited him for another purpose. He took a deep breath and built the best smile he could on his lips, burying deep his feeling of betrayal, and deciding to ignore it.
-I’m so glad you two found happiness together. Please, accept a cup of tea, or coffee if you want, be my guests.-
The blonde nurse placed a porcelain teapot on the table, now empty, after having served some tea to the two men, and sat next to her husband, she had refused the service of the chambermaids. The young priest let out a little smile at seeing her, she kept her grace through the years, as if her job and the Revolution didn’t touch her at all.
François was obviously agitated, his breath was quicker and his eyes stuck on his fingers, nervously pulling little pieces of skin, he hadn’t drank a sip of his tea, which was slowly turning cold. That condition of his pained the couple, Lucille knew why he was like that.
-I know what are you thinking.- she suddenly spoke, catching her friend’s attention in a matter of a second. Her hand covered by a silky white glove moved from Matthew’s knee to reach François’s hand, caressing it. -We’re here to help you, and won’t leave you alone.- she then softly added with a sweet smile. The young priest’s eyes got slightly wet, and looked down again, staring at the bottom of his tea cup.
-I’m so confused, Lucille...it’s been months that a thousand doubts torture my soul, I can’t take it anymore! I don’t even know if I still deserve this cassock.- he admitted, clenching his collar in a fist as his other hand squeezed the nurse’s, a couple chocolate curls falling on his forehead and ruining his perfectly combed hairstyle. Matthew felt personally involved in this piece of conversation, and placed his tea cup on the table.
-Listen, doubts are usual for someone like ye, ‘n’ like me. We both had endured a heavily badgering ‘n’ manipulative training in Monastery. They monks had taken away oor freedom, fur everything. ‘n’ we didnae deserve it.- the ginger man explained, with a comprehensive and kind smile. -Ye can get rid of th’ cassock. As I did.- he then added, trying to give him some hope.
François temporarily ignored the odd accent that man had while speaking French, an accent he never heard from him during their years in Monastery. He shook his head and eyed him.
-That’s the point, Matthew, I… I don’t want to get rid of the cassock. I love my job, and I love priesthood, it makes me feel so close to God, so protected.- the Abbé protested, pulling back his hand from Lucille’s and holding tight his cassock, as if someone wanted to take it away from him. Suddenly, Matthew’s soft gaze turned into a frown, his eyebrow lifted.
-Protected from what?- he asked, inquisitive. That question immediately emptied François’s head from any other reply of defense he wanted to let out, and another doubt was added. From what he wanted to be protected from, by the loving yet cumbersome Holy graces?
The dark-haired boy brought his nails at his mouth, chewing them as he thought of an answer, but his thoughts stopped when he heard the door of his office being knocked. Valcour opened that door a bit, and peeked his head to look at his chief, apologetically bowing.
-My apologies for having interrupted, Abbé. The professor Martin Francœur has just arrived.- the man timidly and politely announced, Lucille smiled.
-Wonderful! Thanks, monsieur, let my friend in, we were impatiently waiting for him.- she joyfully beamed, François gasped and quickly adjusted himself, his cheeks turning a bright red, his beloved rascal finally back to him!
His shiny and hopeful gaze turned off when he saw the lonely figure of a chubby short man with light brown hair, tied up in a low ponytail, and a massive moustache, his eyes black and almond-shaped, get in the room, taking off his hat and sighing, visibly worried.
-Good day to everyone...- he saluted, looking down as if he had no courage to face the others.
Matthew and Lucille were surprised too, and looked at each other, the ginger man cupping his wife’s cheek and briefly caressing it to reassure her, she looked at Martin.
-Good day to you, Professor. Where...where’s my brother?- the nurse asked, trying to sound as calm as possible to not alarm the Abbé even more, he was concerned enough already.
The Professor took a deep and long breath, and finally managed to look up at her.
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