AN - I have no idea when this is set, just sometime after 1x07, other than that, it's up to you. It's unbetaed, so all mistakes are solely mine.
Disclaimer - I own nothing, pretty things just make me happy.
"Francis!" I admonish with a hiss, jerking my shoulder away from his lips.
"What?" he smirks, looking up, his eyes filled with mischief. "No one cares, and no one is watching us."
"But we're in public," I reply, my eyes darting around. He's right, no one is paying a bit of attention to us. "People will talk."
"So," he shrugs, his lips widening to a grin, "look over at the Duc de Orlean, he's practically drooling over there, completely asleep, I'm surprised he's not snoring. And the Marquis de - is trying to see down the Duc's pretty and very young new wife's bodice," he whispers in my ear, nipping at the lobe.
"Fran...," I gasp, trailing off, catching myself as I feel a moan climbing my throat in response to him blowing on the lobe he just bit.
"Tell me," he whispers directly into my ear, his nose nuzzling into my hair, "who is the biggest gossip at court?"
"The Duchess de Normandy, and her friend the Comptess de Champagne," I return.
"Very good, my sweet," he continues. "And what are they doing?" he asks, pulling his body flush with mine on the settee we are sharing, slinging one arm around my shoulders.
I look closely at the two older women, and try to gauge where they are both staring so intently, then move my gaze to a card table directly across from them, "Oh my goodness!" I feel myself flush, grabbing Francis hand nestled against my thigh.
"Yes?" he asks, his voice filled with mirth. "What are they doing?"
It takes me a moment and an encouraging squeeze of my hand from him, but I finally answer, "The wife of the Genovesi envoy has her foot in the lap of the Marquis de - and she is...massaging him," you rush out in a whisper.
"Exactly," he laughs, grabbing the tip of the finger that bears my seal of state, wiggling it back and forth. "Far more scandalous than my attempt to steal a kiss in a corner, don't you agree?" he asks, his laughter filling his voice, I can feel his smile against my cheek. "And just imagine the scandal if her massage goes to its limit."
I giggle, I can't help it. He's making me imagine the Marquis with a very inappropriate stain on his breeches.
"And look at her husband the Envoy himself," he says, directing my gaze further up the room to where the Comptess de Reims just had wine poured down her dress by the Envoy, who is now enthusiastically blotting her chest for her.
"He does seem to be very solicitous in helping to remove the wine and possible stain," I reply, giving in to his game, grabbing his finger and squeezing, earning a grunt from him.
"Yes, he does," Francis laughingly replies, sneaking a kiss to my cheek with smiling lips. "But I should warn you that you shouldn't do what you're currently doing unless you want to leave here in the next sixty seconds," he finishes, pulling his finger out of my grasp, settling our hands in a loose clasp on my lap.
"What else do you see?" he asks, his boot hooking around my foot.
"The guard behind your mother is asleep," I reply after taking a moment to look around, scratching his palm.
"So he is," he nods, his nose trailing up and down my cheek. "Off with his head!"
"I don't think he needs you threatening him," I shoot back with a laugh, " if he starts snoring or your mother turns around, she'll probably burn him. I'm serious," I finish, playing with his signet ring.
"True," he chuckles, his free hand caressing up and down my arm, "no more threatening of guards or servants, besides I'm sure you can find something far more interesting and scandalous than a sleeping guard."
I scan the room, looking for someone doing something which they should not, there are several choices. Henry seems to be enjoying the company of Diane again, even though Kenna still resides in the infirmary, but I skip over that, scratching Francis' palm. The Comptes de Savoie and Oise are engaged in a very intimate conversation, ignoring their wives. But that seems fairly innocuous as their wives who are sitting at the table with them do not care and are, as usual, deeply in conversation with one another. This is a fairly regular scene. I finally settle on one couple.
"The Lady Violette seems to have decided that she hasn't been rouging her nipples enough in her pursuit of becoming the Duc de Normandy's mistress. Plus, she's currently giving not only him, but the entire room a view of them."
"Yes," he laughs, turning to follow my gaze, playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. "Let us hope she has a very adept washerwoman."
"Very true," I chuckle in return, lacing my fingers with his.
"So you see," he says, pulling his hand away, his finger lifting to turn my chin so I'm facing him, "stealing kisses from my betrothed is the least scandalous thing that is going on in here," he finishes, his lips settling on mine.
I give in, after all who am I to dispute such perfect logic? Or to deny myself his lips on mine?
Endnote: I'm honestly not sure what got into me with this. The only thing I can say is I've been rereading all my Gilmore Girls stories as I'm posting them here and at Illusive, and I got enamored with banter and wanted to write some for Mary & Francis. Historically the real Mary & Francis apparently liked to hide away to corners and nooks to steal kisses and be alone, chatting and such. Also, someone posted a sketch of them doing just that in the Couples forum thread at FanForum, and I guess my imagination took it from there. The mocking and the silliness, that's my banter muscles flexing themselves.
Also, some of the titles I used are historically valid, some I just made up.
Icon by shadow_roses on lj.
Reviews are always greatly appreciated.