Every Last Inch of Him: Be Someone Else Hop

It’s time for the first ever Be Someone Else Creative Fiction Blog Hop! Are you excited? You should be. After a Facebook conversation gone rouge, the idea was thrown out to write a piece of fiction based on a villain. Now we know me…I couldn’t have done this about anyone but Gaston.

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This guy is yummy to me on so many levels. So I hope you enjoy my take on Gaston’s story. If you’d like to join in, the info for the Blog Hop is RIGHT HERE. Just add your link to the linky  and slap the badge on your post, which you can find right there on the side bar with the code.

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Now, grab some wine and let’s all get a little hot and bothered for Gaston.

*****

He was sitting at the bar, some redheaded hussy perched across his lap. Her arm wrapped around his massive shoulders, practically petting him and reaching up to pull through the curls of hair that hung down his neck. Her bottom was firmly planted on his lap, his hand massaging it through her dress, while he nursed a tankard of ale.

I stormed over, raking the hood down from my head. It was pouring outside, and my blond hair clung in strips down my cheeks. Small puddles formed under my slippers. I grabbed the woman’s shoulder, spinning the pair of them around. When those dark eyes of his met mine, my cheeks flushed red as flags of war.

“I knew it was you. You…you…selfish pig!” I heard myself scream.

He raised one of those perfectly combed eyebrows, his lips pulling up into some bastard child of a sneer and a smile. “It might be me. Did you push out some rascal pup and want me to play Papa? Because if so, it’s not me.”

Laughter burst from the tramp on his lap’s mouth, soon joined by half the patrons close enough to hear our little exchange.

“Gaston,” I practically growled. “You disappeared. We thought you died.”

“Do I know you, woman?” He asked, spinning lazily back around to face the bar in an obvious show of how little he cared to continue speaking to me.

That infuriated me. I let loose with a cannon of words, barely even in control anymore. “Oh I don’t know. Maybe if you were seeing me in triplet you’d remember. Certainly I wasn’t much different than my sisters. I mean, nothing special about us…”

He grunted, but I kept on railing against him. “Oh we were no Belle though, huh? No. We didn’t publicly humiliate you and run off with a prince. With a castle!”

The tankard smashed against the bar, shattering and sending pieces flying across the room. A piece pinged off my thigh and fell to the floor at my feet. Gaston gave the woman on his lap a little push, her mouth stuck in an ‘o’ of surprise, silent and gaping.

“Get off me, Cheryl,” he whispered.

She stumbled to her feet and scurried back behind the bar. By the time she had moved, most others had stepped away from us, the space clearing and everyone vibrating on edge.

He rose to his feet, slowly, his frame unfolding. I’d forgotten just how large he was. Each step of his heavy boots rattled the bottles on the bar. Within two strides he was there, a breath away from me. I was staring straight at his chest, not even daring to look up. You could have lined my sisters and me up in a row and his shoulders still would have been wider than us.

Turning his head, I heard a wad of spit shoot out and land on the floor with a disgusting little plop. He placed a finger under my chin, tilting my head up forcefully to look at him.

“You wanted my attention…” he whispered, a soft snarl.

My voice froze and I just nodded my head, stuttering to get the words out. “We thought you were dead.”

“Ha,” he spit out. “Me? Hell no.”

“Well…You didn’t come back. Belle said you fell, off the castle roof…”

“Into a river, you idiot. And I didn’t fall. I jumped.”

“Why would you jump, Gaston?”

The smile that lit his face was dark and frightening. It sent a pang straight down my belly, creeping lower until the flush in my cheeks was something else entirely. As if on cue, he began to walk forward. There was nowhere to go but back, and with each step of his, I took probably three.

“Wasn’t it obvious? That little tease running me along, until suddenly crazy old Maurice finds a castle…” His voice was cutting, sharp, and deadly.

“Tease?”

“Belle, woman. Keep up. So now there’s a castle and it’s all enchanted with talking frying pans and a fur rug in trousers. She’s smart, that Belle. No one puts a curse on some piss-poor chap in a castle…”

I squinted my eyes, trying to keep up with his logic, but he kept walking towards me and I was very aware of how close we were, how his chest would brush against me for a brief moment before I would step back. One more time of that and I may not back up any longer…

“She knew what she was getting. ‘Oh, I’ll just act like I love this giant hairball and then I’ll get the castle and the money and be a princess forever and ever.’ She’s just like them all. You women. You insatiable little sluts. Gluttonous harlots. Ravenous whores.”

He spit out each disgusting word, his teeth gnashing together in a viscous smile and pushing towards me the entire time. When my back hit the wall, his palms slammed into the wood next to my face and he bent, his eyes boring into mine.

“I…I don’t think…we’re not all…”

“You’re all like that. Isn’t that right?” He asked, pushing his knee between my legs and pinning me quite effectively against the wall.

“Gaston…we…none of us even liked Belle that much….I’m not…I…”

“You’re. Just. Like. Her.” His knee rose, pressing harshly against the core between my thighs. I pressed my hands against his chest, my nails digging into his skin, tangling into the hair there.

Gaston bent his head, his breath hot against my ear. “I was dismissed. Rejected. Publicly humiliated. And now here you come, strolling in here. For what?” His lips closed around my ear and bit softly at the skin there. “For this?” He growled. I reached up, pushed at the solid strength of his jaw, the strong form of his chin.

His knee began to move in a circular motion and within moments I felt my hips, like traitors, pushing against him. He bent his head, digging a hand into my hair, pulling through the braid and forcing my head back. He hovered briefly over my lips, before diving down and devouring me. It was harsh, his teeth clicked against my own and his tongue choked me. I fought to kiss him back. I fought to have some kind of control in that moment.

A soft moan escaped my lips when he broke the kiss. That disgusting smile covered his face again.

“Just like the rest of them, Claudia,” he rumbled.

“I’m…I’m Laura,” I whispered, rubbing tenderly at my swollen lips.

Stepping back, he raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms across his chest. “Whatever.” His laughter roared out, on its own at first, and then unexpectedly the rest of the bar erupted.  I suddenly remembered everyone else there and shame colored my cheeks as their laughter draped over me, drowning me.

Gaston held a hand out to me. “C’mon. We’ll finish this out back, Paula.”

“Laura,” I murmured, my hand slipping into his, getting lost within his huge grip.
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Herstory Lesson: Evil doesn’t always have to be bad.

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