The prisoner scrambled to his feet and backed up against the wall, but his clothing was entirely inadequate to hide his body's response to this suggestion.
The beast grinned and moved closer, close enough to feel the heat of the prisoner's skin. "Magnificent man like you," the beast whispered, "how many delicate young maidens have you bedded, how many slender, blushing boys? But none of them could have held you down with one hand and taken you, whether you wanted it or not. And you do want it. Don't you?"
The prisoner's breath was coming hard and fast, now. "No!" he said. The beast backed off, fractionally, and they stood like that for a time.
"Well?" said the prisoner.
The beast laughed, and it shook the bars of the cell. "I'm many things, little man," he said. "I'm a beast, and a slob, and a terrible companion when I'm in a temper. I am, I suppose, a kidnapper. But I'm not a rapist."
"Fine!" the prisoner snapped. "I want it! Satisfied?"
The beast pulled the prisoner toward him. He wasn't gentle with his claws this time, and the fine fabric of the prisoner's clothes tore and shredded beneath them. The prisoner gave a low grunt, half pain, half lust. "No," purred the beast, "but I will be."
It had been so long since the beast had -- well, the beast had never, come to that. Never fucked anything other than his fist. Before the beast, that was a different story. Then, young and -- let's face it -- obnoxious as he had been, there were courtiers willing enough, as much for his golden looks as for his princely station. But that was past and gone, an impossible fairy tale. The only real thing now was this: the sour mildew smell of the dungeon, and sharp tang of sweat, the uneven stone floor biting against his legs, and the man pushing back against him, lovely and strong and slick and hot. It wasn't fair -- but it was something better -- and the beast howled and raked one hand down the man's chest as he plunged again and again, faster, deeper, past resentment and memory and everything other than pleasure.
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•A Different Story•
Fanfiction• “You’re trespassing,” rumbled the beast in a deep and sexy voice—Gaston meant a deep and scary voice—which is to say that the voice had no effect on him whatsoever. “And you shot at me.” Gaston is a prisoner in the Beast's castle instead of Belle...
