He knew she had to leave—at some point. He also knew that he was currently in Bartonburg and that he had to get home to London so he could get up in the morning. Still, that just wasn't enough to get him to release his grip on her waist, and her words, accompanied by an irresistible little while, did little to convince him that he should.

"You're going to have to fight me on it, Febs," he murmured, enveloping her smaller frame in his arms once more before leaning down to kiss her again—though, if she really demanded he release her, he wouldn't hesitate.

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— set by MJ! —

Febby melted instantly; he'd instinctively used her favorite nickname without her having to tell him. How the hell was she supposed to fight when he wasn't fighting fair?

Fuck it all.

The kiss started out softly enough, as though she had the willpower to pull away, but she quickly lost her control, letting the moment heat up again. Why was this so damn hard? Better yet, why did she care? A few more minutes wouldn't hurt... she didn't think.

No, just a few more minutes to tangle her fingers in his hair, which she did, as it was quickly becoming her favorite place to get to him. This would give her just enough to hold onto until next time, whenever that would be... She gave is hair a gentle tug, so she could brush her lips along his jaw, over that one spot she'd found out earlier got a good reaction and down his neck. Febby had always been a quick learner; she was only applying what she'd found out worked before, not to mention what he'd subjected her to that she'd thoroughly enjoyed.  

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But she didn't. She didn't demand that he release her from his grasp, nor did she reiterate that she wanted to leave; rather, she melted into him and undid their attempts in the last few minutes to relax their senses. This time, however, she seemed to take control, tugging on his hair—damn her and her willingness to use his weak spots against him—and letting her lips wander over his pulse point and even further down her neck. An unintentional moan found its way out of his mouth, and soon his hands had wandered just about every place within his reach.

He turned his head so his lips were closer to her ears, though the angle made getting out an audible whisper nearly impossible. "You have no idea how much I want you right now, Febs," he grunted, pulling her hips roughly against his. He'd decided it was impossible for him to pull away without being forced; he'd spent yesterday evening at a brothel thinking about a moment like this, and now he had her—all hot and bothered, too—in his arms.

(Well, they might as well start building a house here. It seemed they were never leaving.)

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   February Umbridge

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— set by MJ! —

This was bad, but oh, did it feel so good. Having his hands on her, even through the frustrating amount of layers in between, was not helping. Her body reacted for her, arching towards the sensations, even as he tried to pull her closer.

His confession left her gasping quietly, hands grasping at something, anything to hold onto to help ground her. Her fingers curled into the fabric at the front of his robes, as she tried to surface from the haze of desire. "I know, I know, She whined quietly, pressing her forehead into his shoulder to give herself a minute to think. The feeling was very, very mutual, but she couldn't and she didn't know how to articulate why exactly.

Febs took a few deep breaths, trying to find a voice that wasn't shaky or breathless. Leaning back, she felt a genuine blush creeping into her cheeks; this time out of embarrassment. She trained her blue eyes on his, willing the right words to come. "I want to, Edric I really do." She shouldn't, at all, but there was an undeniable chemistry at work here. "It's just that... I haven't before and I know it probably sounds silly but I just can't," She really didn't have any grand ideas about it, but even this was a little too adventurous for her. "Not here, I'm sorry." she didn't want to ruin there mood, but maybe it would be the only way they could detach themselves.

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   Edric Umbridge

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He probably shouldn't have said that—it was easy to forget in the middle of a A+ snogging session that she wasn't nearly as experienced as he was, at least in everything—but he'd meant it despite the budding regret.

Everything came to a pause when she pressed her forehead against his shoulder. He regained what apparently-little self-control he had in this situation and held her against him in a hug. Was she going to flee? Had his words been too much, despite that the sentiment seemed to be mutual? She leaned back, cheeks red, and the guilt immediately him him—and hard. He extracted his body from hers and cupped her cheeks in his hands.

"I know you can't," he insisted, sighing against her hair. "I didn't expect you to; I shouldn't have said it at all." He'd been tempted to say "I know you're no harlot", but he'd stopped, not just because it would piss her off, but because he knew he wouldn't have thought any less of her if she had been willing to go all the way with him here. He enjoyed making her flare up; he did not, however, enjoy evoking guilt from her.

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Feeling the moment shift, Febby held her breath, waiting to see just what exactly he would think. Relief flooded her system when he hugged her instead of pushing her away. She should have known better, just judging by how this entire situation had gone, but there was still a small part of her that would never quite be sure. She would have to be careful and cognizant of just how far and how fast she was willing to go. It was more likely a question of when, versus if, as she didn't exactly subscribe to the notion that Sex Is Scary. However, that didn't mean that she was ready right now.

"It's alright, I understand, I do, we're both at fault." She assured him with a soft smile. Oh she really did understand, she'd already said as much herself not too long ago. Plus it was kind of nice to be wanted like that, in the heat of the moment. Right now just wasn't the right time.

Endeared by his tenderness, she wrapped her arms around his middle and kissed his cheek before stepping back. "Now it's time to go, I think." She chuckled, smoothing out her skirts again. There was no chance of a relapse this time. She hadn't meant to startle him with her honestly, nor did she intend to make him feel guilty, she just had to slow things down.

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   Edric Umbridge

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Her tone was still riddled with guilt, but she didn't realize she'd given more hope than disappointment, at least from a long-term perspective. She'd basically said she would—only not right now. That was better than being slapped, pushed away, and abandoned by her in the little garden, which he supposed was what he should have expected after pouncing on her like that. Still, even that hope wasn't enough to make him let go of her without complaint.

He wondered how all the events leading up to this had led to them, standing in the middle of the fog, sharing gentle touches and tender kisses. This wasn't them—at least not the them he was used to—but it didn't feel wrong.

He savored her final touches, knowing that if he tried to pres her further, even with the most innocent intentions, they might find themselves struggling to part ways. He still had yet to figure out what this feeling was, but in the moment he knew he was emotionally attached to Miss Lynch—which is exactly what he'd hoped to avoid.

Dammit.

"Stay safe," he mumbled as she pulled away from their hug, unsure of what else there was to say.

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— set by MJ! —