francis lyon ♚ francis de valois (frahncis) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2017-12-03 21:27:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, * jamie, c: kiera malone, r * jaclyn, r: francis lyon |
WHO: Francis Lyon, Kiera Malone
WHEN: TBH, I'm not entirely sure. Probably around 11/28? Late at night.
WHERE: Briefly at WRAV, then Francis's house
SUMMARY: Kiera finds out exactly how much money Francis has, and they have very serious talks about money, the future, and babies, as well as murderous relatives. Then they try to eat because Francis might know how to use an oven now but instead get distracted with sex, which of course triggers a very awkward memory of Queen Mary woops. Poor Francis.
WARNINGS: Sex is glossed over/summarized. Also talk of murder, I suppose.
Normally her shift didn't drag like it had tonight, but Kiera had gotten used to that whenever she was anticipating seeing Francis. Her time spent with him had been sporadic over the last handful of weeks; though she had made time for him, her priority had been Danielle. After what had happened with Bea and just how much it had shaken her, Kiera had made more than just a small effort at being available for support. It had been so long since the three of them had been together to actually offer that sort of support to one another that it was almost refreshing; of course, she just wished that the circumstances had been different and there was less hurt for her best friend to be feeling. Tonight, though, she had promised Francis that she was going to come over and she had barely looked away from any surface that happened to have the time on it -- her phone, the computer monitor, the actual clock hanging on the wall. The closer to 10PM that they crept toward, the more anticipation they felt. A couple songs and commercials to go, Kiera put on her chipper radio voice as the final chords of Meghan Trainor singing faded away. "It's almost time to say goodnight, my friends, but before we go, it's time for everyone's favorite segment -- Greg's Nonsense Gossip. Remember, folks, that's a working title, so tweet us with your ideas that are probably much better than anything Greg or I could come up with." "Is it everyone's favorite segment?" Greg asked from behind his glass, grinning at her as he leaned over his microphone. "Almost definitely not, but don't say I never did anything for you." Kiera muted her microphone as Greg went over the bits of silly celebrity gossip that he had drummed up from the internet. He never focused on the obvious, like the Kardashians or Taylor Swift or whatever celebrity was causing drama at the moment. Most of what he found sounded more like conspiracy theories, which was more or less the point of his segment. Normally Kiera would have paid a bit more attention as her production assistant read off the script he usually threw together during the first hour or so of her radio slot, but instead her mind kept drifting to her internal countdown of leaving to that familiar house across town. " -- it was the disappearance of the Lyon heir that's especially mysterious, though." And just like that, Kiera was paying attention. She straightened up in her chair, the motion catching Greg's attention. He raised an eyebrow as she leaned forward, turning her microphone back on. "What's that about a lion, Greg?" She knew that the large cat wasn't what he was actually referring to, but she didn't want to make her curiosity too spot on and obvious. Even her voice was even and perfectly chipper. "Were you not paying attention again, Kiera?" Greg's voice was light and teasing, despite the look of concern on his face from her reaction; it would have been enough for Kiera to consider making him her permanent cohost, if she wasn't focused on the simple fact that she knew a Lyon heir quite intimately. "Not a roaring lion, but a family in England." "Mm, my mistake." Kiera paused, before remembering to be teasing. "I can't help that your voice is so soothing. Puts me right to sleep." "How very dare." Greg tipped his head to the side, an inquiring look. When Kiera waved a hand to indicate that he continue, he did just that. "I'm terribly sorry, dear listeners, but indulge us and let me do a quick summary for our hostess." He then went on to describe the Lyon family, not only a family in England, but an incredibly wealthy one. That was nothing new to Kiera, of course; Francis had mentioned his wealth to her before, on top of the fact that she could have jumped to the conclusion herself, given that he was an artist with no clear steady form of income. The scandal and mystery of the story was what he had already mentioned -- the heir to the family seemed to have disappeared from England and there were a number of ludicrous theories by people who enjoyed that sort of thing on the internet. Though Greg never actually mentioned Francis by name, Kiera knew he was who he was talking about. What really shocked her, though, was when he gave an actual figure on how much the Lyon family was worth. "I'm sorry, how much?" "Well, they're only estimates, so really between 300 billion and 1.5 trillion in our dollars." Kiera was silent for a few seconds, shock once again evident on her face. She recovered quickly, despite the fact that said shock was still rolling around in her mind. "Well, that's just pocket change to you and me, isn't that right, Greg?" Greg managed a quip back, but Kiera barely heard it as she muted her microphone once more, letting him continue and eventually go into the scheduled commercials. Though he asked her if she was fine once they were off air, she merely waved a dismissive hand and started into her normal end of shift tasks. She could do them more or less automatically, her face blank as she internally let herself freak out a little bit. Though a logical part of her mind told her it was dumb, she couldn't help it. It may not have changed how she felt about Francis, but dear god. That was a lot of money. She was lucky if she had more than $1,000 in her bank account after she got paid. Less than an hour later, Kiera found herself sitting in her car in Francis's driveway. Her eyes lifted to the familiar house, her fingers toying with the key that would let her into the front door. The hesitation was silly and she knew it, but it was more in an attempt to keep herself level. She wasn't mad, of course, but she knew that if she went in there and started acting funny or awkward, which she was definitely liable to do, he would know something was up. There was a chance that he hadn't been listening, after all. That would have been ideal. She didn't want him to know that not only were they discussing his personal matters on the air, but it's how she'd found out that piece of information about him. When it started to get too cold for her in the car, Kiera finally forced herself to get out. As she reached the door, she knocked once, then let herself in with the key, just as she had been ever since he'd first given it to her a couple weeks ago. To further announce her presence, she called out into the house, "Hey, it's me," as the door closed and locked behind her. Francis appeared at the far end of the house, grinning at her from the kitchen. “Hello, love!” he greeted cheerfully. The smell of food wafted down to Kiera as he came to give her a better welcome, wiping his hands on his apron, one normally used when he was crafting, usually smithing, but now being utilized to protect his clothes from his experiment in dinner preparation. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a hug before kissing down from her cheek to her neck, pushing her cardigan off one shoulder to kiss her there. Then he straightened, asking pleasantly, “How was the show this evening? I missed it because I actually cooked and I think it even looks rather edible.” "Mm," was Kiera's noncommittal response to his question. She felt a surge of relief in knowing that Francis hadn't listened, as she could only imagine how unconvincing her responses to Greg had been; she actually had managed to stay more calm than she was giving herself credit for, but her mind was good at being overactive when it came to such things. In an attempt to keep him from asking further questions about work, she looped a finger into his apron and pulled him in toward her, pushing herself up on her toes for the couple of inches she needed to kiss him soundly. It may have been one of the more obvious methods of distraction, but it coupled as a proper greeting. After letting the kiss linger just a few moments, she broke it to peer over his shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. Still not addressing his question, she focused on the other half of what he'd said. "It actually smells pretty good. What did you make?" “Chicken,” he answered, partly wanting to forget the food and take her upstairs now. He was rather hungry, though. “I turned the oven on myself and everything.” "Did you really?" Kiera found herself smiling at him, letting one of her hands find his so she could lead the way toward the kitchen to investigate his cooking. Not that she would have been much help in that arena, unless he wanted her to scramble some eggs. "I'm impressed and I swear it's not just because I find a man that knows his way around the kitchen rather sexy. It heightens your levels of sexiness to an almost unfair degree." Part of her knew that she wasn't going to be able to keep this up for long. Either her casual front was going to falter and he'd notice or she'd end up saying something stupid. What she should do was just bring it up, but she wanted to hold onto this ease for just a couple minutes longer, if she could. At that, Francis laughed, still blissfully unaware of her inner turmoil. “Save your judgement for after we're sure it won't kill us,” he warned. The chicken was waiting in a small baking dish, covered in foil, and a box of stove top pasta had also been whipped up. He'd never had this level of cheap or processed food before and found the new adventure somewhat exciting. “If it's terrible, I still have some of last night's takeaway that we can share.” "So long as the chicken isn't pink on the inside, we should be safe," Kiera said, tipping her head to the side as she lifted a corner of the foil, peering inside the dish. "Avoiding salmonella sounds like a rather good idea." Her gaze lifted back up toward Francis and she hesitated for a moment before barreling forward. "There's something that I should tell you. Something that happened at work." Francis's movements faltered as he pulled down two plates from a cabinet -- real ones, not paper -- and he turned to look at her, eyebrows drawn together. He trusted everyone at her station, and he trusted Kiera, but the fact that something had happened that needed to be discussed with him gave him pause. “What… is it, sweetheart?” Hesitating, Kiera turned to find silverware, making herself useful and also giving her an excuse to face away from him for a moment as she ventured forward. "You know how Greg does his bit where he talks about conspiracy theories in the news with celebrities and other people that are sort of well known? I don't usually look what he's found over, because it's usually his job to fact check me -- plus, everything he talks about is so ridiculous that I think it'd be kind of useless to even try to fact check it. I probably should at least glance it over going forward, though. I don't know." She was rambling, she realized, and it made her dispel a sigh of irritation at herself. With two forks and knives located, she turned to face him, the drawer that held the silverware closing as she nudged it with her hip. "He talked about you. Your family, I mean. I didn't -- I'm sorry, if I would have realized, I would have told him to skip it, but he'd already told half the story before I even realized what it was he was talking about." Francis's brow stayed knit, though it turned from concern for her to a deeper sort of worry. The one night he didn't tune in… “What do you mean? What did he say about us?” "It was just a load of bullshit," Kiera said quickly, trying to assuage any worry he might have had. "The stories always are. Conspiracy theories, that kind of thing. The whole point of this one was how the Lyon heir disappeared in a bunch of mystery, which he claimed had to do with aliens and… yeah. It was something." Again, she found herself hesitating for a moment as she shifted, leaning against the counter. "The whole reason you guys qualified for this kind of thing was because of your money, though. He mentioned…" Her gaze dropped and she shrugged one shoulder, absolutely failing at being nonchalant. "An amount." At the mention of the conspiracy theories, Francis relaxed a little. If that was all, he didn't mind. He'd heard plenty like that, though most usually had a more Earth-bound focus. But when she brought up his money, his stomach churned again. Outwardly, he only raised an eyebrow, though, leaning on the counter to watch her. “How much did he say, exactly?” he asked carefully. "Um." Not the most eloquent of responses, Kiera chastised herself. Her eyes darted up to meet his gaze. "Something about billions?" A pause. "A trillion?" Francis sighed, nodding. “It does depend on how you're counting it, but what we inherited from my father was about 435 billion pounds, including the company stock… I believe in dollars…” He did quick mental math, glancing upwards for a moment as he thought. “580? It increases a good deal if you count my uncle, Lucy's father, and then more with more distant relatives, but that starts getting far too complicated…” He said it with an air of nonchalance, but his eyes were serious and probing as he watched her for her reaction. "Mm." Again, that response that Kiera thought might have sounded noncommittal, but was really just her opting toward not responding at all. She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very warm. Setting the silverware on the counter, she shrugged off her sweater and bunched it up to be forgotten on another section of the counter. Of course, it wasn't actually the temperature or room that was warm, but just Kiera having a bit of an internal freak out. The money didn't change anything. She still loved him and she wasn't mad that he hadn't told her, since Kiera had explicitly told him that she didn't need the figure because it didn't matter. And it didn't matter. But for as much as she knew that the two of them had grown up in vastly different circumstances and came from completely opposite worlds, it was the very clear indication of it through a simple number that had her mind moving at one-hundred miles per second. Turning back toward him, she didn't quite meet his eyes as she took the plates from him. "We should eat." Francis frowned and reacted out to gently catch her wrist. “Kiera...” His tone, while soft and quiet, was firm and he met her eyes. Kiera looked up, forcing herself to meet Francis's gaze. Immediately, she felt herself melt under his eyes and she knew that she was being stupid. Understanding that she was acting irrationally didn't automatically stop her from doing so, though. Her insecurities had taken years to manifest and take hold within her. Though Kiera had done a fine job learning how to hide them under bravado or sarcasm, it had become more and more difficult to rely on that around Francis. He seemed to strip her down in a way she normally wouldn't allow; usually by now she'd have fled from the relationship, not letting the feeling she felt for him come even close to manifesting. She probably should have said something, but Kiera didn't know what to say that wouldn't just make her look like more of an idiot, at least in her eyes. Instead of speaking, she just sighed, leaning in toward him and pressing her face to his chest. Francis echoed the sigh, wrapping his arms around her tightly. He kissed the top of her head and then said gently, “Talk to me. I swear to you, nothing you could say could be as awkward as the many anxious thoughts I have in my head.” Kiera didn't respond at first, trying to figure out how she could say anything she actually wanted to say without making a mess of what shouldn't be a big deal of a situation. Honesty wasn't her forte, especially not when emotions were involved; she much preferred to skip these kinds of conversations completely or bandaid them with a fib. It was easier that way, even if her therapist back home always told her it wasn't healthy. There weren't many people she was willing to put her emotions on the line for -- Niall and Danielle more or less were the start and end of the list. But ever since she'd opened her heart to Francis in a way she historically avoided, she found herself doing it again and again. "I don't care about the money," she said honestly, turning her head so her cheek was pressing to his chest instead, allowing her to talk. "I knew you had money. You told me as much and I would have had to have been pretty unobservant not to figure it out. It was just... I don't know. Sort of reminded me that we're from two different planets." He managed to prevent another sigh from escaping. The food was getting cold, but this was important. This was much, much more important. “I… left that planet, though, Kiera,” he reminded her softly. “By choice. It wasn't an alien abduction, nor did I run off with my gay lover or even just get written out of the will. There are a hundred theories floating around, yet no one has even danced adjacent to the truth…” He loosened his hold on her, tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. Then he stepped away, his expression darkening even as he tried to hide it. He lifted two chicken breasts into the plates, the idle thought that he hoped they were cooked through crossing his mind briefly, and then moved to scoop pasta onto the plates. He'd forgotten any sort of vegetable, but he didn't care right then. “Honestly, I have it that way on purpose,” he told her, removing the apron and setting it on its hook slowly so that he didn't have to face her yet. The muscles across his back and shoulders were tight. “I am hiding… from my family. I've never told a soul why…” Kiera didn't move from where she had been standing with him, her hands coming together in front of her. Had she have been less focused on what was happening between them, she might have rolled her eyes at the fact that she was literally wringing her hands. Instead, she just considered what he was saying. Of course she knew he'd left that world; there was no denying that relocating to a tiny town in Virginia was doing exactly that. But when he talked about hiding from his family, her brow furrowed in confusion. And she didn't like the distance between them. It felt like too much, even if it was just the span of the kitchen. She took a few tentative steps toward him, her eyes on his back. "I thought it was because they were overbearing." Her voice was quiet, recalling from one of their earliest conversations. It had been hard for her to wrap her mind around; though she wasn't close with her parents, she couldn't imagine a situation so bad as to run to another country, but she wasn't one to judge. Francis gave a wry chuckle at that, turning to face her with his arms crossed across his middle. “That certainly did not help matters, but no. It was because my mother is a murderer.” Kiera stood in silence for several long moments, her eyes narrowing slightly as though waiting for him to say it was a bad joke or that he was exaggerating. Neither happened. "Um, okay." She mirrored him, her arms crossing in front of her. "I might need you to elaborate a little bit." He let it sink in, carefully monitoring her expression until she spoke. She wasn't running or laughing or anything else, so he felt safe continuing. “After their divorce, she learned my father was going to disinherit me -- well, all of us, but for the purposes of The Family, I'm the important one.” His mouth pinched a little as he said that. “My half-brother was always the favorite and my father made it no secret, but he is a bastard. He intended to marry Diane, his mistress since before my mother, and place him over me. Then Diane died suddenly from a heart attack. At the time, my mother admitted nothing, but when my father later died the same way, I confronted her and she didn't deny it. So I took my portion of the inheritance, which is half of that number I told you, and left.” There was a dark laugh then that escaped him, very unlike his normally light, pure self. “I royally fucked them over by doing so. The inheritance comes with the expectation that the oldest son will take over the company -- hotels and real estate mostly, by the way -- and I turned it down. I don't think they know what to do with themselves; I know Elizabeth will be angling for it to put her husband on that ‘throne,’ but it goes to Charles by rights, except he's still only twenty-two and at university.” He shrugged, eyes downcast. “I don't really care, though. I love my siblings, mostly, but if I never see another Lyon other than Lucy as long as I live, I'll be glad for it.” Kiera watched him warily as he recounted the story. The only part of her expression that changed were her eyes, which grew a bit rounder as he went on. Suddenly she wasn't all too broken up about having grown up severely middle class and normal. Though she didn't want to say that his family was crazy, because they most certainly sounded as much and he seemed to think so too, she was definitely thinking as much. No wonder he'd left. After a few silent seconds, she expressed exactly that. "Yeah, okay. I'd have left, too, especially if the aliens or my gay lover hadn't whisked me away yet." The words were light, trying to inject a little ease into all of this. Suddenly Kiera felt a bit guilty; she had been the one that brought them on this course. (Technically, she thought, it was Greg. He was going to do many coffee runs during their next shift in retribution.) She didn't like how dark his expression had gotten, not because he had the capacity to feel dark things as Kiera figured everyone had that ability, but because he had to feel them at all. Drawing in a breath, she stepped forward, closing the distance between herself and Francis. She uncrossed her arms, pressing one of her hands to his chest. "I'm sorry I brought this up." “No,” he said quickly, putting his hand over hers. “My love, do not apologize. I think… I needed to tell you.” "Yeah?" Kiera reached up with her free hand, her fingers gentle at his jaw. "Then I'll consider taking back my apology." She managed a small smile, her thumb brushing over his cheek. Everything that he had just said about his family, his mother in particular, was still fresh on her mind, of course; despite that, though, she felt like this was another one of those Important Moments, on par with when she'd first discovered his medical alert bracelet. Though she had plenty of questions, her focus was on Francis. She had to make sure he was all right, that he knew she was still there, that she was supporting him. Francis smiled softly and some of the darkness left his eyes. He turned his head so he could kiss her free hand. “My whole point, sweetheart, is that even if we were truly from different planets, it would not matter. I have money, more money than I will ever need or want, but for all my life, it was a chain. Now it is freedom. I want only a simple life with a woman I love, practicing my craft, perhaps a family, eventually… We are not terribly different, I hope.” There might have been a time when words like that would make Kiera panic. They suggested permanency and commitment, both things that she would have avoided as much as humanly possible. But with Francis, she found herself embracing those thoughts, envisioning the life that he was describing and finding it enticing, rather than recoiling from it. Dating someone that she not only liked, but loved, wanting them to be around for the foreseeable future, rather than just a couple weeks of fun... it was new. It was terrifying. It was kind of great. "We're not terribly different," Kiera repeated after him, her hand at his face turning so she could run her knuckles across his cheek, then his lips before she let it fall. The smile grew and he released her other hand so he could tilt her face up, pressing a kiss against her lips and then lingering close when it broke. “I love you.” Kiera smiled at the words, but leaned in to take one more soft kiss before she responded. "I love you, too." The words might have been automatic, but they didn't lack the sincerity that such a sentiment required. “Good,” he answered, pecking her temple with a final kiss before stepping back. “Your chicken is getting cold, though.” "We can't have that," Kiera said with a smile paired with a playful scrunch of her nose. She found his hand again and pulled him back toward the food. It still smelled good and her stomach was in need of it, but first she took one of the forks and knives that she'd collected and unceremoniously cut one of the chicken breasts in half. "Look at that, sweetheart." She shot him a grin, not even truly registering that it was the first time she'd used a pet name for him, always referring to him by his name or not at all. "Cooked all the way through. We won't be dying tonight." “Well that is a relief,” he answered with a laugh. The pet name was noticed, but he didn't remark, not wanting her to spook. He found that he liked it, though. “I wouldn't want to kill you tonight. I hope to keep you around for quite a while…” "Careful," Kiera raised an eyebrow, pointing a fork in his direction. "If I'm the person you're envisioning a family with, it could go terribly awry. Our kids would be all sorts of tall and would probably get my fluffy hair instead of your pretty curls... and I'm a twin, which means we'd probably end up having quintuplets. That's science, right there." She was teasing, of course. Their kids would be cuter than sin and she very highly doubted they'd have five at once, but the truly astounding part was that she was considering a potential future with kids, as a joke or otherwise. He laughed, getting a bottle of wine and pouring them each a glass -- he'd only just started drinking again, in small amounts, but tonight was a night for it. He'd earned this one. Sitting down with her at the table, he answered, “Quintuplets might be a bit much… but there are twins on my side as well…” He grinned. The memory was still painful, his twin sisters, dead before they were alive, but he didn't expect her to probe. “I wonder, though… Black hair or blonde? The Lyon genes are strong.” "Hmm," Kiera hummed through a mouthful of pasta, chewing and swallowing before giving a real answer. "Well, if Game of Thrones has taught me anything, black hair is a really big deal. But that was because the blonde kids were products of twincest... and suddenly I don't like this metaphor at all, so pretend I didn't say it, okay?" She scrunched up her nose as she smiled at the terrible excuse of a joke. Below the table, she stretched her legs out, turning in her seat next to Francis's so she could let her legs rest atop his. "I'm going to vote for blonde, though. Blonde and curly." Francis shifted so her legs settled better on his even as he laughed wholeheartedly. “Blonde it is, for Lannister-free reasons.” He cut into his chicken breast as he asked more soberly, “Would you want children, my love? Someday?” Kiera grew thoughtful at that, taking advantage of the food in front of her to buy her some thinking and stalling time. The thought of children and her having to raise them would have been laughable at one point, but even in LA it had started to seem more plausible. She didn't date guys simply to date; she went into those relationships with the hope that they would be the exception and she'd settle down eventually. It hardly helped that she had a penchant for choosing men that weren't remotely interested in settling down and no amount of her trying to change them would make it otherwise, of course. But there had been something about this sleepy Virginia town and meeting Francis that made the notion of a slower lifestyle, with a house and kids and PTA meetings, seem downright pleasing. "Yeah," she nodded after a bite of chicken. Kiera smiled at him. "Someday." Francis took a bite as well as she thought it over. To his credit, the chicken was good, nice and moist even though it was slightly over seasoned. Her answer was reassuring, though, as was the lack of panic and fear in her eyes. He knew without her saying a word how unusual this was for her. It was for him as well. “I do as well,” he answered her, one hand under the table rubbing her leg affectionately. “Though, the notion scares me. There's no proof epilepsy is genetic, but… it still makes me nervous. I still want a family, though. That was the only thing I did not despise about the plans for me: If I had stayed, I would probably have at least one child already. I might even be lucky enough to love my wife.” He gave her a wry look as he added that. "Imagine that," Kiera replied, returning the wry look with one of her own. She took another bite of chicken to allow herself another thoughtful chew, thinking all of that over. Part of her mind was still stuck on the conversation they had only moments before, considering his mother and what might ever happen if she were to actually find her eldest son. Another part of her had to be vaguely amused at the thought that future children was an easier conversation topic than his family. Setting her fork down, she leaned forward and placed her chin on her open palm, peering at Francis. "There's always adopting. It would mean giving up the chance for my breasts to get all huge for a while, but it's an option." She paused, realizing just what she said and cringed. "I mean, assuming you'd actually want Lannister-blonde kids with me." “Oh, love…” he breathed with a soft chuckle. “Of course I do… Did I not make that obvious? I see a future with you, Kiera, at whatever pace you set…” "No, you did," Kiera admitted, both of her hands lifting to tuck her hair behind her ears, then nudge her glasses up her nose. She normally didn't wear them, only when she was hanging out at home or too lazy to make herself up but so much when running errands, but she'd started to wear them more at Francis's; it spoke of familiarity and comfort, though she hadn't necessarily put that together in her mind just yet. "I'm just not used to people wanting a future with me. It's a nice change." “I know what you mean.” He reached out and took her hand, lifting it to his lips so he could kiss the back of it, lingering for a moment as he did. “This is all quite new for me as well, but I feel as though everything in my life aligned so that I would find you at precisely the correct moment.” Kiera smiled, turning the hand that he'd taken so she could run her fingers along his scruffed jaw, her thumb once over his lips. "I don't really like thinking about fate actually existing," she admitted, "but our coming to the same random town in Virginia feels an awful lot like it." Of course, it hadn't necessarily been a random choice; she'd followed Niall, who was relocating for his business with Noah, who had chosen the town to be closer to Eve, who had moved from New York to work for their step-sister, who -- well, she actually wasn't sure why Stella had chosen Dunhaven to open her restaurant, but Kiera was awful glad that she did. "You're not like anyone I'd have dated in the past, you know," she admitted, her hand moving to brush his curls back from his forehead and then stilled. "Not just in how you look, but your personality… your lack of a record." She shrugged a shoulder at that one. "I've had a bad track record." He let out a soft snort of laughter, even as he gently nudged his head against her hand as though he was a pet nuzzling her for more affection. “Well, I'm glad you came to your senses about pale, skinny blonde blokes,” he teased as if he had interpreted the “looks” comment to be more significant than the other parts of her statement. Immediately, Kiera rolled her eyes, her hand moving again to tug gently on his earlobe. "More like incredibly sexy blonde blokes with an unfairly charming smile and hair just made for running fingers through." She pushed her own fingers through his hair at that, as though demonstrating, and smirked. “You tell the truth, Kiera Malone,” he said with a mock seriousness to his tone, as though it was a grave burden that he'd been cursed with. “It is soft, like the feathers of an angel. You are not the first to be hypnotized and lost to its powers.” "Careful. I'm a very jealous woman," Kiera returned, raising a teasing eyebrow. She might have had a bit of a needy streak, but jealous wasn't entirely true. "Say stuff like that and I might have to go to England to track some people down." He smirked. “Or at least put out some traps for the yokels, right?” Kiera blew out a breath, making a derisive huff. "Those yokels won't know what hit them. They'll be regretting their sidelong glances and too long looks at your butt." Even as she said it, though, a grin tugged on her lips. They'd eaten a decent portion of their meals, though neither had finished their plate. They were too engrossed in both the serious and the playful parts of their conversation to focus on eating. With a smirk, Francis stood, her legs falling off of his while he moved to scoop her up in one smooth motion. His limbs were relatively thin, but well-muscled from his crafts. His strength was an ace up his sleeve, though he rarely had cause to utilize it as such. Catching her off guard, he was able to catch her at her back and under her knees and lift her clear up into his arms like a new bride, laughing as he did it. “Have you been ogling my fit, British arse, sweetheart?” Kiera let out a brief shriek of laughter as he lifted her from her seat, despite that she realized she probably should have seen that coming eventually. She wrapped one of her arms around his neck to steady herself as he carried her, shaking her head at his question. "Oh no. It's the locals you have to worry about. I'm far too much of a lady to do such a thing." “Bollocks, my love.” Gasping, Kiera placed her free hand over her heart, feigning shock. "I don't appreciate that insinuation, sir." “Sir? I could get used to that…” he teased with a smirk, perching her on the edge of the table at the opposite end from the food. He had happened to build it at a perfect height by complete accident, something they had discovered early on. “How do you feel about this insinuation then?” he said in a lower tone, pressing his hand firmly up between her legs through the fabric of her jeans. Kiera did her very best to appear as unaffected as possible, even as she reached out to slip her fingers through his belt loops so she could tug him in closer to where he'd set her down on the table. She felt a relief as she straightened up a bit, simply in that she hadn't made a terrible mess of things like she had been predicting she might while waiting out in her car. In retrospect, she realized it was a silly worry. It felt as though the two of them could get through anything, so long as they were honest with each other. Emotional honesty might not have been Kiera's strongest suit, but she found herself willing to at least make an attempt, if it meant keeping Francis in her life. She tipped her chin back, a smile playing on her lips. "It has merit," she teased, leaning in to take a short kiss. "We can table it for further discussion." And then, despite their position, she grinned at her terrible pun. “Oh, shall we table it? Do you think so?” He pressed harder as he kissed her, a grin on his lips. But the teasing was not his end game, a fact that was made undeniably clear when he removed his hand so he could lift her camisole off of her and unclasp her bra. For her part, Kiera didn't hesitate to undress him and the two wasted no time before he was sinking eagerly into her. Their talks earlier, the emotions and admissions shared, the discussion of such a bright and hopeful future -- it all spurred them on into the peak of their passions. Their lovemaking was less gentle than it normally was, more desperate, only increasing when he pulled away from her just long enough for her to slide off the table and then turn around, a position that aided him as he didn’t have to support her the same way and he could hold her close, kissing the back of her neck and shoulders. He made sure to fulfill her more than once, but they did not linger this way for very long before he reached his own fill. But when he did, he found himself transported, though it all seemed perfectly normally in the moment. Other than the vague dreams he’d occasionally had, this was the first time he’d found himself back in France since the night at Mary’s -- no, Annie’s. Mary was there, coming into his chambers in that modest but enticing nightgown. “I couldn’t sleep,” she told him, voice thick with emotion. Francis couldn’t blame her in the least. After everything that had happened today, how could he? He couldn’t sleep either. It was over though, at least. They were safe, his brothers were safe, his mother had connived her way into saving the day and he admired her for it. “Mary…” He stepped toward her as she came further into the room, both seeming to search for the right words. “Why?” she finally asked, voice cracking a little. “Why did you come back?” She pushed his chest, overcome, and he stepped back, letting her as she berated him, “You didn’t know the gold was poisoned. It was one man against ten. They would have killed you!” He caught her wrists, trying to interrupt while avoiding hurting her. “Why would you do something so stupid?” she demanded. Her words overlapped his as he quickly interjected, “Because I love you.” His voice was not raised, but it was fierce, forceful, and he cupped her face in his hands before pushing them slightly into her hair, meeting her doe eyes. This made her stop, the fight and frustration going out of her. “What?” Francis only hesitated for less than a second, thumbs stroking her cheeks as he continued to stare into her eyes, willing her desperately to understand. “And because it’s pretty obvious now that for us to stay sane, we need to be together.” “But what about not having control of our lives…?” He cut off her protest with a deep kiss. “And-and France and-and Scotland…?” she tried, protest fading from her. He kissed her again and it was deeper still, longer this time. Her hands went into his loose golden curls and his circled her waist, keeping her tight against him. “There has been entirely too much thinking going on,” he told her gently when the kiss broke. He continued to kiss her as he turned and guided her to his bed. He lifted her on top of the furs and stretched out over her, pausing only to search her face for any sign of rejection -- he found none -- before kissing her again. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed against her, his arousal growing, but he was the experienced one. She was the virgin, the devout, chaste young queen and her virtue was her entire worth here. “Tell me when you want me to stop,” he told her firmly, looking in her eyes again. For just a split second, they looked at each other, before Mary made her decision. “Never.” Then she pulled him in for another kiss. They got little sleep the rest of the night, but when they did finally drift off, it was with Mary warm and safe in his arms, bare skin on bare skin, both of them fully sated and heavy with their love for each other. It was how he woke as well, before her. For several minutes he just watched her sleep as he still was fully coming to. The sounds of her breaths was hypnotizing and he felt he could spend his whole life like this, if only he were allowed to. But she roused as well when he absently began stroking her shoulder and arm. “It’s morning,” she observed as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. Francis smiled softly at her. “I know.” Then a jolt of panic lit her, but he moved over her and grinned. “If the servants are gossiping about your unmade bed, it is too late to rectify the situation.” She calmed and laughed as he tugged playfully at the wrists she held over her chest, tickled her side slightly, then moved in for a hard kiss. She responded eagerly, hands going up into his hair before ghosting over his shoulders. But her concern wouldn’t quite leave her no matter how much Francis wanted it to. “Do you think we’re being too reckless?” He pulled back, kneeling. “I’m yours,” he promised, bending his head to kiss her stomach. “And you’re mine. I hope you’re pregnant.” “Francis!” “It would force the wedding sooner,” he soothed, coming up to nuzzle his nose against hers. “How could my father argue against it?” “You don’t think what we’re going is wrong?” She sat up a little, holding the sheet over her bare chest. “As we are not wed yet?” Francis pulled her up to him. “After we rule for a great long while, and we leave France and Scotland to our children…” She let the sheet fall away and he stroked back her wavy hair. “...and our grandchildren and our great grandchildren…” He kissed her and he could feel her body responding as she moved into him. He trailed the kisses down to her neck to lay her down again. “...and we meet our maker, you can ask Him yourself.” Mary laughed again as he kissed her neck on the other side now, her arms coming up around him again. But they were cut off by a knock on his door, Mary gasping and grabbing for the sheets again. “Bloody hell,” Francis gasped, stumbling and falling into Kiera a little. He inadvertently pressed her into the table when that happened, which made him swear again, quickly catching himself and pulling her gently back from the surface. “Bugger all, Kiera, I’m sorry… Did I hurt you?” he checked her abdomen for any red marks, running his hand over her stomach and remembering very starkly the way his other self had caressed and then kissed Queen Mary there. I hope you’re pregnant. The words had been true and he’d felt all of those things. He still did, only now his love for Mary and his love for Kiera were tangled and confused -- and confusing. One part of him was Francis, runaway British billionaire, and the other was Francis, Dauphin of France. Both wanted children, but the prince wanted them right this minute with the woman he loved, heirs to safeguard both of their rules. And Francis knew that if Kiera were to fall pregnant, despite their preventative measures, he would be as overjoyed as he would be nervous. “Fuck.” He groaned softly, rubbing his eyes. “It happened again. One of those… visions.” As he stumbled and fell into her, an immediate spark of panic ignited in Kiera. It had been weeks since the seizure, but she remembered it all too well. But as he continued to speak and she turned, seeing him still standing, inspecting her stomach had hit the table, the panic subsided. "I'm fine," she assured him, though he clearly wasn't -- which was explained a moment later. Kiera felt her lips press into a line. It had been awhile since she'd had one of the visions or dreams that seemed to be plaguing them, to the point where she had been starting to wonder if Niall had been right and they had just been induced by stress from the move and all of the changes. And while perhaps that might have been the case for her, she wasn't sure if the same could be said for Francis. He might have had a bigger move than her, but he seemed so happy and content in his new life. She reached up, pressing a gentle hand to the crook between his shoulder and neck. "Are you... are you all right?" “Yeah,” he answered automatically, but then he shook his head. “No. I don’t know. It was… I was the same person as before, a prince. And there was someone else…” He realized even as he was speaking that he suddenly didn’t feel comfortable sharing this with her. That was the first time this indecision and dishonesty had arisen; normally he was borderline too open and honest. “It--It doesn’t matter.” A prince. She might have made a joke about her occasional Prince Charming nickname that was mostly said to be teasing might have gone to his head, but Kiera could tell that this wasn't the time. Instead, her expression just stayed concerned, her brow slightly furrowed as she looked up to him. Her concern only mounted when he dismissed it. It certainly felt as though it mattered. "Okay," Kiera murmured, her other hand rising to push back his hair that had been mussed by the same hand not long ago. "If you're sure." “I--Yeah.” He forced a strained smile and looked her over again. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you, my love?” he pressed, hoping to change the subject. At his prompting, Kiera glanced down once toward her stomach, dropping her hand from his shoulder to rub it gently. "I'm fine, Francis." She looked up to him and gave a faint smile, the worry still evident on her face. "Promise." “All right,” he said, smiling softly. He knelt down before her on one of his knees, place a hand on each of her hips, then kissed her stomach where it made contact with the table. I hope you’re pregnant… He shook the echo away, the memory, and said instead, “I love you,” as his eyes lifted to look up at her. Kiera smiled down at Francis again, this time a bit brighter than before. Though her curiosity was still very much piqued, she knew that it wasn't necessarily her place to push him. If it was something he needed to talk about, he would have talked about it with her. It wasn't her business, unless he wanted it to be. Her hand reached for him again, needing additional contact, even if they were already so close. Again, her fingers went into his hair. "I love you too, sweetheart." That time, she did notice the pet name. Her face lit up in recognition, eyes widening a little. Kiera wasn't generally a pet name sort of girl, but that felt right. "Er... yeah. Sweetheart. Or... something else? Unless that's okay." If anything, her sudden bout of concern distracted her from being concerned about his vision. He chuckled up at her, kissing her stomach once more before straightening up with a handful of their clothing in tow. “I think it's wonderful, sweetheart,” he said gently, pushing the lingering emotions out of his head and replacing them with how he felt for Kiera. It was an easy enough transition at least. “So long as you're comfortable with it. I'll answer to just about anything, though, including 'oi, wanker’ so that bar is set rather low.” "Mm," Kiera murmured in response, a smile tugging at her lips as she sorted through the clothes he'd lifted and found his shirt. Pulling it on over her head, therefore depriving him of a shirt unless he wanted to wear her camisole, she added, "Wanker it is." |