Tu Es Ma Lumière

80 - Massage

The door slammed closed with a loud bang. The young Dauphine of France jumped in surprise, accidentally dropping her book upon the small table she had been leaning her forearm on. The ravenette looked up at the fair haired intruder through her thick black lashes, cocking her head to the side as he stomped over to a settee and began angrily taking his boots off.

"My love?" Mary asked softly, getting up from her perch on a chaise and walking over towards her husband. He didn't acknowledge her at first, but sighed and leaned his weight into her when she settled behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Francis closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of lavender, lilac and rose that she used in her baths and perfumes. Mary placed a kiss to the back of his head, leaning against his back. "What's wrong, my darling?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing." he sighed quietly. It was nighttime now, the moon fully up in all its glory. The candles in their chambers were lit and the fires roared and danced for the King and Queen of Scotland and future rulers of France. "The noblemen grind the nerves, that's all." he huffed. With his father away to Paris with Diane de Portiers after a miraculous reunion, the Dauphin and Queen of France shared regency. But because Francis was a man and his mother a woman -who was not in favour with the nobility, nonetheless- the nobility of France continued to look to him for leadership and direction. Charming fools with more money than brains or power hungry vipers all day was exhausting.

Mary didn't say anything. What could she say? She continued to hold him like that, however. And it seemed to please him. She could feel his tense muscles loosening underneath her gentle touch, hear his sighs of pleasure when she placed kisses to the sides of his neck and brushed her nimble fingers through his blonde curls. Mary hoped he wouldn't cut it anytime soon. She so adored how it looked when his curls were longer and lusher, so beautiful and dear to her. In their wedding tour that was only three weeks past, she would spend many a night running her fingers through his hair after he had fallen asleep, post the explosion of passion that had became a nightly occurrence, silently thanking God for sending him to her and for sending him back to her after so many weeks of unrest and loneliness. 

Mary kissed his neck again, before slowly sliding her small hands over his substantial frame. Adolescence, training with a sword and early manhood had given him a built chest and a taught waist, muscular arms and a sturdy frame, creating a cocktail that she could barely keep her hands off at the best of times. She had no intentions of stopping now, instead unbuckling the three buckles of his black suede doublet. The Queen of Scots slid it from the King's braud shoulders, laying it on the back of the settee in which they sat upon. 

Francis sighed, rolling his neck, hearing it let out some satisfying cracks with the slow motion. Mary tutted at it, however, reaching around him to undo his black tunic's ties. Francis rose a brow when she didn't stop, but didn't say anything as she bunched the tunic around his waist and slowly rose it from his body.

Mary bit her lip, willing herself not to drag him to bed then and there, but she had a different idea in mind. With that, Mary cracked her fingers and began to work.

"Mary, what are you-" Francis' words were cut off by a groan as Mary began to rub at his tense shoulders. Mary smiled at the reaction, continuing to press her fingers into the stiff muscles and bones as Francis moaned his delight. Mary giggled at them all. One thing about each other that they had learned was that they both enjoyed taking care of each other. Francis would always rub Mary's feet after she had had a long day in her horridly uncomfortable court heels, or he would brush her hair and lull her to sleep like that. Mary would massage his shoulders and back for him, fix his crooked clothing or bring him wine whenever he may need it. It reeked of disgustingly sweet domesticity, but neither Francis, nor Mary, would have it any other way.

"Oh, Mary, that feels so good." Francis moaned, directing his wife's attention to his neck and upper back as she continued to push her fingers into his muscles, forcing them to relax underneath her ministrations. By now, they had moved to the bed, and Mary had covered her hands in lavender oil to relax her husband further. The young Queen of Scotland had straddled the back of her husbands' hips, continuing to massage him. She smiled in happiness as he let out animalistic, pleased groans whenever she would roughly manipulate any particular tightness or uncomfortability into relaxation.

"Does it now?" she smiled, confident that her skills as a masseuse were satisfactory after the three months of amateur practice. He nodded into the pillow his face was burred inside, making his blonde curls bobble about. Mary giggled at the sight, continuing to rub and manipulate his back, neck and shoulders until he was nearly snoring underneath her. By now, his entire back was covered in oil and relaxed thanks to her hands.

She yelped when her husband suddenly flipped over so she straddled his front instead. He gave her a coy grin, reaching for her hands.

"Well, now," he began, leaning upwards. "now that my beautiful, perfect wife-" he drawled, placing kisses up from her collarbone to her neck. Mary closed her eyes in pleasure, lips parting, head tilting, offering him more of that vulnerable skin he so adored attacking with his lips. "has taken care of me," he drawled in her ear, in that low, sensual tone, that never failed to drive her mad with desire. "I think it's only fair that I," he stopped his route to her lips, kissing just the corner of them. "take care of you." he murmured. "Don't you agree?"

"Absolutely." Mary murmured, before squealing in shock as he suddenly flipped them over so she lay on her back. Mary giggled happily as her husband pressed kisses over her face and neck. She sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck. He was so perfect. And he was all hers.