a/n: Written for the F/M challenge over at fanforum. Prompt: "picking up the pieces"

The angry screams of the King and Queen of Scotland reverberate through the stone corridors of the castle, disturbing the calm of the otherwise quiet February night. It is so late an hour everyone has retired to their beds, except for the two fuming royals, and the servants continuing with their duties normally, having gotten accustomed to their fights ever since the wedding a month ago.

"Do you still not understand what you did?! Can't you-"

"I was terrified! I still am terrified!" She throws at him as he shakes his head, unwilling to acknowledge the prophecy at all. "Bash only-"

"Don't mention my brother." He spits at her, his tone low and cautious. Every time his name leaves Mary's lips he can only remember watching them share a kiss and his blood boils all over again.

"He was only trying to help." She'd dragged Bash into her plan when he wanted no part of the crown. It was her idea.

"You were prepared to marry him!"

"I was trying to save your life! Can't you forgive me for that?"

"It's not about that." He shakes his head at her.

"Then what is it about?" She asks him breathless. "Making him heir? I didn't choose him, it was the only choice!"

"It was. Your. Choice." He says, echoing the words he last told her before leaving the castle.

Tension hangs in the air, tight and overbearing. The atmosphere is suffocating with their tempers, jealousy and anger pressing down on them, pushing them apart. Even the space between them feels tight, as if the air itself turned ticker with the intensity of the fight. It's been like this for weeks, ever since they wed. The happy days they once shared seem to be on the floor now, fragments of a life they could've had. They both breath heavy as they stare each other down, resentment marring their features. The resentment you feel when you want something so much it starts to bring you pain, so much you start to hate it a little.

Their lips meet.

It's more animalistic need than a kiss, a response to all the days, weeks missing each others warmth, living on fights and fear. Out of nowhere they grab at each other, pulling closer, tighter, until all space between disappears. His hands sink into her hair, tangling in the dark curls as his tongue parts her lips and she greedily takes him in. Passion consumes them both as Francis walks them back towards the wall and Mary feels only a moment of surprise before her back collides against it. The smell of him is intoxicating her, the sweat, metal and leather and something so uniquely his that she hasn't breathed in so long. She's breathless as Francis pushes her against the wall, not letting go of her lips once. He begins ripping at her clothes and she does the same, pushing his coat from his shoulders as his hands slip down her chest, eliciting a moan from deep within her throat.

He tears the silk covering her shoulders, leaving her corset exposed. Lacking the patience to untie all the laces he simply lowers his head to the top of her breasts, nipping at the tender flesh there as she looks up, gasping. The back of her head slams against the wall but she can't care less as Francis presses her harder against it, his body, hot and wanting, enveloping hers. She hurries to pull his shirt over his head, and he lets her before grabbing her and bringing his mouth down on hers again. It's like there isn't enough time in the world, not enough air for them to touch and kiss every single part they want to so they hurry, pure need driving their urgency.

Her hands leave his tangle of blond curls to drop to his pants, and he helps her, the leather getting pushed halfway down his legs before he can't help himself, consumed with the need to touch her again. He trails his hands down her throat, her side and finally reaching the skirt of her dress, roughly pulling them up. His mouth swallows her gasp as she hears the tell-tale rip of fabric, and then promptly ignores the state of her dress when Francis' hand starts untying her undergarments with haste.

The first caress of his finger has her knees buckling, and she would fall right over if the wall wasn't holding her up. His touch is rough and it sets her on fire; it's been so long since they've been like this, giving into each other, getting lost in pleasure. He runs his mouth down her throat, kissing her neck with an open mouth as his fingers sink inside her. He brings her to the edge with just his fingers moving rhythmically against her, in her. The sensation rips moans from her, her hand clutching his arm like a lifeline.

"Ah…" His mouth is back on her swallowing her next groan. "Francis!" Like that was what he was waiting form, he wastes no time and replaces his fingers with his raging hardness. Mary lets out a yelp, a mix of pleasure and just hint of pain, as her legs come up to encircle his waist. He holds her up, his finger sinking in her thighs, thrusting hard and deep against her, her head knocking against the wall before he brings his hand behind her head to protect her. It's different than all the times before, this is born out of hunger, pure need for each other clouding their senses. They make love like they want to pull each other apart only so they can be put back together.

She claws at his back to press him deeper against her, so hard he can feel the paths of fire her fingernails leave down his back. He pushes harder against her in reaction and a painting from her wall falls off. She doesn't care. She doesn't care about the painting, or that her dress is ruined or that the wall is a little hard on her spine. All she can feel, see and breathe in were Francis, his blue eyes almost dark with need as he took her hard, drilling her into the wall. His hand sneaks in between her legs and he touches her in tandem with his thrusts.

It isn't long after that the first waves of pleasure start lapping at her, building, and she runs her fingers through his hair, moaning deeply, her body overrun with feeling. She can't help the small shriek of ecstasy as he brings her to climax, she jerks around him, pushing against the wall, her legs tightening, and bringing him even closer to her if that was possible. The clenching of her walls around him brought him over the edge; she could feel the sudden hotness inside. Only one word leaves his lips as he rides out his climax. "Mary, Mary.."

Utterly spent, he rests his forehead against her shoulder and she tangles her hands in his hair, their hearts beating wildly in unison. Exhaustion takes over, and they look at each other then, their clothes still half on, a testament to their desperation; sweat cooling off their slick, hot skin and breaths mingling on their way out. They look at each other as if for the first time, their eyes unclouded from the anger and resentment of the past few weeks. They share the same look of surprise, and almost awe...it's the first time in so long that they've let their walls down, that they'd been intimate but it is so much more than just the act, it's the vulnerability they hadn't dared expose to each other. Even as husband as wife. She doesn't want to to go back to that

He's still inside her and holding her up and she can't help but lean down, pressing her lips to him in a gentle kiss, sweet and slow, just savoring the taste of his lips. It's almost jarring, after the way they were fighting and then making love, but their aggressiveness is gone now, drained out of them. It only feels right now, his body enveloping hers, him whispering her name against her lips like a prayer. The sadness of the past weeks feels far away then, when they are as close as two people can be. Pulling away, they share a look filled with longing and he pushes a few rebel curls out of her face with a tenderness neither had known in a while.

"Mary…" His thumb caresses her cheek with a feather light touch. How could they let it come to this? Why all the weeks of fights and side-glances when it's so clear how much they need each other? "What were we fighting about?" He asks her, a small smile starting to play at his lips as he runs his hand up and down her thigh.

"I don't remember." She traces his lips with one finger as he looks at her, his expression one of awe. He cupped her face in his hands, and could clearly see the same signs of weariness he saw on the mirror each morning, the tired eyes, the bruise like stains under her eyes from lack of sleep, since neither of them could find enough rest in the same bed anymore. Her brow furrows at his inquiring eyes and he smooths it with his thumb before dropping a kiss on her forehead. He's hurt, and jealous and they are both full of pride. They need to let go of it all, and once he accepts that a weight lifts of his shoulders.

"I love you" He says. The words leave his lips and it suddenly becomes painfully clear how long it's been since the last time he told her that, since the last time he let her know or showed to her how much she meant to him at all. Not anymore.

"I love you." A smile lights up her feature as she tells him back. Shy smiles take over both of their faces then and he can't help but think, maybe giving in was the first step, and picking up the pieces of what they had won't be so difficult after all.