Note: This story was created to fill a prompt on Disney Kink at Live Journal

Prompt: Five times she wanted to kiss him and one time she actually did.

Ruthless is a Man & She Loved Him

It had been a disturbing sight for the troubled Archdeacon: the judge, a man who represented the law and governed the city, held a wriggling sack cloth above a well; and it was from that very cloth that a babe's persistent wailing filled the night. However, it was no less terrifying than the mother's relentless howling, who had pounded her fists upon the doors of the Cathedral de Notre-Dame, one word upon her desperate lips: Sanctuary.

For the little gypsy girl, Esmeralda, one gleaming, green eye peaking through the crack of the cathedral doors, it had been a breathtaking sight. Watching the hardened judge, pious and stoic, she studied his snarl and the way the wind combed through his silver hair. He had completely marveled her for reasons unknown and he ultimately robbed her of her senses, for she had not been aware of the battered, mother's body laying upon the stone steps, thick blood tricking down her forehead and melting into the snow.

In years to come, Esmeralda would look back upon that winter's night and wonder if it had been fate which caused her to lose her way home and seek shelter within the cathedral.

Naturally, her curiosity grew and so did she. She developed into a beautiful, young woman: a sun-kissed face held shimmering, green eyes, black curls fell to a large bosom, and dark lips often pulled into a flirtatious grin, though they longed to grace the lips of that man who cloaked himself in darkness and commanded the obedience of his city: Judge Claude Frollo.

The first time Esmeralda was conflicted about the passion she held for the man, she was nearing her sixteenth year and celebrating the faithful day amongst her people, gypsies. They were an outcast race, impure in the eyes of Judge Frollo and unwanted in the thriving city of the fellow Parisians.

A fire had been sparked. It ignited the night and summoned cheerful howls from the surrounding gypsies who slammed their feet upon the ground and clapped their hands to a beat that fell from a tambourine. Singing a foreign tune, Esmeralda lifted her dark arms above her head and gracefully glided across the city ground that sizzled from the burning thistles and twigs that had been gathered in her name.

The music quickened and the excessive beating of the tambourine grew louder, summoning her to lose her sense of balance as she rapidly whirled about. Her dark hair whipped at her face, veiling her vision, and golden bracelets violently thrashed about her dark wrists, deafening her ears which failed to hear the shrill yelp that cut through the celebration and left many hearts sinking to the soles of their dirty feet.

A menacing shadow had fallen over the once jaunty crowd and silenced them. It grew in height upon the alley walls, contorted in anger, and issued forth a finger which pierced the heavy heart of every bohemian in the filthy gathering.

"Arrest them. All of them," said the shadow, its towering height atop a dark horse dominating over the fear-stricken bohemians. However, Esmeralda, lifting her eyes to the sinister individual who had ensnared her mind many years ago, Judge Frollo, marveled at the intensity in his deep voice and the sheer respect his guards gave him as they wildly charged into the crowd upon his orders with their swords drawn and their daggers sharpened.

"Come, child. We must be going," said a man, tugging at her arm, but his words were but a whisper in her ear as she gaped at that solemn man whose mode of attack against her people was unsaid and unjust.

"Who is that man?" she asked, summoning a snicker from the man beside her, his hand tightening upon her arm.

"Ruthless," he said, "The man is ruthless, and should we linger a moment longer he'll have our heads by dawn." Without another thought, the man violently pulled the young gypsy girl into his arms and whisked her away from the bloodthirsty guards who sought to shackle the wrists of every bohemian.

Nevertheless, Esmeralda, who was childishly unaware of the extremities of the situation, found herself glancing back over her shoulder, catching the dull-grey eyes of Judge Frollo. She had escaped him that night but he'd find her, or rather, she'd find him with one thought tracing her mind: to taste the lips that command an army.

The second time Esmeralda was conflicted about the passion she held for the man, she was listening attentively to her guardian, Clopin, as he enticed a couple of Parisian children, who gathered around his puppeteer wagon. He was a man who more than often saw life in a humorous light and always wore a wild grin. He'd adorn his hands with makeshift puppets and terrorize the children with stories of monsters that lurked in dark alleys and drunken heroes that more than often never saved the supposed damsel in distress. Yet, Clopin knew that the story of Judge Frollo was no flight of the imagination, but rather factual and horrifying.

"Up there—high, high in the dark bell tower lives the mysterious bell ringer," he said, repeating the familiar lines Esmeralda had learned by heart, for the story about the ruthless man enslaving a deformed beast within the dark confinements of the bell tower had been rumored amongst the gypsies. And as Clopin continued with the ferocious tale she had partly witnessed nine years ago as she hid within the Cathedral de Notre-Dame, peering out from the crack of the doors, she drew her eyes to the Holy building and pondered if the tale was true.

"Judge Claude Frollo longed to purge the world of vice and sin," continued Clopin as he adorned one of his dark hands with a rather grotesque looking puppet, which mildly resembled the judge, "And he saw corruption everywhere except within."

The children yelped at the sight of the puppet and cowered away until their small backs crashed up against the dark figure himself, Judge Frollo. He had been making his morning leave from the cathedral, an empty basket clutched within his hands.

Horrified, the children withdrew from him, and he, presently annoyed with the irritating youth, raised a hand to strike them, until Esmeralda cried out,

"Stop!"

He lifted his eyes to her and recalled her familiar face to be that of the young gypsy girl who had escaped him at the bohemian bonfire; and he grimaced.

"You," he sneered, lowering his hand and approaching the girl. The children fled, scattered about the streets of Paris, which were bumbling with lively folk, though no one paused or took notice of the brooding judge as he confronted the gypsy girl. "You must think you're clever for escaping me, gypsy. But I assure you, I'll always outwit you."

He was so close to her in that moment, nearly had her pinned against the side of Clopin's wagon, that she wondered how their lips didn't meet and secretly wished that they had; and though his words were threatening, her deaf ears failed to register them.

"Leave the girl be," said Clopin from within the wagon, who had interestingly mustered enough courage to confront the judge. "She's done no harm."

Frollo glanced at him, recognizing the clownish man, and inwardly groaned at his presence. Had he not have already been annoyed with his misshapen ward, who dwelled within the bell tower of the Cathedral de Notre-Dame, he'd have returned to the Palais de Justice and ordered his men to capture the two gypsies. Instead, he grimaced and withdrew from them both, leaving Esmeralda panting from their close encounter. And she only craved more.

The third time Esmeralda was conflicted about the passion she held for the man, she was playing with a young goat, which Clopin had given to her on her eighteenth birthday. It was a lively little farm animal, bleating and kicking as she danced around it with two of her close friends, who also adored the pet as much as she did.

"What an adorable little creature," said one of the gypsy girls, kneeling beside the animal and ruffling its fur.

"What are you going to name it?" asked the other.

"Djali," Esmeralda said with a wide smile as she combed her fingers through the goat's fur. It bleated in response as if he understood her and nuzzled his face against the hand of his new master. The girl laughed and adorned his head with one of her purple scarves.

"Now he looks just like Sister Gudule!" exclaimed one of the girls in a shrill voice, for Sister Gudule was a haggard looking woman who despised all gypsies.

"No," replied the other, "Djali is much too charming!"

The goat bleated with pride, shook his little head, allowing the purple scarf to fall to the floor, however, with his dark eyes now freed from the blinding scarf, he kicked and nipped at Esmeralda's dark skirt in dire desperation to capture her attention. But the girl was lost in a fit of laughter as her friends mocked and mimicked the old hag, Sister Gudule.

Djali bleated once more, digging his head into her calf, and summoning a yelp from Esmeralda,

"Ouch! Djali, what's-"

"You there!" cried a soldier, interrupting her and pointing an armored finger at her. "Where did you get that animal? Thief!"

She stiffened at his words, though her friends quickly fled at the sight of the menacing guard, who was approaching them with a drawn sword. Thievery was no small crime. Turning to stone, not due to the sight of the advancing guard, but of his master who lurked behind him, Judge Frollo, Esmeralda remained fixed. Djali bleated at her, nipped at her dark skirt again, and pulled with all his might in an attempt to break her from her trance. Somehow it worked, either that or the judge's last words, I'll always outwit you, sent a surge of fear throughout her body and pushed her to move.

Taking notice of Djali's desperation, she staggered backwards and ultimately bolted into a network of dark alleys and abandoned streets. And Frollo followed. He wouldn't let the troublesome gypsy escape him again.

"Get the other two," he said to his guard, "but leave the thief to me."

Frollo pursued her within the labyrinthine backstreets of Paris, his heavy footsteps echoing in her ears. She had tried to keep up with Djali, following him through the narrow alleys, but the little goat had outrun her and lost her in the darkness. She was alone, trapped by the walls of the backstreets, and they mocked her.

"You've nowhere to run, thief," Frollo snickered from behind, taking pleasure in the fact that she was cornered.

"I'm no thief," she retorted, turning to face the ruthless man, who casually advanced her, slowly forcing her small, dirty feet to draw back until her heels were stopped by a wall.

The judge smirked, "Troublesome girl—so typical of your kind to resort to thievery. Though I can't you blame, my dear. You must have been taught to do so, but thievery is a crime nonetheless."

Esmeralda felt small. His presence was domineering and left her filled with unexplainable passion which was far stronger than she had ever felt for any other soul. He made her feel like a little girl, this man who was so close to her that she could feel his hot breath tickling her lips. And it was in that moment that she leaned forward in an attempt to taste the power he wielded. However, before her hands could reach his dark tunic, a distant voice cried out and echoed about the alley walls,

"Traitor! Treason at the highest!"

It was a guard and Frollo silently cursed the soldier as he reluctantly withdrew from the gypsy and tended to him (for treason was a far higher crime that thievery). Nevertheless, the judge would have another chance to capture the gypsy brat, and perhaps next time she'd let him.

The fourth time Esmeralda was conflicted about the passion she held for the man, she was lurking near the Cathedral de Notre-Dame. She had been warned by Clopin and many other gypsies to avoid the holy place, not due to defiance but due to fear from the foreboding tale of the Hunchback de Notre-Dame.

"Who is that creature?" the gypsies would rhetorically ask while in the midst of telling the tale in the deepest parts of the Cour de Miracles, where children never ventured and lone women never strayed. "What is he? How did he come to be there?"

A few gasps would fill the silence, and someone would hush the crowd, "Shh, never speak the name of that ruthless man."

"Claude Frollo," Esmeralda mouthed as she stood before the cathedral doors and dared herself to enter. It was a remarkable place, beautiful and awe-inspiring. The checkered floor winked at her from the dim lighting of the flames of burning candles, the sturdy columns, which held up a ceiling that vanished into the darkness above, welcomed her inside, and a strange noise, like the heavy panting of a stray mutt, tickled her ears. She lifted her eyes skyward, wondering if that creature, that hunchback, that wailing babe she had seen and heard so many years ago, lingered in the shadows above.

Like a curious child, though no more, for the girl had grown into the ripe age of adulthood, she neared the spiraling staircase, which she assumed would lead her to the fantastic tale. To prove it fact or fiction, she wanted to know, for watching the judge come and go from the cathedral was not sufficient enough to say that he kept a pet locked in the bell tower. She needed to see the creature in order to believe.

"My child," said a voice, "you have returned." Esmeralda withdrew from the stone staircase and glanced at the old man, who approached her with a kind smile and welcoming arms, the archdeacon. She beamed at him, embraced the old friend in her arms, the man who had saved her from the blistering winter those many years ago, luring her within the warmth of the cathedral.

They conversed of the past, and he, more than often than not, commented on her beauty. However, she was more interested, not in her own past, but of the past of the judge, though she'd never ask. Perhaps she was fearful of the archdeacon's words or fearful of her own desires and obsession of the ruthless man. Nevertheless, the domineering judge lurked in her thoughts.

"If you ever need sanctuary, my child, return to me. Here, you will always be safe. Here, you will always be welcomed."

The kind priest bid her good day and returned to his pressing duties. It was perfect. She scurried about the cathedral and neared the darkened staircase. Anxious feet tip toed through the darkness and numb fingers glided along the stone walls that surrounded her in her spiraling ascendance. Thoughts consumed her mind and her heart raced as she came closer to the truth, and she pondered how she'd tell the tale to her people of the monster lingering in the bell tower. But before she took another step, a forceful hand seized her by the wrist and pulled her forth into the darkness,

"What do you think you're doing?"

She failed to respond, failed to satisfy the shadow of the judge, who painfully twisted his dry hand upon her tender flesh, and she yelped, not due the pain in which he held her but due to pure adrenaline of being touched by that man, hidden within the shadows and concealed from seeing eyes.

Snarling from her lack of obedience, he pulled her forward into his narrow frame, "You're a troublesome girl—very bold to come here. But I won't have you meddling into my affairs." At his words, a noise came from the door that lay at the top of the stair case. It was misguided, like the stumbling of heavy feet that hadn't properly learned how to walk.

She gasped, shook her head in disbelief, and attempted to wrangle free from his hold in fear that he would lead her to the monster that lurked above. "He's up there, isn't he?" Visions of a ghastly creature consumed her mind and she trembled; the tale was true.

"Never you mind that, girl," said Frollo, digging his fingers into her slender wrist.

"You're ruthless," she said, biting back the intensity of his grip.

He grinned, "You haven't seen how ruthless I can be." And though his words frightened her, his wicked grin ensnared her; and as the shadows hid their tense bodies, she wondered if it would be appropriate to bargain with him: a kiss in exchange for being fed to the contorted pet that lingered in the bell tower.

Her imaginings were short lived.

"Frollo," said the archdeacon, pointing a finger at the old judge, "let the child go." He had been ascending the steps when his God-fearing eyes fell upon the bickering two, and he was not pleased.

"The girl is intrusive. I was merely handling the situation," said Judge Frollo, his eyes narrowing upon the priest, however his fury had no effect upon the holy man.

"Leave the child be." At his stern words, the judge snickered and reluctantly surrendered the troublesome girl. And as he gathered his pride, which had been shattered by the archdeacon and laying in pieces upon the floor, he scoffed and gracefully glided down the staircase, vanishing from their sight.

"Forgive Minister Frollo," the archdeacon started with weary eyes as he laid a concerned hand upon Esmeralda's bare shoulder. "However, child, do be wary; his anger is treacherous."

And how treacherous a thought that she dared to pursue him and rouse his anger further.

The fifth time Esmeralda was conflicted about the passion she held for the man, she was dancing in the streets of Paris alongside Djali, who bleated in praise at every piece of silver that fell from the humble hands of amused Parisians.

"Let me dance at the festival," she had asked Clopin many times before, for she had been aware of Judge Frollo's presence at such gatherings. He was like a dark shadow in that sense, a lingering reminder of law and justice should the festivities arouse cruel intentions and overwhelm the cup of purity with sin.

"You're not of age," Clopin would always answer; and she'd sigh, pout her pretty lips, and toss her tambourine to the ground. However, she was not a little girl anymore. Swaying her hips and singing in a foreign language, luring young, Parisian men to gather around her and gawk at her sensuality, she smiled and hitched up her skirt, for if she were to dance at the Feast of Fools she'd have to learn to gather a horde of on-lookers.

A cascade of silver and gold fell at her feet and Djali bleated joyfully, collecting the pieces in his mouth and piling them in a corner. But soon his cheerful noises turned fearful and he cowered behind Esmeralda's skirt at the presence of the dark shadow that grew in length upon the cobblestone street.

Peasants bowed and respectively withdrew as the judge sauntered past them with his head held high and lips twisted into a scowl; the people of Paris were infuriating creatures. Even more infuriating was the heathen influencers, gypsies. Esmeralda raised her voice, let down her dark curls, and madly stomped her feet about the ground, hoping that the vibrations of the hot beat she danced to would send tremors through the ground and alert him.

"Thieving, gypsy," said a gruff voice followed by a strike of pain and a cold sensation of metal. "Perhaps a day in the stocks will teach you a lesson."

Wriggling within the shackles, she kicked her feet which once pirouetted upon the ground and spat dark words from her lips, which once sang romantic verses. But the soldier, who held her firmly within his grasp, was unmoved by her ferocity.

"Let go of me, brute," she snapped.

The soldier chuckled and motioned for his partner, a rather moronic man, to join him, "Take her to the stocks and collect the money."

"I earned that money," she retorted, writhing about in the shackles. The two men laughed at her statement but quickly turned to stone at the arrival of their lieutenant.

"You two are to report to the Palace," he ordered. The two men glanced at one another and smirked.

"We only take orders from the captain," said the moronic soldier.

The lieutenant scoffed, "As of this morning Captain Bonheur has been sentenced to the dungeons—fifty lashes for his betrayal to the minister. Now, if you two do not want to meet the same fate, I'd suggest you follow orders."

The two men audibly gulped, taking in the sight of the judge's coach that rolled down the streets, (it had been ordered to meet him at once) and scurried off to meet the lieutenant's pressing orders. They forgot about Esmeralda, who stood still in her shackles, processing the information of the traitorous Captain Bonheur. As the judge's dark coach trailed down the street, passing her by, she cursed herself, for her childish plans to ensnare him with her dance and perhaps a passionate kiss as well had gone awry.

The sixth time Esmeralda was conflicted about the passion she held for the man, she was right before his eyes. They transfixed upon her, followed her swaying hips, and sinfully devoured her as she pranced upon the makeshift stage during the Feast of Fools. Judge Frollo was the most foolish of them all with his once self-righteous eyes now lustfully drinking her every curve which was further accentuated by the crimson dress she wore; she was like a goddess in this form.

Devilishly smirking at the sight of him, once seated highly and proper in his chair, now practically drooling and trembling from ecstasy, she removed her purple sash, which had been tethered to her small waist, and threw herself to the ground. Rolling about, allowing her dress to partially reveal her legs, she ruffled her hair and dragged her sash along the length of her teasing body. The men howled, the new captain, Phoebus, gawked, and the monster, who had lingered in the bell tower for far too long, blushed at her sultry acts and hid his misshapen face behind his cloak. Lost within the ecstasy, she arched her back, breasts nearly spilling out of her dress, and she eyed the judge, winked at him, and relished his silent gasp.

"Dance, La Esmeralda! Dance!" men shouted, their eyes glazing over with lust, but she had other intentions. She grinned, crawled upon the stage like a savage minx, and neared the old judge with fire in her eyes. For too long she had withheld the uncertain passion she felt for the dark man; for too long she kept hidden the secrets of longing for his touch in the dark, and she'd make certain that he'd experience the endless yearning for her as she had felt for him.

Her fingers, once nimble and innocent, clawed at the wooden frame of his seat, and her legs, once graceful in their movements of dance, straddled him; the once troublesome, gypsy girl now sat in his lap, and he was beyond dumbfounded.

The drunken crowd directed their hazy eyes upon the two and cheered relentlessly. However, the judge heard nothing but her soft panting and felt nothing but the weight of her beautiful sin, which delightfully perched itself atop him. Her lips spoke no retorts nor slandered his pious name, for instead they mouthed seductive verses, explicit and tempting lines.

Before he could realize the extremities of the situation he had found himself within, before he could denounce her and return to his brooding demeanor, she wrapped the sash around his frail neck, tangled a hand within the folds of his judicial robe, and forcefully pressed her lips onto his. Her touch seared him, left him smoldering; and as her tongue traced the shape of his lips, which had once mouthed biblical verses and commanded an army, the crowd erupted in cheer, the new captain gaped, and the monster, who called the judge 'master,' gasped and shamelessly reconsidered calling the old man, 'King of Fools.'

A/N: If you liked it, tell me what you think! :) Reviews are appreciated.