No one's slick as Gaston, no one's quick as Gaston. No one's neck's as incredibly thick as Gaston's...
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Beep, beep, beep-
"Bloody hell!" Gaston roared as the incessant, high-pitched noise started up again.
Since Morgan had left earlier that afternoon, the hunter had been having a pretty rough go of things on his own. He rushed over to the window, but he wasn't fast enough as the neighbor in the apartment directly above began stomping the floor again.
"What the hell are you doing down there!" The tenant yelled. "It smells like you're making Meth in the bath tub!"
Gaston had no idea what Meth was, but so help him, if they didn't stop pounding, he was going to show them just what he could do with a bathtub. Death by drowning was certainly the first thing that came to mind.
Angrily, Gaston shoved open the glass window, quickly allowing for fresh air to circulate about the tiny apartment. He knew the Enchantress had sent him here as punishment, but at the very least, he felt she could have offered him something to help acclimate him to this life.
Flopping down on the couch, Gaston's stomach growled for the millionth time since Morgan had left for work. The first time the piercing screech had sounded, Gaston had been trying to fry up a few pieces of the salted pork strips Morgan had cooked for him earlier. The blackened meat had produced a much darker, thicker smoke than the burnt toast he had just made.
Unfortunately, he had already ate most of the contents out of the red box with the leprechaun on it. The soft and sweet, colorful bits had been good, but the other pieces reminded him of chewing on horse feed.
Before finding that in the cupboards, he had tried the large rectangular box with cold air blowing inside of it. He had been appalled with the packaging that read dog, and the glass jar labeled tabasco had nearly brought him to his knees. Thankfully, a few glugs out of the milk jug had seemed to help, but he was much too afraid to try anything else inside.
He guessed he would just have to starve until Morgan came back. And when she did, maybe he could convince her to make him more than just two measly eggs.
As he adjusted himself into a more comfortable position, the black screen hanging on the wall in front of him suddenly sparked to life. He would have been a bit more terrified of the tiny, flat people stuck inside, if he hadn't already seen Morgan turn on the television earlier.
Shoving his hand along side the seam next to him, Gaston fished around for the small black remote he had watched Morgan use. He remembered she had pressed the large button on the right hand side as she had searched for what she referred to as 'the weather channel'.
He must have pressed the same button a hundred times before stopping on a man and woman who were running from an overgrown primate. With a yawn, Gaston quickly lost interest in the show. Even in this strange world, he highly doubted that a monkey could grow so large. And if it did, he promised to be the first one to mount such a prize on his wall.
His eyes grew heavy as he laid back, fully ready to settle in for a deep sleep while he waited for Morgan to return. But something hard underneath him kept the cushion uncomfortably uneven. Finally, Gaston lifted the padded seat, and quickly plucked out the object that seemed to be the source of his discomfort. As he sat back down, Gaston turned the book over in his hands.
"Jane's Warlord."
An eyebrow raised in curiosity as he muttered the title out loud to himself. The muscled arm on the cover had piqued his interest if not the words in the title itself. Gaston pulled back the cover and a few pages, but nothing could have prepared him for what was inside.
Jane swallowed. His dominance turned her on even as it irritated her. And she knew he knew it. "You're really not a nice man."
Baron bent his head to study her naked breasts with a predatory interest. "No." Slowly he raked his teeth over one pink tip, sending pleasure bolting up her nerves. "But then, I don't think you want a nice man."
Gaston's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he continued to read the next page. No wonder Belle was always walking around with her nose stuck in a book. Were all novels like this, he wondered.
With a slight snarl, he tossed the book away from himself, totally disgusted. He could practically feel the bile rising in his throat--
Suddenly a thought occurred to him and a smug look quickly spread across his lips as a plan began to formulate.
This Baron was a savage-- a war lord not unlike himself. And judging by the worn out spine of the book, it was obvious this was one Morgan liked to frequent. Perhaps then she, just like Jane, wasn't looking for a nice man either.
*
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Whoooo lives in a pineapple under the sea? SPONGEBOB SQUARE PANTS! Absorbent and yellow and porous--
With a gasp for air, Gaston shot up like a startled deer. He had been sound asleep until that annoying ruckus started.
Behind him, there was a soft click as Morgan walked in through the door. She looked exhausted, but offered him a small smile as he searched for the remote.
"You didn't strike me as a SpongeBob fan," she teased.
Gaston playfully rolled his eyes, sighing in relief only once he found the little black box. As Morgan sat down on the opposite end of the couch, he handed her the remote. It had been by pure dumb luck that he had even gotten the thing to turn on anyways.
She pressed the large button on the left before turning towards the hunter.
"Gaston." She sighed heavily as she motioned for him to take a seat next to her. "There are a couple of things I'd like to ask you."
The color drained from the huntsman's face as he nervously sat down. For the first time in his life, he actually felt ashamed of the things he had done back in France. Tying up Maurice, attempting to send Belle and her father to the asylum--
"Gaston, what year do you think it is?"
The hunter gaped at her as he thought about his answer. "1751 of course."
Morgan nodded, but neither confirmed or denied if that were true or not.
"And you used to reside just south of Paris, right?"
Gaston gulped. Oh god, had someone exposed him?
"Uh," he hesitated for a moment before tugging on the collar of his shirt. "Yes, I did." Was it getting hot in here, or--
"I want you to tell me everything Gaston," Morgan urged. "Tell me what really happened and what lead up to you being sent here. Let me start by saying this," she paused. "The year is 2022."
Gaston flung back against the soft cushions of the couch. He wasn't that great at math, but he was pretty sure the number was two hundred and seventy something. The hunter had been sent two hundred plus years into the future.
He ran his hand roughly through his hair as his brain attempted to process it all. There were so many questions. So many things to learn. But first, he needed to come clean with the slender woman sitting beside him. After all, he owed her his life.
"I've already told you about the woman I was in love with."
Morgan nodded.
"Well, I really thought I was," Gaston insisted. "I made plans to secure her position as my wife, but there was this Beast."
As he recanted his version of what had happened, Morgan gave her undivided attention. Never once did she interrupt or question him. Nor did she seem shocked or appalled by anything he told her. When he had finished, the blonde simply patted his hand with an all knowing smile.
"What you did, wasn't your fault," she said. "Not really anyways."
Her eyes were heavy as she spoke, and after a stifled yawn she continued.
"You were destined to be the bad guy, Gaston. It was written in your fate to be the villain. I don't believe you're a bad person, but you did make some really bad choices. The good thing is, that chapter of your life is now over. If what you're saying is true, that the Enchantress banished you here for good, then she actually did you a favor. You can start over here with a fresh start. Brand new!"
Morgan shook her head, and Gaston noticed there was a sadness behind those baby blue eyes. "Not many people get that kind of a second chance," she told him.
And she was right.
"Will you--" Gaston paused.
He had never asked for help from anyone before. But even now, as he contemplated stripping Morgan naked and having his wicked way with her, Gaston realized just how hard it was going to be.
"Will you help me, Morgan? Will you help me change?"
There was a slight pang in his heart as he waited for her answer. What if she said no? What if she felt he was a lost cause?
"Of course," she smiled.
With a sigh of relief, Gaston watched as Morgan's eyes barely re-opened after trying to suppress another yawn.
"Then for my first act of kindness--"
The hunter trailed off as he stood to his feet, and before she could even voice any objections, Gaston had lifted her from the couch and was carrying her down the hall to her room... with ease.
"And for my second act," he spoke as he leaned forward and pulled back the thick blankets on her bed. "I'd like you to join me for dinner. Tonight"
"Gaston. I can't."
"Oh." His mood sunk as he sat down on the edge of her bed. "Are you busy?"
"No--"
He should have known she would be just like Belle.
"--I mean look at me," she continued. "I'm a mess. I've barely slept in three days and I have nothing to wear."
Gaston groaned but couldn't hide the smile quickly growing across his face. "Woman, you could be entirely naked and still look better than the majority of the world."
Morgan blushed as she gazed up at him, speechless.
"I doubt it," she chided. "And besides that, it's illegal. How about we order in instead?" She suggested.
Gaston nodded before allowing himself to gravitate closer to Morgan. "That sounds wonderful," he smiled- though honestly he had no idea what it meant to 'order in'.
His eyes watched as her pink tongue slowly darted out, moistening her lips before letting her gaze trail down to his own mouth. A moment later, he had captured her in a kiss, pulling away only once they were both left breathless.
With a smirk, Gaston stood. Pulling the blankets up around Morgan's shoulders before backing up towards the door.
"Oh, and Morgan?"
Looking up, her fingers absentmindedly brushed across her swollen lips.
"I won't be sleeping on that sorry excuse for a mattress anymore."