Rosalind

Between the legal aspects of inheriting their place as Head of Household and the personal details of tying up their mother’s loose ends, there never seemed to be enough time in the day and Rosalind found themself working into the evenings well past dinner. It had their head spinning at times, and they wanted nothing more than to escape the oceans of paperwork. If they had it their way, they’d escape back to the Magnus-Monroe library as they had been the past few weeks, but the sheer volume of work and the amount of people relying on them made that an impossible fantasy.

It would ease up after their official initiation as Head of Household. Surely it couldn’t get any worse than this? A nice thought, one they didn’t bother putting faith in. The work was enjoyable to a certain degree, they found the businesses their estate involved with interesting, but inheriting it all at once instead of gradually as they’d always planned had blindsided them. They’d been raised for this, and the work suited their detached demeanour, but even Rosalind found the stress beginning to weigh on them.

Then there was the matter of their mother. They were livid with her, humiliated by her actions, and annoyed that they were left to clean up her messes. Not to mention all the apologies and notice of management changes they’d had to send out. Victoria had done a thorough job separating her nefarious scheming from the rest of the family’s business, and she’d taken great pains to ensure Rosalind would not be implicated should she be found out. It was just like her to do something awful in the most thoughtful way possible, Rosalind just never thought her brand of awful extended beyond springing social gatherings on them last minute or surprising them with potential spouses they might attempt to woo.

What would their father think of all this? It wouldn’t have even happened if he was still here; he always had been the reasonable one.

If Rosalind hadn’t assisted, the investigation wouldn’t have had much solid evidence, that much was clear from the trial. While they didn’t regret helping, the simple fact that they had sealed their mother’s fate weighed heavy on their heart. It also didn’t escape Rosalind that their contribution could be seen as a power grab, an attempt to oust their mother to gain their destined place almost thirty years early. The Bloodswell family was infamous for its drive for power, but that drive had skipped Rosalind entirely. They weren’t interested in influence and social capital, they were interested in magic and dance and reading, all things they were missing at present. Now they’d have to do damage control, play the tiresome political game, and try to repair their family’s respectability and their own reputation by extension.

While Rosalind was shut in their library for the seventh consecutive day to work through their newest slew of bureaucratic minutiae, their personal assistant announced they had a visitor. It was odd, Tina knew they weren’t allowing social calls at the moment and weren’t to be interrupted unnecessarily. She was an excellent assistant so such a blatant oversight irritated Rosalind. Until they saw their visitor. Their attendant led him in and, to Rosalind’s acute relief, it was Marcus.

During Rosalind’s visits to the estate, Marcus joined them if he was in, which he always seemed to be. Though his father usually brought him along to important coven or estate business, Marcus had prioritized his visits with Rosalind. They had somehow become friends over afternoon tea and conversations about the poetry he read to them. That was one of their favourite parts of the visits. Their other favourite part was those fleeting moments when Marcus’ hand would linger on their shoulder or sit just a bit closer than they expected. Maybe Rosalind leaned into his side when that happened or offered more opportunities for Marcus to touch them than strictly necessary, but that could hardly be called flirting. It was meaningless, they were just friends and that’s all they ever would be. Marcus was merely a physically affectionate person, Rosalind argued. With themself. 

But when Marcus breezed through their library’s dark wood door, Rosalind felt a weight lift from their shoulders, like they’d been shut underground for years and was finally seeing the sun. He sparkled against the dimness of the room, his blond hair putting even the most polished wood of their round mahogany table and chairs to shame. He was wearing his favourite pastel blue shrug that was sheer enough to see the pink button-down blouse through, and it threw into sharpness just how opposed his aesthetic and personality were to Rosalind, especially because he was skipping through the door in his giddiness. “Hey Sir Bloodswell,” he teased as Rosalind stood to greet their friend and take his offered hands. “Or, would it be ‘sir’? I guess not, huh.”

Rosalind smiled, treasuring the warmth of Marcus’ baby-soft hands. “I’ll have to send a note out with the official title, apparently. It’s good to see you, my friend, you’ve no idea.” They invited Marcus to sit down in the chair next to the antique cherrywood and red velvet armchair they’d brought in from their room days ago.

He happily plopped down next to Rosalind. “Yeah, of course. I missed you coming over, and everything is incredibly dull if I’m not expecting you!”

Rosalind’s ears flushed a little at the flattery. “My deepest apologies for being a responsible Head of Household. I am deeply ashamed.”

Marcus laughed, and Rosalind was struck by it. He was beautiful in an unconventional way. Angular, but soft; feminine, and yet still distinctly a man. Something about Marcus was deeply magnetic to everyone around him and Rosalind was no exception. Maybe he wasn’t what some people might find handsome, but Rosalind wasn’t one of those people. They were refreshed and comforted by Marcus’ utter lack of need for them. His family was involved in almost every business and social circle in Honeyshore and he’d already gone without their company for years. The last thing Marcus needed was yet another acquaintance, yet he had chosen to spend time with them, had even gone out of his way to visit, and there was no one Rosalind had missed more this last week.

They conversed easily for a while, their personal assistant served tea and light refreshments early on, a toasted sencha with sweet potato yokan and biscuits from the local bakery. Marcus complained about wedding planning and businesses not sending timely notes when they were meant to and let Rosalind vent about their new responsibilities. They carefully avoided the topic of Victoria for a long time, for which Rosalind was grateful.

Until Marcus brought up last week’s meeting. “I wanted to say,” he started tentatively, “and we don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to, but I just wanted to tell you,” Rosalind’s brows raised, “I thought it was incredible how you handled that whole ‘your mother almost murdered Leland’ thing. Sorry, I know, but I think you looked so regal.”

 Rosalind looked at the documents on the table and gathered their thoughts. Regal was quite the specific word, a compliment they approved of but weren’t sure applied to them. “I was merely doing what anyone would have,” they replied softly with a shrug.

Marcus’ hand covered Rosalind’s where it lay on their armrest and earned back their gaze. “I know you want to appear like you don’t give a shit and it’s a good look,” they both chuckled. “But not everyone would have helped like you did, and you handled it with honour and dignity. You were stunning.”

Rosalind’s breath faltered. How does one respond to that? And why was Marcus’ hand on their’s still such a distraction when they’d spent so much time with him lately? Though he was a physically affectionate man, he always respected Rosalind’s boundaries even if those boundaries eroded a little more every moment they spent in his presence.

They’d try to lighten the sudden serious mood that fell over the two of them and steer the conversation away from their mother. “A lot of good that did me. My reward for it is endless paperwork that will make no difference in the end and the daily migraines that accompany it.” Sudden worry flashed across Marcus’ face. Oops. “Not now. Generally,” they added hastily and motioned towards the documents with a vague gesture.

Marcus looked at the piles with a grimace. “Maybe I could help with some of it?”

Rosalind shook their head, trying to train their awareness away from the hand still holding theirs. “No, it’s my burden to bare, I’m afraid. But you know what would improve my mood?”

Marcus’ face lit up. “What’s that?”

“Why don’t you read me something?” Rosalind rose and walked to the book shelf. “I haven’t been able to pick up a book in a week, and if I look at more paper I’ll die.”

Marcus laughed in reply, and he moved to the other side of the table to sit on a simple bench closer to the bookshelves. “You already look like a ghost, but sure, why not?”

Rosalind tried to hide the chuckle that escaped as they picked up an old volume of poetry from the shelf, one of his staples they’d acquired the week before. They were paler than usual it was true, and they knew their carriage was wilted, but for their pride’s sake they’d demand penance. “That’s so rude.” Wearing a cocky smirk, Marcus patted the spot next to him on the bench, so they sat next to him and handed the book over. Their shoulders pressed together and his fingers brushed theirs. “Read me something exceptional, poetic genius, and perhaps I’ll exonerate you.” 

Marcus received the book and thumbed through it. “Hmm, yeah.” He paused, contemplating his choices, an index finger resting on his lip. Rosalind tried to fix their eyes elsewhere, but their gaze lingered on the finger at his lips. 

Their heart skipped a beat. And then another.

Marcus’s pensive face lit up in a lighthearted grin so lovely that it could put a sunrise to shame. “Here, this is actually one of my favourites!”

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth
brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings

The peaks and lulls in Marcus’ voice entranced them, and if Rosalind had wanted to leave this visit with their little secret intact, then asking Marcus to read had been a mistake, perhaps the biggest mistake they’d ever made. As Marcus’ voice sang out the verse, Rosalind’s breath was stolen away by his warmth and their gaze was captive to his lips. The way they moved had rendered Rosalind unable to remove their gaze. They barely heard the man speaking, instead their mind was far away, imagining against all their judgement what those lips might feel like, taste like, what they might be capable of. Pink, soft, and they could easily imagine nibbling at them. They unconsciously wet their own. It wasn’t like Rosalind to let their imagination run wild, but their reduced ability to regulate themself was hardly surprising considering the stress of the previous week.

What was surprising, however, was the man had stopped talking altogether a full minute previous, and Rosalind had been caught staring at his lips with naked, unmistakeable longing.

Their neck and cheeks caught fire as they realized they’d been found out. Rosalind froze, horrified. Their face burned crimson with humiliation, their heart rate quickened, but they refused to meet Marcus’ gaze. Instead, they ripped their own away and looked down to the floor as quickly as a mouse might flee a barn cat. He’d been looking back at them for what felt like an eternity and didn’t look away when Rosalind did. Marcus shifted and his shoulder pressed in closer as if he were leaning towards them.

But Rosalind shot to their feet and retreated to the window a few paces away to put distance between them. How fucking stupid were they? This man was engaged to the coven’s Heir! What were they thinking, staring at him like an infatuated infant? How desperate must they be? A blind man could see that pathetically obvious display and Marcus wasn’t stupid. No, he was a social genius! Of course it would be him that saw their blunder, and there was no way he was going to believe one of their terrible, half-assed excuses and no possible way this would result in anything other than humiliation, of that Rosalind was certain. They were already humiliated and it was nobody’s fault but their own.

While looking out the window, Rosalind scratched furiously at the back of their neck. They struggled to gain composure, to keep embarrassment at bay. They dared not look back. Maybe they could pretend to have a headache or change the subject? If they could come up with the correct thing to say, then they could still pretend that didn’t just happen and avoid becoming the town’s laughing stock as the one who thought they were anything other than the villain of the coven. Every second of silence made that less likely and for all of Rosalind’s supposed brilliance, their frantic attempt to find a legitimate excuse was coming up a failure.

Footsteps came towards them. Marcus had walked over. He stood just behind them. Rosalind’s shoulders tightened. They shut their eyes. “Rosalind?” said Marcus so softly, but there was something in his tone they couldn’t parse. Feeling his body’s heat and smelling the man’s cologne had stunted their thoughts altogether. Instead of providing anything helpful, their panicked brain locked onto his scent and warmth. Woody and earthy, a hint of some exotic spice floating on its edge. Rosalind hated that they knew it so well; it made their heart flutter, breath falter, and body warm with irrational yet undeniable desire as it always did.

Rosalind tried to form an answer, tried to think a solid thought at all, but their struggle flew out the window when Marcus tugged their hand away from their neck and gently prompted them to turn around. They cemented their eyes to the floor in one final attempt to avoid their mistake; they’d shown weakness, they’d shown the chip in their armour, their feelings had been plain and Rosalind was ashamed. They’d kept this secret for so long and a single mistake had been their undoing. They wanted to say something, explain themself or apologize, but before Rosalind could say anything, Marcus turned them around and pressed his lips to theirs. 

Rosalind’s mind went blank with shock. This wasn’t happening, this was the dream they’d had more times than they could count. His lips were gentle at first, barely brushing theirs, but at the slightest move of their own Marcus’ pressed into their space further, kissed them more firmly. His every movement was met with a movement of their own until their mind finally, finally allowed the reality of this moment to solidify enough for the shock to dissolve into unbridled, relieved bliss.

They breathed him in as a weak moan escaped them, and Rosalind rested their trembling hands on his chest. When Marcus deepened the embrace by grabbing at their waist with eager hands, they pulled him closer by sliding an arm over his shoulder. They wanted to be so much closer, as near to him as they could possibly be, and it was still astonishing how delighted this man seemed for that to be the case. He captured them and pinned Rosalind between himself and the window as they pressed their body tightly to his. Marcus was warm and astonishingly soft, just as Rosalind had always imagined, his kisses as addictive as sugar and just as sweet.

He gripped at their waist possessively, almost like he’d decided before his visit today that they were his. And they were his, had been for years, but he couldn’t have known that before their blunder, could he? Marcus’ possessiveness migrated from his hands to his lips as he bit at theirs hungrily, and it was all Rosalind could do to grab at his lapels to anchor themself against being swept away. Satisfaction rumbled in Marcus’ chest, and Rosalind really could have died from happiness at any point, doubly so when they nibbled on his bottom lip, fulfilling the years-old fantasy. 

They continued to kiss and touch, not pausing to say a word opting instead to use their lips to much better purpose. Rosalind lost all sense of the world around them and Marcus became their entire world in that moment. They used their kisses to tell him how much they craved him, to speak of their love for him, and to whisper a plea that he never let this moment end. Rosalind knew they’d die if this ended, so they kissed him like it would be their last. All sense of shame was gone now, especially since their ardor was being met with equal intensity from Marcus. He kissed like an artist, like a poet, like a dream, but they knew this wasn’t a dream because it was so much better than they had ever conceived of themself.

They slowed, and the world began to slowly fade back into place. The realization of what they were doing and all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing it rushed back into the forefront of their mind and Rosalind broke the kiss, though they didn’t retreat their hands. This was wrong, they reminded themself of all the reasons they hadn’t expressed their feelings for him for all those years, not least of which being that he was still fucking engaged to their coven’s future Heir. They shakily released his shirt collar, suddenly overcome with hesitation and doubt, but they didn’t remove their hand from his shoulder.

But Marcus didn’t back away. Rosalind met his gaze. Their heart stopped. Marcus seemed both nervous and hopeful, his cheeks were flushed, but he was looking at them like they were about to hex him. Had this been anyone else, Rosalind would have easily identified the look on his face as adoration and desire, but they were so hesitant to label it as such because Marcus had no reason to want them, no reason to pursue them. Yet he’d kissed them, had kissed them over and over, and his expression said it all: he wanted them like they wanted him. He was letting them decide how to  go on from here, but their stomach churned as they realized that he was expecting them to push him away, the last thing they wanted to do.

Continuing was a bad idea, there could be serious consequences. Those consequences had kept them in line for  years. The coven, their family, his lack of availability and interest, as their hands rested on him, shaking almost imperceptibly, all those reasons seemed leagues away now. Gods, they just fucking wanted this man and couldn’t find the will to hold back anymore. Maybe they would face consequences, but they’d loved this man so much for so long and they’d never been able to quell their desire for him. Their desire for him was as stubborn as it ever was, so why bother fighting it anymore? Rosalind looked back up into Marcus’ eyes and the decision became simple. “Fuck it.”

Rosalind fisted their hands back into his lapels and tugged Marcus back in. The intensity of their need dominated every touch, every movement, every inch of them. They weren’t going to hold back or smother their desire for him anymore; if they were going to do this they were going all-in.

Smiling into their embrace, Marcus’ every kiss was as hungry as their own. He kept his arms around Rosalind’s waist, and when they reclined against the window pane Marcus pursued them by pressing a leg between theirs. It caused Rosalind to whine softly and sent Marcus into a frenzy. He began trailing kisses over their jaw down to their neck that slowly turned into nipping. It made their core tingle and their vision haze.

Rosalind swore quietly as he nipped at them. This would only end one way but they didn’t care. A hand went from Marcus’ shoulder to his hair, raking through it gently, earning a particularly potent moan from him. Music, heavenly music to Rosalind’s ears. Their head fell back, resting on the pane behind them, and exposed more of their neck for more of his teeth’s libidinous attention. And while an arm remained at their waist, Marcus’ other hand trailed down Rosalind’s sides to dig fingers into their hip. It felt so unfathomably good, their breath began faltering and they pressed into Marcus’ every touch as if by instinct, like they’d done this with him a hundred times.

Their body was awakening in a way it hadn’t for years and while they were doing their best to keep quiet, Rosalind couldn’t help the gasps and soft moans that dripped from their lips. His teeth on their neck and the press of his body overrode their ability to make decisions, so they let their hunger for him make those decisions on their behalf. Before they could question it their legs were wrapped around him, their hands were wrapped in his long tresses, and judging by the way his hips pressed against theirs and the fury with which his hands were exploring them, Marcus was just as excited as they were.

“Ros,” he said with an urgent tone as he panted against their now-tender skin, “Rosalind, I… can I touch-”

“Yes,” They cut Marcus off. His eyes widened with surprise as his met theirs. It made Rosalind grin wickedly because if he was surprised by this shred of enthusiasm, he’d be getting the surprise of his life shortly. “Unless you’d like to stop now.”

If their hungered teasing was surprising to him, then his response to it was doubly so. The look on Marcus’ face sent a shiver down their spine. It was the look of a man who’d just made a decision that would change their life. They knew from experience that once Marcus committed to a cause, no force in the universe could deter him from it and he’d just committed to a cause. “I wanna make you feel amazing,” he murmured as he lured them away from the window, tugging them towards the nearby velvet chaise lounge by the empty stone fireplace. When they reached the chaise, he ran his hands up their arms to their tie, loosed it, and discarded it before capturing their lips again.

Rosalind wanted to reply but they weren’t going to stop kissing him, so they eagerly leaned into the embrace. They pressed their body to his and Marcus guided them to recline on the chaise. He didn’t follow immediately, instead he paused to admire the fruits of his labour, so they finally allowed themself to entertain the thought they’d hosted since the first time they’d met without smothering it: He was so utterly beautiful, it broke Rosalind’s heart. He, an actual angel, was looking at them as if they were responsible for directing the moon’s phases. His flushed skin was smooth, his grey eyes pools of silver moonlight, his golden hair was starting to loose from its braid, and his lips were slightly swollen from Rosalind’s amorous attentions.

He climbed on top of them and reunited their lips, and Rosalind wrapped themself around Marcus again. Oh gods above and below did they want this, they’d ached for this so much for so long. Everything they thought Marcus would be had turned up absolutely correct: gentle, warm, passionate. Rosalind loved it all, loved him, loved his weight on them, but they wanted more. Their hands reached to Marcus’ shirt and unbuttoned it without breaking their impassioned kiss. As the blouse came apart, Rosalind slipped their cool hands under the fabric and ghosted fingers over exposed skin, lightly scratching at it. Marcus shivered and nipped at Rosalind’s bottom lip. He wasn’t strong or particularly well-built by any means, but that didn’t matter to them. All that mattered here and now was Marcus and Rosalind knew right then they wanted more from him than they had ever allowed themself to acknowledge. They wanted everything.

Marcus’ hands wandered down to Rosalind’s belt and lingered there, asking. At the touch, their hips jerked to meet him. Even as their lips were still fastened together, Marcus grinned and his hands moved to the lowest button on Rosalind’s shirt. They instantly seized his hands and pushed them away from the shirt’s hem and the rest of their body froze. They hated themself for it, especially when Marcus lifted away to see what was wrong, but Rosalind wasn’t ready for that. They already felt so vulnerable. By the gods, they wanted him and wanted to share everything with him just as they wanted from him, but they couldn’t yet. “I’d like to keep that,” they whispered tensely. “I’m so sorry.”

Marcus nodded with an unbothered smile. “Don’t apologize. I want you to be comfortable.”

The panic in Rosalind’s gut settled, relieved they hadn’t just ruined the moment. “You’ve made me incredibly comfortable,” they slyly teased as their hands stole to his face and caressed him.

Their heart fluttered when he leaned in again, pressing a kiss to their jawline. “I’d like to think there’s room for improvement,” he murmured as a hand stole to their pant fastenings, slipped a finger under the waistline, and teased the skin beneath. He made no further move, “If you’d like.”

Rosalind met that touch with enthusiasm, their hands returning to his chest to pull at his shirt collar. “Fuck yes.”

Marcus’ lips were immediately back on Rosalind’s neck, his hands furiously undoing pant fasteners and pulling them down. He trailed kisses down Rosalind’s slender body, skipping past their chest to kiss their stomach and hips, and his hands gripped at their thighs as they were exposed. As he kneeled on the floor in front of them, Marcus brought those hips to the edge of the seat. The kisses he pressed into Rosalind’s skin made them gasp and melt. This was more than Rosalind could have ever asked for, Marcus on his knees asking to please them, and their hands found a new home in Marcus’ hair, pulling softly to ground themself.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, oh my gods,” he prayed with his lips brushing against their skin. Rosalind didn’t know how to respond, but the look on his face implied there was no reply needed as if he could hear their every longing thought. He was mouthing at them as if Rosalind was the most delicious dessert he’d ever come across and he was starving. Pressing kiss after kiss into their thigh, his face neared Rosalind’s centre. Eyes full of intention met theirs one more time while a finger curled around the waistband of Rosalind’s smalls. They lifted their hips to consent, and the final barrier was gone. The vulnerability Rosalind felt was held at bay by the heat in Marcus’ eyes and the reverence with which he touched them. While wrapping one arm under and around their thigh, his other hand reached up to Rosalind’s slit and gently brushed against the outer lips’ dark hair. Rosalind’s mind was screaming, they hadn’t really been able to believe this was actually happening but they sure as hell could now. They’d never seen anyone look at them with such awe, and by no means was Rosalind unpracticed in sex but there was very few times they could recall just a simple brush of fingers being so electric, so erotic. Their clit pulsed in anticipation.

He gently parted their folds with a knuckle. “Holy hell,” he murmured, his voice thick with need, “you’re really fucking wet. Fuck that’s stunning.” Continuing to caress their vulva in a manner that was purposely teasing, he grinned when Rosalind whined at the sensation. He was enjoying seeing Rosalind squirm, that much was clear, so they pulled at his hair to beg him for more. He pressed a wet kiss to the very top of their slit and murmured “How do you like this, Ros?” while ghosting a thumb against their clit. It didn’t matter what he did at this point, Rosalind just wanted him any way he’d have them. They groaned at the exquisite agony of being touched in this way by this man. It had been years since they allowed anyone near them, they’d almost forgotten how they liked this. Almost. But the man was waiting on an answer. 

“Softly to start, harder later on.”

“Gentle just at first?”

“Yes.”

“Would you be alright if I went in with fingers?”

Rosalind held in another whine, although barely. “Fuck, yes.” He could go in with anything he wanted, honestly, they were his to do with what he wanted at this point but he didn’t seem to have any patience left with the way he started lapping at their clit: soft but shockingly eager. Their mind went white, eyes fluttered shut, their hips instinctively raised to allow Marcus as much access as possible. It was unfathomable, the man had clearly done more reading than just poetry with the precision and confidence he was moving. They made a mental note to ask him about that later but no talking right now. They couldn’t even if they wanted to, he’d stolen their ability to form a single cohesive thought with his tongue.

True to Rosalind’s request, Marcus was torturously gentle to start, but just as they began to settle into his rhythm, he piled on the pressure by taking their clit between his lips and pulling gently. A broken gasp escaped his partner and their thighs tensed around Marcus’ shoulders. He chuckled and, without stopping, said, “Looks like I’ll keep that little move on standby. Thought you said you wanted gentle?”

In any other scenario, Rosalind would have argued as their pride wouldn’t allow for such teasing. But they’d abandoned their sense of pride already in the face of such ravishing pleasure, and the only thought that Rosalind could entertain in this state was that they wanted more of him. Needed it, in fact, so when they felt him shift and his hand run slowly up their inner thigh, they bit down on a moan and nodded their head, begging for the addition. He’d gotten their permission earlier, so they didn’t understand why he was hesitating. He remained preoccupied with stimulating Rosalind’s clitoris with his tongue. But then he flashed a look up to them, mischievous and cocky, and his fingers drummed against their leg. He was teasing them again and Rosalind really didn’t have patience or pride enough for it. “Please,” they begged, and the sound came out embarrassingly needy.

His expression melted from mischievous to indulgent, and he shifted again. “I wish I could have this as a picture for later,” he breathed as he ran a digit between the folds of their entrance. “You’re sublime.”

They were pretty sure they were already flushed, but Rosalind’s flush deepened at the compliment. They covered their eyes with a palm and softly chuckled. “I’d be pleased to refresh your memory, if you have the need,” they flirted, somehow managing to sound coherent.

Rosalind heard him snicker as he ran two of his fingers through their wetness. “I’ll take you up on that offer for sure,” he flirted back before pressing in with just his index and accompanying the new sensation with a rough tug at their clit. It was so good, it was too good, their toes curled with the enormity of the pleasure they were dealing with and their hands raked through his tresses in a fruitless attempt to stay grounded. There was no way that would be happening because this was the best they’d felt in so long, perhaps the best they’d ever feel again. The sounds Rosalind was making would have normally been humiliating; they abandoned their volume control and choked out a slew of prayers to their family’s gods; for years they’d prayed for their feelings to disappear, and for years their prayers had gone unanswered. They’d never been so grateful to be ignored in all their life.

Rosalind’s breathing was haggard, their lips were parted, and their hips pressed into Marcus’ touch, begging him to go deeper, spasming. He crooked his index finger to press against the front wall within. They’d been incorrect before because as glorious as his fingers had felt before, his fingers brushing against that spot was incandescent. Another mindless moan escaped Rosalind’s lips followed by Marcus’ name. He moaned from the floor and muttered, “You sound like a fucking angel.”

Rosalind let out a breathy pant. “Marcus, I’m really fucking close, holy hell. Please don’t stop whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”

He didn’t, he kept at it as if it were the only thing left in the world to do. How the fuck was he so good at this? As Marcus added his second finger, something in Rosalind’s mind released and his name became a rhythm on their lips over and over. Their lips moved without their direction or intervention like in a dream. But if this was a fever dream, Rosalind did not want that fever to break. How many times had this exact fantasy plagued them at night? How many times had they wondered what this would be like? Endless. No, if this was some kind of delusion, Rosalind wanted nothing more than to continue in it until their death.

It didn’t take much longer with Marcus gently stroking Rosalind’s front walls and his tongue attacking their clit without mercy before Rosalind met their end with a gasp. Sparks radiated from their centre, ripped through their entire body, and the tension loosed from it all at once in a cascade of euphoria. They were all at once entirely in their body while concurrently transcended past it. It was Marcus’ name they gasped as they clenched around his fingers which slowed but did not stop, stroking them through their orgasm. It was all they could do as their mind went silent to hold onto him, and the vague possibility that their pulling his hair might be too much was blissfully ignored. But much too soon for Rosalind’s liking, the tension returned to their body and the euphoria dimmed. Marcus withdrew his fingers, gave each thigh one last kiss, and climbed onto the chaise to sit next to Rosalind. Their hands slid from Marcus’ hair to rest on themself. They struggled to control the heaving of their chest, much too blissed out to bother with speaking, and took a second to reflect upon how they’d ended up here. One moment they were complaining about tedious paperwork and the next Marcus’ fingers were inside them. They weren’t quite sure how it had happened, but they’d meditate on it later.

Marcus placed a chaste peck on their cheek, but Rosalind pulled him in for a sensual, ardent kiss instead. They were never going to get enough of him and they were pretty sure Marcus didn’t mind, not with the blatant erection he was hosting. The kiss was slow and thick like honey, all the sweeter for tasting themself on his lips. Rosalind meekly brought a hand to Marcus’ cheek and said the only thing they could think of: “Holy fuck.”

He chuckled in response. “Yeah, you too.”

“You worked me like a fucking piano. What the hell?”

“At least those piano lessons were good for something,” he chuckled, softly gazing at their lips. He wanted another kiss, but Rosalind needed to sit up first. They shifted, let him settle in next to them, and rested their hands on his chest before granting him the kiss he wanted. He was so sweet for how uncomfortable he likely was. A thrill sent up Rosalind’s spine as they started trailing their hand downward and couldn’t help the wicked smirk when he swallowed dryly. He looked unsure what to do next, as if he didn’t want to ask some unpleasant task of them, so Rosalind would make their enthusiasm undeniable. They grabbed at his jaw with one hand, brushed the other against his erection through his trousers, and captured his gasp with their lips.

His hips subtly spasmed and he whined, “Fuck, Ros, you don’t have to. I just wanted you to feel good.”

They chuckled softly and bit their lip with a sly smile. “I feel fucking great.” Rosalind then shoved Marcus down where he’d laid them earlier. It caught the man by surprise, seeing this sudden shift from them, but Rosalind wasn’t going to let him think they’d be doing this with any hint of disinclination. “Do you want me to?” they murmured, pausing to confirm but resting a palm atop his hardness again. “Because I want you.”

It throbbed beneath their hand and he choked on a whine. “Yeah. Oh, fuck yeah, I want you too, Ros, please.”

Rosalind hastily unlaced him and tugged down as his hands reached to touch any part of them within reach, resting at their waist. As they freed his cock, his entire body shivered with relief. He was already so hard and wet, much different than what they’d handled before. “You’ll have to forgive me,” Rosalind smirked apologetically, their volume low. “This is somewhat new territory.”

He looked surprised but not disappointed. “Do you want me to show you?” Marcus offered. “I told you, I’m already so close that I’m gonna explode if you just look at me.”

The urge to taste him surged in Rosalind’s gut. Surely it would just be good manners to reciprocate in the same way? “I can return the favour,” they asked and licked their lips.

Marcus shook his head and tugged at their waist to bring them in closer. “I’d rather have your lips on mine.”

How did such a soft man exist? How had everything he’d been through not ruined such a perfect spirit? Rosalind nodded and settled in close as Marcus took their hand in his. He treated it reverently, brought it to his lips and placed a tender kiss on their knuckles. Rosalind’s heart skipped several beats.

When they did tentatively wrap their hand around his cock, he bucked up into their grip. He was so stiff, so hot in contrast to their cooled fingers. Marcus used his other hand to tug Rosalind down for another kiss and then moved his hand on top of theirs, showing them the grip and speed that felt best. They were a quick learner and this task was simple enough. Their other hand rested on Marcus’ chest pressing short, black-painted nails into the skin softly; they’d noticed how much he enjoyed that earlier. As they got into a rhythm, the man’s breathing became more erratic and the sound of his panting and gasping was just so much music. Rosalind loved that his pleasure was theirs to give in this moment and they savoured the sight of Marcus unguarded and flushed. Every kiss, every thrust of a palm brought him higher and higher, but he had been right, it didn’t take much. Rosalind was grateful for that because it had been so long since they’d done this, they didn’t want to keep the man waiting due to their lack of experience even if they would have been happy to pleasure him as long as it took or longer. When Marcus was pushed over the edge, the witch smiled into their kisses and eased their hand’s movement. He moaned and gasped, looked into their eyes with his half-lidded, blissed-out gaze, and Rosalind wasn’t sure who had enjoyed that more. They almost lost their balance when he pulled them into his lap, frantically urging them to lie down on top, but they didn’t need to be told twice; Rosalind was delighted to be held, happy to have something stable to anchor themself to, and they rested their head on the man’s shoulder as he cradled them.

How… how had this come about? Their mind had gone silent in their pleasure but, much to their annoyance, it was coming back to life. They wanted to savour the comfortable silence, to enjoy Marcus’ hand at their waist and the way his exposed chest felt on their cheek. They tried letting their breath even out and to appreciate their own scent intermingling with his, but an uncomfortable realization crept in and ruined the moment for them.

“Marcus.”

“Hmm?”

“We’re in the library.”

The pair sat up and surveyed the absolute mess they’d made of each other; Rosalind’s neck was covered in bruises, and their usually sleek, straight hair was fluffy. Marcus’ shirt was completely unbuttoned and very wrinkled, and his hair needed some serious attention. Marcus snickered. “I’m sure glad nobody stopped by, huh?”

Rosalind glanced to the window and said a silent prayer of gratitude that Marcus had moved them away. They hadn’t even thought about it. Embarrassment tinged in their chest because how could they have gotten wrapped up so quickly? And how long had they been at it? Looking at the clock, they saw it had been about two hours since Marcus had arrived, and they had expected to finish a stack of minor business applications today, a goal now solidly out of reach. It’d be fine if they were late for once in their life, right? They couldn’t bring themself to feel remorseful, nor would they be bothered to try.

  “May I ask a personal question?” Rosalind asked as they moved to pick up their abandoned clothing and start putting themself back together.

“What’s up?”

“Where did you learn that? I’m astonished you were familiar with this, um, configuration at all.”

Marcus burst out laughing, doing up the last of the buttons on his shirt, but then undid the top one again and reclined on the chaise. “Yeah, I guess it’s shocking, people like to assume my interests, I guess.” Sitting back up straight, he motioned for Rosalind to sit next to him so he could fix their tie. Marcus had made an utter disaster of Rosalind, but they didn’t mind at all.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” they replied, sinking onto the seat, allowing him to assist them. “I’m aware that the majority of what the rumours say is drivel, but-”

“It’s an easy assumption to make, I have a fabulousness that just won’t be denied!” He lifted his hand and let his wrist go slack in a comedic gesture. Marcus didn’t take himself too seriously, and it was one of his best features. “And I wear a little too much pink for people to believe me when I say I’m interested in all kinds of people, not just men, but I saw a girl for quite a while a few years back. Do you remember Hildegarde Tremaine?”

Rosalind raised an eyebrow. “I don’t recall. I’m astounded that I hadn’t heard anything about that, surely it would have been spoken of?”

Marcus shrugged. “You might have been at school. I was sixteen, I think. So, yes, you definitely were, but maybe everyone thought I was in denial or something, figured it wouldn’t last. But she moved out of the country and I had to go to school, so it wasn’t my fault it ended.” He sighed with mild irritation.

“I’m sorry, that must have been difficult.”

“My turn to ask a question,” Marcus grinned, and a knot curled in Rosalind’s stomach. They already knew that mischievous look and knew they were already defenceless against it. “Was that your first time with a man?”

This answer was more complicated than Marcus might realize, though not complicated if they answered it literally. “Yes,” they admitted. “I don’t have much experience generally, though. Was it so obvious?” They winced slightly.

Marcus shook his head, cupped their cheek with a palm, and kissed their forehead. “No, not at all. You said you weren’t familiar and I was surprised.” They shifted and tried to reel in their self-consciousness when Marcus pressed his forehead to theirs. “You were perfection itself,” he affirmed softly, earning a gentle smile from Rosalind who leaned into Marcus’ palm.

“That’s high praise.”

“You deserve it.”

Rosalind closed their eyes, enjoying the tender touch. When was the last time they had been vulnerable with anyone? They couldn’t remember, so it being Marcus of all people, the man they’d pined after for years, the man who could have anyone he wanted, the man who was so sweet he might as well be an angel? Rosalind still did not quite believe this was real even, now.

“Rosalind?” He prompted quietly. They opened their own brown eyes and looked into Marcus’ greys. He’d become serious, though not grave, and Rosalind felt like they were seeing his walls come down too. He took a breath and his hands tensed. “To be honest, I’ve wanted you for a while, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before.” The nerves eased from his face and melted into fondness. “I hoped that you’d finally let me in today because you’re extraordinary. And fascinating. And so fucking wonderful, and I had to try because I-”

Rosalind nodded softly, lifting their hand to place an index finger on his lips, not only to shush him but also to simply touch. “Me too, for much longer than I care to admit.”

They stayed close, enjoying each other’s presence and warmth. Rosalind felt so exposed, so vulnerable, but they knew they were safe with Marcus. After years of keeping everyone at a distance, it was a relief to finally allow someone through their defences, to see them for who they really were. Could they really have him, have Marcus after years of being convinced it would never happen? He was here, and he was happy to be here. For as long as he chose to stay, Rosalind would do anything they could to make him happy.

But there was an obstacle. Rosalind’s eyes shot back to Marcus and their expression pinched. He tilted his head with confusion as they backed away with a huff and tension returned to their shoulders. “What of your engagement?”

He bit his lip and his knee started bouncing. “Oh yeah. That.”