a/n: Set during the inn scene in 1x09, inspired by Bash's line to Mary about taking off her clothes and by a friend who nearly demanded this fic. It got a lot more out of hand than I intended, so my apologies to anyone who manages to trudge through the whole damn thing.

By the time they got to the inn, both Bash and Mary were soaked through, and the latter's teeth were nearly chattering. Bash managed to lie long enough to get them into a room, but asking for two would have aroused suspicion that they didn't need. So instead he simply asked for hot bath water to be sent up and led Mary upstairs with a hand just barely touching her elbow. They talked back and forth while they waited for the water, the same conversation they'd been having over and over the past few days, and Mary nervously turned down the bed, glancing around the room as Bash stoked the fire. It was small, smaller than she'd expected - smaller than she was used to, perhaps, was the better term - but her concern was less about the lack of space and more about the worry of where they would sleep. The bed was big enough for two, of course, but barely. The idea of spending the night pressed up against Bash made her shiver with...something, and Mary fought the thought out of her mind. She turned, intending to answer the question he'd posed to her - a question she'd only half heard - only to see his shirt being pulled off, leaving only his thin undershirt, which was still soaked through and clinging to his skin. His boots were being tugged off next, water pooled in the bottom being upended into the fire. It crackled and popped and hissed at both of them, and Mary felt like doing much of the same thing as she watched him get more and more undressed.

"What are you doing?" She hissed, but Bash's boots fell to the floor with a clatter, and he didn't seem to hear her. Standing up quickly, he rubbed his hands together over the fire before glancing back at her, clearly confused as to why she was so far away from the warmth when she was still shivering. He opened his mouth, presumably to ask her the same question she'd just asked him, when there was a knock at their door, and a female voice calling that she had their water. Bash crossed to answer the door while Mary turned away. He might be the more recognizable face in France, but she was still the one that would draw the most suspicion. When the door was shut, he was pouring a large kettle of water into the tub in the corner. It barely filled up half of the thing, but it would have to do. Testing it with his fingers, Bash shook his hand out after a moment and then looked back at Mary.

"Get undressed," he said, calmly and rationally, as though they were having a normal conversation.

"What?" Mary shot back, her eyes wide and her hands flying to her chest as though to protect herself.

Bash's eyebrows raised half an inch, and his eyes seemed to sparkle with a bit of amusement. "You're soaked through. You need to get warm, and you won't do that in those clothes."

Realizing the logic in what he'd said but still not liking the idea of finding herself naked in an inn room with him, she sighed. "Alright then...but turn around," she said, her voice wavering slightly. She wondered if she didn't like this idea because of what he might do to her, or what she might do to him.

"For the whole night?" Bash asked almost petulantly, his eyes flickering to hers before realizing the gravity of the situation for her. "Of course," he murmured a moment later, bowing his head before turning his body away from her, to give her some semblance of privacy. Only when she was positive he couldn't see her did Mary start to undo her coat, shouldering the heavy fabric - made heavier by the water weighting it down - off her body and onto the floor. The thud made Bash turn involuntarily, and he caught half a glimpse of skin shrouded by a dressing gown before his eyes shot to the ceiling and his head turned back around. It didn't do him any good - the image of her side was burned into his memory like hellfire. More clothes followed, thudding down onto the floor, but this time Bash remembered not to turn around, until he heard Mary speak again.

"What now?" She asked, and Bash fought the urge to turn once again, this time at the call of her voice.

"Take the tub," he answered, turning his attention to the fire. "It's the fastest way to get you to stop shivering. I'll see if I can get anything dry for you to wear for the rest of the night." He started for the door then, careful to keep his head turned away from her at all costs, and nearly bumped into a table for his troubles.

Mary, for her part, had an arm wrapped protectively around her chest as she started for the tub, shivering from the cold and something darker as she did so. He was nearly at the door when she shifted, staring at the way his back muscles moved under his thin shirt, and realized that he was shivering as well. It wasn't fair of her to take every ounce of warmth just because she was the girl. And - while this was likely less fair of all - she had nothing to go back to at the palace. She'd burned all her bridges, except for Bash. He may as well have been all she had left.

"Bash," Mary called softly, one leg already in the tub and the other risen onto tip toes, poised to follow. Bash stopped, tensing, but didn't turn when he answered.

"Yes?"

It was Mary's turn to hesitate, and she slipped her other leg into the tub, sitting down and curling her legs to her chest to keep the warmth as contained as possible. "Thank you," she finally said, chickening out of whatever else had been on the tip of her tongue. She thought she heard him sigh, but he simply nodded and left, barely opening the door in his effort to slip out. Mary sighed, sliding down farther into the tub, and nearly cursed herself for her cowardice.

A few minutes later, she could feel the water start to get cold at the edges of her body, but the idea of leaving the tub made her recoil. Humming to herself softly, she twisted her hair up into a knot at the base of her skull, glad that the fire had started to dry the thick strands, and turned towards the windows, though she was too low to see much out of them except the sky. That was when Bash came back in, holding a few blankets and a shirt in one hand, and a new kettle of water in the other. The sight of Mary humming to the stars in the sky was nearly enough to make him drop them, but he merely cast his eyes to the ground and set his bounty on the table. "That's pretty," he said softly, and Mary jerked a little in his peripheral vision. "Is it Scottish?"

"It's a lullaby," Mary said after a moment, and he could hear water sloshing as she leaned forward. "My mother used to sing it to me at night."

"It's lovely," he reiterated, pulling a blanket from the stack and then the shirt. "Here, to help you dry off. It's not much but it's the best they could do."

Mary thanked him, watching as he turned away again, almost pointedly this time. His shirt was drying to his skin, she could see, and she couldn't imagine his pants were comfortable with that much water in them. She cast a quick look at the new kettle and sighed, hating that he'd put off his own comfort for her own. He might make himself sick over this, and the idea of Bash with a fever and a stuffy nose - while oddly adorable - was surprisingly frightening to her. She didn't want to lose him, Mary realized with a sudden jolt. They'd spent a whole week with no one for company but each other, and it had well and truly bonded them. So she rose slowly, drying off with the blanket he'd set aside, but left the shirt to the side. This was no time for cowardice; this was a time to be brave. She'd done it once before with him, and though this was far more permanent and she had no alcohol to help her steady her hands, Mary knew she could do this.

She'd kissed him because she wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed by someone who loved you so completely. She stayed where she was because she wanted to know what it felt like to be touched by someone who looked at you like you hung the moon.

"You can look," Mary told him quietly, and he turned, his expression blank for a split second before contorting into surprise and awe. He clearly hadn't expected that, but when he started to turn around once more, certain she'd made a mistake, Mary grabbed the other kettle and poured it into the bath, nearly hissing as the scalding water mixed with the tepid flow around her calves. "Bash," she said firmly, emptying out the kettle and setting it aside, "get undressed."

She said it like it was the most logical thing in the world, like they'd been doing this for years, and still, Bash hesitated. Turning back, his eyes found hers, never straying downward. His mind told him it was a bit too late for that, but he still kept his eyes locked on hers. Seconds passed by, or maybe it was eons, before he finally forced his lips into a small smile. "Well...turn around, then," he told her, and earned a laugh for that. A shaky thin laugh, but a laugh all the same.

His shirt came off slowly, and Mary sank back down into the tub, her fingers clenched at the edges. Walking towards her, Bash hesitated for a long moment before undoing his pants with a sigh of defeat. He may have self control, but not that much.

He was in the water before Mary got much of an eyeful, but the lack of space in the tub made him into all limbs, and she nearly laughed again as he all but floundered around. Water sloshed against her skin and over the tub before he finally sighed his defeat and stayed still, his knees sticking out for what seemed like miles.

"Here," Mary laughed, sitting up delicately and shuddering as the cool air hit the water droplets on her chest. Bash's eyes widened once more, but she forced herself not to react, reminded herself that this was just Bash. This was just Bash, and she'd always been comfortable with Bash. Taking his knees in her hands, she pushed down lightly, gently guiding him to extend his legs on either side of the tub until they were submerged as much as his height would allow. She shifted forward, turning carefully, and sat in between his legs, her back falling in tiny increments to rest against his chest. She felt his inhale, his sharp intake of breath. She felt his heart jump and start pounding against the back of hers. And all Mary did was rest her arm on the edge of the tub, on top of his, and slid her fingers into the spaces between his. Her hands were shaking; her heart was beating faster than his. But it still felt right when she whispered, "Is that better?"

"Mary," Bash answered, and his voice sounded strained. "What are you doing?"

She paused for a long moment before turning her head back towards his. "I'm warming you up."

He surged forward before either of them completely knew what was happening, his lips slanting over hers. Her free hand lifted from the water to rest at the side of his neck, and she marveled at how cold his skin truly was. If he caught a fever, she'd never forgive herself.

Steam rose off the water as it sloshed around once more, with Mary's body half turned on top of his and Bash struggling to find a comfortable angle for them both. Finally, his hands found her hips, holding her delicately and carefully, as though she were made of glass and would break apart and slice his hands at any moment, and shifted her body back towards him. Her knees bent underneath them to give herself some leverage, her torso twisting and her hands finding the edge of the tub on either side of his head, and her chest pressed against his right as the tip of her tongue pressed against the seam of lips.

That seemed to wake Bash up, and he nearly pushed her off of him, his head yanking back and his chest heaving. "Mary, stop," he managed, his face contorted and his hands still encircling her skin.

"No," she whispered, her eyes finding his in the half light of the fire. "I want this, Bash, I want you." And she did. His eyes were wide and pleading with her, but his grip was steady and she could see the longing as though it was written into his very bone structure. It might have been selfish of her, but she wanted to know what it would feel like to love a man who loved her so completely it looked like it might burst out of him at any given moment. So she pressed her lips to his again, and then again, before resting her forehead to his skin and cradling his neck with her hands. "Bash, please."

That seemed to break the dam on his self control, and he wrapped his arms around her, hauling her to him. Their skin pressed together and water splashed everywhere as he dragged her lips back to his. She kissed him like she was trying to inhale him; he kissed her like he wanted to sew his soul to hers. His hand rested on her back, palm flat and fingers spread, and she felt like it nearly encompassed all of her skin as she settled into his lap, where she could feel just how much he was longing for her, warm and thick against the inside of her thigh. With that in mind, she slid a hand down his chest, her destination clear, but Bash caught her hand and broke the kiss, wasting no time to press his lips to her jawline, and then her neck. "Let me," he breathed, his sentence trailing off in favor of mouthing the juncture of her neck, his teeth barely leaving a graze. His hand still encircled her wrist as he made his way down farther and farther, until his lips were on her breast and Mary was nearly bending backwards to give him room to work with, her chest heaving and his tongue laving water droplets from her nipple. Soft noises spilled from her throat, mewling gasps of whispers as her fingernails scraped the back of his neck gently, her head falling forward towards the top of his. But Bash, man on a mission that he was, took very little notice of Mary's reactions, just noting that they were positive before latching on to her nipple, sucking until a higher pitched gasp reached his ears. Adding teeth gently and in small increments, he bit down lightly on her skin, tugging and glancing up to make sure she was alright. Her brow was creased and her nails scraped harder, finding his hair and pulling lightly. He took that as a good sign, soothing her skin with his tongue before crossing to the other side of her chest, repeating the process with her other breast.

One hand slid up her side to palm the neglected breast, and Mary's head nearly flung backwards at the sensation overload. It was different than with Francis, she noted with a shuddering gasp as his thumb grazed her sensitive nipple and he leaned up to give himself better access to her skin. Not bad. Not necessarily better. Just...different. He was gentler, and he touched her with something akin to reverence. His free hand slid down her back and disappeared into the water, grazing the top of her thigh as his lips moved back upward. Seizing opportunity, Mary ducked her head once more to kiss him, opening her mouth almost immediately to coax his tongue to slide along hers. Her hands tangled in his hair once more, grabbing at the short strands and feeling them slide through her fingers. Bash's thumb brushed the inside of her thigh once, twice, and then suddenly his hand was twisting, the tips of his fingers grazing her slit, and Mary moaned into his mouth, startled. His name was half formed on her lips, but with his mouth on hers and his thumb parting her folds, she couldn't do much more than sigh against his lips. Her hips jerked forward, but his other hand flew to her hip, bracketing skin and bones and holding her in place.

"Wait," he whispered against her lips, the word muffled and drawing a smile out of both of them.

"Sorry? Didn't catch that," Mary teased, moving to kiss his cheek, then his jawline, and then the space where his pulse beat rapidly against his skin.

He made her bold; much bolder than she would have been anywhere but in a court full of people waiting to see her fail. Mary was anything but weak willed, but something about Bash stoked that fire inside of her that was raging and ready to do any and everything she wanted. Bash made her feel like she could take the world by storm, even if that world was just a boy beneath her who was splashing water all over the floor in an effort to touch her.

"Wait," he repeated, his voice strained but full of its usual cheek, and before she could answer, he was plunging a finger inside of her and any hope at a snappy remark was lost for the moment. A strangled 'oh!' left her mouth, moaned against the side of his neck, and she could practically feel him smirking as his finger slowly started to slide in and out of her.

"Bastard," she murmured, half laughing, half moaning. She could feel his laughter like rumbling in his chest, and she bit down on his skin in retaliation, delighting in the sudden groan he gave in response, his hand twisting between her legs. His thumb started fumbling around then, pressing at random spots in her skin, and she nearly asked him what he was doing when suddenly his nail grazed against a particularly sensitive spot. Heat flared through her body, starting right at her clit, and Mary let out the loudest moan yet, her eyes wide and her nails digging into his skin.

"There it is," she heard Bash say, his voice clearly proud, and if his thumb wasn't circling over her clit, she would have laughed again. As it was, all she could do was gasp in an effort to maintain enough oxygen as he suddenly added another finger, her hips rocking gently and softly against his hand. One hand flew to his shoulder, her nails digging into his skin, and he hissed softly, but turned to press his lips to the inside of her wrist, mouthing her skin. If she were a lesser girl, that might have broke something in her; as it was, it still managed to crack something in her soul.

"Bash," she managed, her brow furrowed with concentration as she moved her hips, struggling to follow his rhythm. Bash looked up, watching her face for a moment, and Mary opened her eyes, finding his in the warm light of the fire. The look in his eyes brought tears to hers, stinging the corners of her vision. No one had ever looked at her that way before, not even Francis, and for a moment, she felt more beautiful than she ever had in her life. "Sebastian."

His name fell from her lips like a prayer, and she shifted her hips again, rolling them so that he was knuckle deep inside her and her breathing was shallow at best. He pressed his thumb against her clit nearly roughly before surging back up to meet her lips, Mary's hand curling around his shoulder and sliding down to his back to hold him as close to her chest as she could. She whispered something against his lips - it might have been a plea, it might have been a prayer, it might have been a curse. Neither one of them could be too sure. But he seemed to understand her half formed words, sliding his fingers from inside her and making her groan softly with the sudden feeling of emptiness. She whined against his teeth, her tongue pressing against his and her chest molding to his body. His hand never left her hip as she felt him maneuvering the two of them, and suddenly she could feel him pressing against her opening, his lips pulling from hers and his hand leaving her hip to touch her cheek.

His skin was coated with water, and she shivered as it touched her dry skin, but she looked down at him all the same, her gaze refusing to waver.

"Are you sure?" He asked softly, his thumb finding her cheekbone and brushing her skin slowly. She could feel dampness in the wake of his thumb. "There's no going back from this, Mary, we-"

"Yes," Mary assured him, her voice barely above a whisper. That wouldn't do. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I'm sure."

He started to shake his head, clearly ready to talk her out of it, and it made Mary's heart break for him. Here he was, poised and ready to go, and still trying to talk both of them out of what they wanted. And all for her sake. He was always putting her needs before his own, and Mary loved him for it. She despised herself for letting him, but the selfish part of her couldn't let go of this boy who loved her, so she shifted her own hands, bracketing his face and stopping his lips with her fingers.

"People will talk about us for the rest of our lives," she told him seriously. "People will always talk about us. So why should we deny ourselves something we'll already be accused of?"

Bash paused, blinking at her. "I don't want you to make a rash decision."

"Well I'm not," she informed him, leaning down to kiss his forehead gently, then one eyelid, and then the other. She could feel his sighing breath on her collarbone before she kissed his lips lightly. "I think..." she hesitated. "I want this," Mary finally corrected herself, meeting his eyes seriously. "I'm choosing this. I'm choosing you. Consequences be damned."

That did it. Suddenly he was pressing against her entrance again, and then he was pushing inside her, and Mary was gasping out and grabbing at any exposed inch of his skin she could reach, scrabbling for purchase and leverage. Apologies were spilling from his throat and she muffled them by covering his mouth with hers, her knees digging into his hips and her chest molded to his. By the time he was finally fully sheathed inside her, she could barely tell where his body stopped and hers started, and she found she liked that a lot more than she likely should have.

"Mary," he murmured against her lips, pulling away just enough to give them room to look at one another. She wondered if he saw some sort of change in her eyes. She didn't see one in his; he was still staring at her like she was personally responsible for the position of the moon and the stars in the sky. His awe and love were so strong that it nearly blinded her, she could barely stand to look at it, and Mary buried her head in his neck suddenly, a strangled combination of a moan and a sob leaving her. His hand pressed against her back, holding her to him as she fought not to weep for all she'd lost and all she'd gained in less than a week. Life had a funny way of doing that: taking away something you thought you wanted and giving you something else in return. Something you never thought was meant for you. Something you never dreamed you'd be worthy of having.

He started to lift her hips, but Mary dug her nails into his arms. "No," she murmured against his skin. "It's just a lot to take in. I haven't changed my mind."

Bash paused, but said nothing, and didn't move. He was too good for her, too kind and too gentle and too caring. She realized then that she'd never been built to be a king's wife, not really. She wasn't supposed to love this bastard boy, but what else could she do? She nodded against his neck then, acceptance flooding through her veins as she lifted her head to kiss him once more, barely holding the motion before resting her forehead against his and lifting her hips on her own. The movement was clumsy, and she came down too hard on her downward thrust. Bash groaned softly and Mary laughed through her moan, her cheeks burning. "Sorry," she whispered, kissing his cheeks in apology. "I've never done it like this before."

Bash smiled slightly, kissing her on the tip of her nose and nipping it with his teeth. "You've nothing to be sorry for," he told her seriously, his hands finding her hips to help her find the rhythm. She loved him for that. She moved her hips carefully, letting him take the lead as her breathing got heavier and heavier, heat pooling between her legs with each slow and careful thrust shared between the two of them. The water sloshed around them, having long gone cold, but neither one of them cared as Mary slowly but surely found the motion he was guiding her towards.

"Faster?" She gasped, the word more question than anything else, and he nodded, his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched with concentration. His grip tightened on her skin and both of them started to move faster. It threw off their motion for a moment, and Mary would have laughed again if he didn't suddenly bottom out in her, catching her off guard. "Bash," Mary moaned, her hips jerking forward again, and his hand was suddenly between her legs again, fumbling around for her clit. Once he found it, it was all over from there. The sensations were too much for Mary, her hips jerking against his hand and his length, her body tensing and shaking as it chased its release. She felt like she might fall apart. It was too much, too much sensation and too much heat and too much weight on her heart for her to handle, and just when she was about to beg him to stop, she came hard around him. Mary could feel her release in her whole body, and when she finished she nearly sagged against him. He started to pull out from her, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. "It's okay," she reassured him, rocking her hips forward again, though the overly sensitive skin cried out in protest in the process.

Any other time, Bash would have argued, but he was too far gone to do anything but thrust into her once, twice, three more times, and then moan her name into her hair as he let go. She could feel the heat inside her, and she shivered, moaning quietly at the odd sensation and then finally allowing herself to collapse against him, her limbs tired and shaky and her heart craving intimacy. His fingers curled against her skin, gathering her close to him, and when they exhaled, both had shaky breath. They laid there for what felt like ages, breathing in and out against each other, neither one saying anything. Until Mary shifted, hissing and rousing Bash to stare at her.

"My leg is cramping," she said sheepishly, and he blinked at her for a second before bursting into laughter. His head fell back as he laughed, and Mary slapped the flat of her palm lightly against his chest.

"It's not funny!" She protested, but she was laughing too. Whether it was at the absurdity of the situation or the sound of his laughter was anyone's guess. "Are you just going to laugh at me or are you going to help me up?"

"I rather like laughing at you," he chuckled, his fingertips coming up to brush her cheekbone. "You turn the most lovely shade of red when you find yourself embarrassed."

Mary ducked her head, but when he kissed her temple she leaned into the touch of his lips. "Alright, alright," Bash sighed, wrapping his hands around her middle and hoisting her up, standing quickly to follow. They nearly slipped in the tub as a result, grabbing one another to steady themselves, and that started the laughter again.

"Well, no one can ever be accused of calling you graceful," Bash teased her, and she pushed him away from her, nearly toppling him over in the process.

"I'll make you sleep on the floor," she threatened, exiting the tub and grabbing a blanket to dry herself off with, her legs sore and her body wanting nothing more than to lay down. She was certain she looked awful; her hair was more tangled than it had ever been, and her lips were surely swollen from all the kissing. There were likely red scratches on her neck from his stubble, but Mary was - oddly enough - anything but self conscious.

"You wouldn't dare," he drawled, stepping out of the tub as well and taking one of the other blankets, wishing he'd been able to find them proper towels. "I am an excellent bed mate," he informed her grandly, and Mary giggled. "You wouldn't dare let me sleep on the floor and deprive yourself the...the..."

"Privilege?" Mary asked with a grin as he struggled to find the right word.

"Well, I would have said pleasure," he retorted, and she laughed again, snapping her towel at him. He grabbed it quickly, using it to yank her towards him, and kissed her soundly on the lips, one arm wrapped firmly around her waist. "I love you," he told her suddenly, seriously, and Mary blinked at him. They both knew that, of course, but having the words in open air nearly made her shrink back from the weight of them. Bash, however, wouldn't let her, and kept a steady grip on her. "You don't have to say anything, Mary," he murmured softly, and she knew from the look in his eyes that he wasn't just saying that to be kind. He really wasn't expecting anything back from her. "I just wanted to say it when I was...clear headed," Bash told her gently, brushing a bit of hair out of her eyes. After a long beat of silence that Mary struggled to fill, he smiled at her, and she was grateful for the lack of pain in his eyes.

"There, now. You wouldn't make a man who loves you sleep on the floor, would you?"

"No," she finally admitted, smiling in spite of herself, "I suppose I wouldn't."