He backs her into a nearby alcove, never stopping his passionate attack upon her lips and neck. The stones are so cold against her back in comparison to his warm, substantial, soothing body. His lips burn her own, hands sliding everywhere, from her face and hair, to her small waist and hips. Francis never stops kissing her for even a second, much to Mary's delight. The Prince leans her into the cold stones further, Mary goes willingly, letting out a trembling gasp for air as he works upon her neck with hot kisses and hotter bites. He nips and sucks at the vulnerable flesh she readily gives as a sacrifice for him. Even the pain of his blunt but sharp teeth as they nip and bite at her is pleasurable. He could always set her on fire.
Each and every nerve upon her body is racing, stiflingly hot, her gown and corset are too tight, caging her body inside. She's hyper-sensitive to his touch, her body beginning to tremble as he continues to mark her as his own. And, she was, she always had been. Whimpering, for his lips hadn't been on her own in far too long, Mary fists a large handful of long, soft blonde curls, pulling him back to her. He devours her soft, sweet pout mercilessly, pushing her even further into the stones that hide them both from not only French Court, but the entire world around them.
Let it not be said that Mary Stuart, the Queen of Scotland, perhaps rightful Queen of England, took and did not give, however. Quite the opposite, in fact. The Queen always found pleasure in giving it, and she did just that at this current, sensual moment. Her own lips bit and sucked at his flesh, taking hand fulls of his soft hair in her small hands, pulling and scraping at his scalp in just the way her love found such pleasure in. He still did now, in fact, if his grunting and panting was any indication. Her hips arched up to meet his, arms bounding around his neck and back, pulling him tighter towards her. At one point, she had been so needy and desperate, hot and unfulfilled, depraved and starving, that a leg had risen up to hook around his hip.
Francis could resist no more, tiring of this masochistic game of denying each other what they wanted.
"Let me make love to you," he whispered hotly on her lips. Mary immediately nodded, no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh, thanks to him and only him, a sinfully exhilarating thought.
The Dauphin of France -perhaps never was not- took the Queen of Scotland's hand and pulled them from their secretive hiding spot, taking off towards his rooms with swift, long lunges. Mary tittered behind him in her court shoes, barely able to keep up. She managed it, however, eagerly following her fiancee, tomorrow wedded husband, through every turn and corridor. It had been too long, she had to have him now.
From the way he spun her inside his chambers -glowing a sensual golden by all lit candles and roaring fire, surprisingly- her future husband could wait no longer than she could. Mary breathed a giggle when he gripped her wrist and spun her against the door, immediately covering her body with his own, resuming their sensual waltz, now without the risk of prying eyes. The Queen of Scotland began to moan, for his hands were far less restrained now, beginning to borderline tear at the fine laces of her gown. She pulled at his clothing eagerly, pulling at the buckles of his doublet, having some difficulty doing it blindly. Finally, it slid down from his body, pooling uselessly at their feet.
It was quickly joined by her long sleeved bodice, sliding off of her torso and arms, leaving her in nothing but her puffy skirts and white corset. That didn't seem to bother him, in fact, he was rather exhilarated by it, even picking her up, pressing her to the door again, her legs bound tightly around his hips.
Somewhere along the way, her hair had fallen loose of its braided ponytail, and his black doublet undoubtedly had a few rips, she had been pulling at it so harshly and such. Her heels had fallen off her feet with loud 'clunks' after he briefly put her down to kneel before her, pulling at the ribbons until they gave way. Their lips hadn't stopped their waltz, tongues chasing, massaging and petting. Mary jerked as his warm palm started to slide up her leg, nerves buzzing, hypersensitive with every slight movement of his hand.
But he suddenly stopped, pulling back with a groan of despair. She fell from his body, landing on her feet, blinking in confusion as he suddenly spun away from her, his back facing her. Hands were woven into his hair, she saw.
"Francis?" she whispers, her voice breathy and wavering. He doesn't turn away from her. "Did I do something?" she asks fearfully. He huffs, shaking his head. "Do you not want-" she paused, considering. Did their time away turn his affections and lust from her?
"No, it's not-" he trailed off. "I can't." he says, plopping down onto his bed. Her heart plummeted. Was she not attractive to him anymore? Did those weeks apart have so much significance, that touching her now, as he once did, turned his stomach and make him sick?
"Why not?" she asks softly, folding her arms around her torso self consciously. He sighs, now looking up at her. His head jerked to his side, and she followed submissively. She would always follow him.
He took her hand in his. His hands are so much bigger than hers, dwarfing her own, safely, securely. Her heart faced with the significance of a touch to insignificant. His thumb stroked over her knuckles. She smiled gently for him.
"I have something to tell you." he stated. She cocked her head, sitting closer to him.
"What?" she said softly, running her other hand through his beautiful curls. He leaned his head into her palm, enjoying the touch like a dog enjoys being stroked, it seemed. Mary smiled at that, her heart fluttering as it had in their earlier encounter, growing even more frequent when he turned his head and kissed her palm lovingly. She didn't loose his affection, it seemed.
"You love me?" he asks her, almost childlike, pulling her hand from his face, holding it in both of his own.
"Of course." she says. "I never stopped, not for a single moment. It's always been you." she proclaimed. He gave her that beautiful smile again, one she had to work very, very hard in not kissing off.
"I fear you will after I tell you." he closed his eyes, seemingly shamed by something. Mary cocked her head in confusion, stroking his fingers, trying to comfort him.
"I could never, never." she whispers. He looks up at her through his curls and lashes, looking like the unsure five year old boy he was when she met him for the first time. "Tell me, unburden yourself." she shifted closer to him, looking intently at his beautiful, well sculpted face. He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a beat, before they slowly opened again. Mary followed submissively as he gripped her two hands in a gentle grip, and pressed a kiss to each of her knuckles softly. She licked her lips, trying to lessen the anxiety that continued to pool in her stomach as he continued to stall and stall whatever he had to tell her. What could be so bad that he thought she could no longer love him, especially when she loved him now, more than ever?
"Mary," he whispered. "First, I want you to know that if I knew what I do now, I never would have done it, alright?" he asked her. Mary bit her lower lip slowly, nodding at his words. Now it did began to sound like a larger deal than she originally thought. "If I knew that returning to Court would lead you back into my arms, I never would have looked at her. If I knew what was going to happen just a day later-" he closed his eyes, trailing off again.
"Francis," Mary whispered, worried now. "you're scaring me." she admitted softly.
"Last afternoon, I was visiting a gambling house east of Paris. I wanted to gamble and drink the pain of our separation away," he began.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." she whispered, now being the one to be shamed by her actions. "I never wanted to hurt you, but I would never be able to live with myself if anything happened to you because of me. To have to live without you in this world, I can't-" she trailed off quietly.
He nodded slowly. She could tell that he was still angry at her actions. As she would be too, if the roles had been reversed. "I was drinking with the Earl de Montin, talking over the harlots we had shared. And then-" he trailed off again. Mary barely blinked at this information. She knew Francis had taken many-a-girls during his playboy prince days, and it honestly didn't bother her that he had known women other than her. So long that it changed after their wedding tomorrow. "I heard a voice. The owner of the taverne was a sleazy fellow, so I couldn't let what he was trying to do slide. It was Lola." he revealed, ducking his head in shame. Mary's heart began to beat faster in her chest. She had known that Lola had been lying ever since the first word had slipped from the foolish little girl's mouth. How far the two of them had exactly gone, however, remained a mystery. And with the way Francis was acting- "My page, that I had employed, went up to them both, stopped the man's advances on her, told them that I was going to pay double her debt to have her for myself." he chuckled humorlessly, opening his eyes, looking upon hers again. "I wasn't going to, of course. She was my friend and I couldn't stand by and watch something like that happen to her. All I wanted to do was pay off her debt and get her out of a world that she didn't belong in. That night, we talked and played cards and-"
"Talked about what?" she whispered, running her thumbs over his knuckles. He sighed.
"You. Bash." he subconsciously clenched his fists. Mary's gentle touch brought him out of such anger. "My parents, what I had been going in my exile from Court. What had been happening in Court, things like that-" he sighed. "I didn't set out to do it, you have to know. I didn't do it to hurt you or get back at you or anything like that." he stated.
"Francis." Mary stated quietly. He looked up into her eyes. In his, she could see the shame. Her heart raced quicker. "What did you do?" she asked.
He sighed, bowing his head. "I don't know how it happened. One minute we were talking, and then it was morning. We woke up and she made to leave, oh, I don't know." he closed his eyes again. Mary bit her lip in complete anxiety. It continued to pump through her veins at a horridly fast rate. Honestly, the Queen of Scotland was surprised that her body was not trembling in anticipation of what her future husband was going to say. But, in a way, she already knew.
"You must know that I didn't do it to hurt you, I wasn't thinking, I was sad, abandoned, we'd been drinking the night before." he looked up into her eyes.
"Francis," she said softly. "tell me you didn't-" she trailed off.
"I'm sorry, my love. I-If I could go back and change things, then you must know I would." he stated, his voice full of his regret. Mary closed her eyes, willing her pain backwards. Ultimately, she came up short. Francis spoke, but Mary didn't want to listen. "I-I slept with her." he whispered, his voice heavy with the regret he felt in his heart and in his mind. He cursed himself for his weakness, his mental weakness and the weakness of the flesh he hadn't overcame.
"No." she said, standing up. Their hands ripped apart, and Mary marched several steps away from him, as if the physical distance that had once cursed them both would magically salve the wounds that it had inflicted. "No." the Queen of Scotland repeated, her voice growing in volume and pain. The single word cracked, and her future husband swore he felt that same crack in his heart. "No!" she hissed, turning to him, her bare arms wounding around herself as if it would defend her from the pain this conversation would hold. "No." she whispered.
"I'm sorry, my love." he got to his feet. She sniffled, the burning in her nose and in the back of her eyes now finally taking presidence in her body. "I regret it with everything I have, with everything I am."
"Why?" she demanded fiercely, the pain of the girl subdued for a moment, and he faced the fury of his Queen. "Why?!" she snapped. "Why would you hurt me like that?" she asked. "Why-why her, of all people?" Mary demanded
"I didn't think it was so bad at the time, Mary." he stated, surprisingly facing up to the consequences of his actions. "We-we weren't together, I didn't think I was ever going to see you again! She just seemed like an old friend, a random girl who I helped and then-"
"And then what?" Mary spat at him. "Think her as a common whore, oh, wait, she'd unwed and lost her virginity, all she is is a whore now!" she laughed humorlessly. "A whore with bastardy in her veins, what a great choice!" she rolled her eyes.
"Don't do that, Mary. She's your friend. Lola's your friend, and she was wracked with guilt after she realised that you and I would cross paths again." he tried, taking steps closer to her.
"She is not just a friend, she's my Lady, my cousin, Francis! Couldn't you have just picked up a whore if you wanted to have sex? You were in a whore house, for God's sake!" Mary spat at him, wiping her tears. "It's not the fact you had sex with someone else that I have a problem with. You were free to do whatever you wanted, I'm hurt that you lied to me this morning and slept with my Lady, my cousin, of all people!"
"Don't act the martyr, Mary! We weren't together, you pushed me into her arms after you took it upon yourself to end our engagement and strip me of everything that I am!" he scoffed.
"Don't blame me for that!" she snapped. "Unless I shoved you down and pushed her on top of you, pulled up her skirts and pulled down your breeches, then I am in no way responsible! Which, for the record, I did not! Take responsibility for your actions! And as for what I did, you know my reasonings! I didn't do it because I felt anything for Sebastian. I didn't do it because I didn't love you and wanted to wed another! I did what I did because I was terrified of loosing you! Of holding your dead body after not even a year of marriage, with your death being my fault. You know that!" Mary cried, wiping a fresh set of tears from her cheeks. "Why would you-" she trailed off. "Why Lola, of all people? Was there not a pretty harlot not at your disposal? A whore who has more in the looks department? A girl who would hurt me at every given opportunity?"
"I don't think Lola went through with it to hurt you, Mary." he stated strongly. "She was hurt after loosing Aylee and her Scottish boyfriend. It was a moment of comfort and we'd been talking over wine the night before-"
"Why?" she asked. "Why would you talk to her in the first place? What, did you have a heart to heart about your lives over alcohol? Francis, you barely even knew her! You don't know her! You had at most two conversations with her in the past, neither one long! And suddenly, that's enough to warrant a bond strong enough to hold a long, deep discussion about every moment of your lives!" she spat back. "In a way, I'm not angry at you for sleeping with her, she was just another girl to you, regardless of the connotations to me. Although I do love you, I did hold no claim over you at the time-" he visibly relaxed at that, walking closer to her. "I-I'm angry at her! Why would she betray me like that? Again, I might add! She blamed me for Collen's 'death' and held no sympathy for me when he tried to rape me! She betrayed me with her affiliation with Bash and now she sleeps with the man I love! Why? It's true, you may have never seen her nor I again, should things have gone differently. But you tell me that it was this morning, she was right back on her way to me! Why would she do something like that, betray me after I've shown her nothing but kindness!" Mary snapped.
"She told me it was wrong, but I was never going to see you again, I didn't think things would end up like this." he gestured to the two of them.
"So, she got over it just like that-" she clicked her fingers scoffing angrily. "seduction under the illusion of loyalty." Mary rolled her eyes, wiping her tears. "Did-did you use-" she asked, holding her stomach in an effort to keep the rising bile inside.
"Use what?" he asked her.
"I imagine whore houses hold pistol pockets, to keep unwanted surprises at bay?" she asks, closing her eyes in disgust that she even had to ask.
Francis remained silent.
"Francis!" Mary cried out. "Not-not only did you sleep with one of my best friends, my bastard cousin, no less, but there's a chance you got her pregnant, too?! Good God, she got lucky with her boyfriend, but what if you missed your chances? Do you realise what that could do to us?" she asked, wiping her eyes.
"We'll supply her with lemons and limes, to take sure that nothing we don't want happens. Mary, listen-" he came closer towards her. Francis took her hands into his. "I know I betrayed you, and you've betrayed me with my brother-" he shook his head when she opened her mouth to protest.
"I know." she whispered. "I-I wish I could have found another way to save you from me. I wish I could make up for every moment that I hurt you."
"I feel the same," he answered softly.
"I'm sorry for everything, I really am." she whispered, angry and sad and heartbroken all rolled into one. "For kissing Bash, for doing what I did with news about the prophecy. With the kiss, I was angry and drunk and heartbroken. I was angry over our fight about Olivia, you threatening to take her as your mistress, and seeing your mother, who I would have became if you actually went through with it." she paused.
"Take accountability-" he gently reminded her. She nodded.
"I know. I never should have went to him. I didn't have to try and take comfort from him, I wanted to get back at you, and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry for everything with Olivia. I was frightened of my feelings for you, how strong they were. Are. I tried to keep you at arms length for France, but I realised I was being foolish when the Count nearly took you from me." he stated softly. Mary felt his hands tighten around her own, realising they never really spoke about the issue of Sebastian and Olivia.
"Are you angry about what I did?" she asked, her voice quiet, almost childlike. "I wouldn't blame you."
"In a way, yes." he agreed. "You nearly took everything from me. For a time, you took everything that made me me, away. I don't know who I am without being the Crown Prince, without being your future husband."
"I wanted you safe from me, for what I might do to harm you in the future. I couldn't bare growing old without you, not having a child to comfort me. Having to loose you at my own hand, grieving you, ruling without you, dying without you by my side. A future, a rule, a life without you in it. I couldn't bare it."
"Yet you tried to ensure it." he quietly reminded her. She sniffled, and nodded.
"If I was going to loose you no matter what I did, then it was a cold comfort that you were out there, alive somewhere. Safe from me, no matter how much I did and still do, love you." she whispered. "I'm sorry." she says softly.
"It'll take us time to get past this. We've both hurt each other badly, we can both admit it. But if we can admit it, to ourselves and to each other, isn't it possible that we may get past this? To live happily as man and wife, King and Queen, as we dreamed of?" he asked, cradling her face in his hands. Mary smiles softly, sniffling as he wiped her tears from her eyes and cheeks.
"We're even now." she whispered. "You hurt me with Olivia, I hurt you with Sebastian. I hurt you with Sebastian, you hurt me with Lola. We're even now, okay?" she asked. He nods slowly, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. "No more hurting each other, only loving each other." she demanded softly, after he pulled away for a beat. He smiles softly at her, that beautiful smile that she so adored.
"I'd love nothing more." he agreed. Mary smiles at him, accepting his kiss again. His lips were soft, soft and warm and sweet. She continued to enjoy them as their kiss grew in intensity. Soon, the Queen of Scotland's fingers were interwoven in his hair, and the Prince of France's arms were bound tightly around her trim waist.
"You're mine." Mary murmurs to him, as he pulls away a quarter inch. "And I'm yours. Nobody else matters."
"I'm yours, and you're mine." he repeated the words he had said the morning after they had finally given themselves to each other, mind, body and soul. "Should we remind ourselves of this fact?" he asks with a sly grin. Mary giggles, squealing as he suddenly swept her up into his arms and brought her back towards the bed once more.
Hope you liked! Sorry for the break in updates, had no inspiration and a million things are happening behind the scenes, ladies and gentlemen. It'd really make my day for a couple nice comments, with a little bit of feedback would be amazing :)
Also, for anybody confused about the pistol pockets and the citrus fruit references, let a girl fill you in. Pistol pockets were what were referred to when talking about condoms in the 16th century. And lemons or limes were inserted in uh, private areas, as a method of birth control for women, to try and kill off the man's seed before she could get pregnant.
stay safe out there,
love,
me
:)