On a sigh, Febs closed her eyes, and tried to think, to just stay in the moment. He was making a concentrated effort to push on and she almost fell for it, especially with that hand still under her skirts.

"I do- I did up until about a moment ago," She still did, at least she thought so. "Edric, I've been thinking about you all day." She breathed out, finally able to form words. She'd dreamt about him in great detail last night; he'd gotten her a damn owl today for fucks sake. It was damn near impossible to get him out of her head for a wide variety of reasons, some of them very apparent and some of them she wasn't ready to acknowledge.

In their short acquaintance, she'd gone from thinking him to be arrogant and careless, to crying over him, to this. There had to be some middle ground somewhere and Febs highly doubted they were going to find it here. "Edric wait, Extracting herself from him was very difficult, but she stubbornly put her foot down- literally, and forced him to look at her. "Why didn't you answer me?" She'd just flat out put all her trust in him and now she worried she shouldn't have.

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Aaaaand her stubbornness persisted.

Edric didn't push her further, allowing her to extract herself from him. He wasn't prepared for a fight with all the pent-up tension between them, but he'd reached a point where talking was the only wait to avoid one. He took a deep breath, trying to come up with a real, true reason he'd not spoken, and then—

"You've told me I speak so carelessly. I'm- I didn't want to make you mad. Not here, not now." That wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the exactly truth, either. He said nothing about his insecurities, fears, or any of that. "I don't want to upset you by saying the wrong thing, but apparently I've managed to without saying anything at all. The thought of you running off after I've—"

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— set by MJ! —

Guilt seized her immediately; she had never meant to make him feel like he shouldn't say what he was feeling or thinking. He had been careless in the past, but she hadn't meant to make him overly cautious when speaking to her. "I'm sorry," She whispered sincerely.

Gently she brushed tousled hair from his face and kissed him softly. "I just want us to be honest with one another." Though they were doing everything out of order and Febby had no idea if he wanted anything long term out of this, she could be content to live in the moment. She was the one with a reputation to lose, she was the one who could be completely ruined and yet here she was. There was something magnetic about him that pulled her in and it wasn't just the physical connection. Maybe skipping some of that getting-to-know-you nonsense was more important than she realized.

"I'm not upset," She assured him. "And I would never, ever just run off on you." She made sure to lock her eyes on his when she said that. While Febs was very much about the now, she had thought a little bit about the later as well, but maybe that was where they'd missed the mark here. He had asked her last time if that was it and she'd been honest when she said it wasn't even close, it still rang true.

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This was a new experience for them; when the attitude shifted from positive to negative, it usually stayed that way. Her anger (if there had been any to begin with, which her words suggested there hadn't been) dissipated and was replaced by guilt, which did little to make him feel any less guilty about withholding the truth.

Did she want to know why he was so... the way he was? Did he even know why he was the way he was? There were plenty of experiences in his life that he could pinpoint as the cause of his reluctance, but explaining them in an open, honest way was something he'd never done, nor was he confident he could actually manage.

He kissed her back gently, his hands slipping out from under her skirts and finding their way around her waist once again. The physical aspect of their relationship was the easiest to handle—there was definitely an fire between them that couldn't be quelled—but the emotional aspect was something they still struggled to handle. Despite his undeniable fondness for her, nothing between them could ever work if they didn't change that.

She said she wouldn't run off, which he wished he could believe. It wasn't a judgment against her character, but a conclusion based off his past experiences—which, unfortunately, were not good ones.

"Well," he said, breaking their eye contact only to press a kiss against her forehead, a physical act that showed more emotion than he was good at expressing through words. "I'm being honest when I say I want you, and not only like this," he said, tugging on her skirt. "But it feels like that's not what you mean."

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— set by MJ! —

Maybe it was possible for them to have a grown up discussion about this. Deep down Febs had worried they wouldn't be able to and that said a lot about how this could go. Something fluttered in her stomach when he admitted to wanting her- that thrill would never fade, but she tilted her head at the second part. He could so easily blind side her with heated kisses and rough hands, but there was something about a kiss on the forehead that could easily dismantle her just as fast. Still, she didn't entirely know what he meant by and not just like this. (Though the "this" was pretty obvious.)

"I don't want you to watch what you say just because you think I'll get mad." She added, voicing her previous thoughts slowly. "If I ask you to be honest with me and I get mad about it, that says far more about me than you." She had a temper and it flared fast and hot, but she could also try to be more reasonable in her responses. She was a Gryffindor after all, being impulsive and hotheaded came with the territory, but she would hate to think he was constantly walking on eggshells because he thought she would get mad.

This had taken a drastic turn, but honestly she didn't mind. Maybe they needed this just as much as everything else. Connections between people had so many facets it was hard to tell which one was going to shine brightest until it was turned around. "I have no idea if that makes any sense outside of my head, but I'm not just in this for sneaking around in the fog, if that's what you think." Her voice was soft, genuine, and she meant what she said. Their connection ran deeper than stolen kisses in the dark, but she had yet to figure out just how far down it could go.

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She reiterated her previous words, which made him believe she had been straightforward with the sort of honesty she wanted from him. There was undoubtedly a fear of speaking the wrong thing, but it wasn't entirely her blame; he could count the number of women he was well-acquainted with on one hand, and one of them was his coworker. Being blunt was not something he often concerned himself with when it came to speaking to members of the Auror Office, but it was something he worried about with a woman, no matter how little she seemed to concern herself with matters of propriety. He was still firmly of the belief that women needed to be treated with care.

"I am not always right in what I say, though," he pointed out, a rare admission for a man with such a large pride. "I can be insensitive and impulsive and unfair to you—it's not that I merely consider you a hothead, Febs," he added in a more teasing tone. He swooped down and pressed a kiss to her cheek, adding in a murmur: "Though you most certainly are. That's for sure."

Her next words caused a pang in his chest, though he wasn't sure whether he felt overwhelming affection or uncertainty. Both were emotions that were certainly there, and he could argue that they were the emotions that defined their relationship. She was in this for more than the physical, but nothing else was certain.

"We got her so fast," he said quietly, his pulling back so he could look her in the eyes. "I don't know much about you in regards to your family, your passions, your past—let alone what you want out of... us." He'd never continued their acquaintance with the expectation of growing attached, but it had happened so fast.

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— set by MJ! —

He was right, of course he was right but Febs lacked the ability to think it the long term; she didn't have expectations really. Not at the surface anyway; being honest with him was oddly easier than being honest with herself. She couldn't help but to chuckle at being called a hothead, that was pretty mild to some of the similar terms she'd been called.

"Alright, so let's slow down." Febby was capable, when it mattered and clearly it mattered to him, so now it mattered to her. She took a deep breath and ran her fingers through his hair with one hand, the other looped casually around his neck. "My middle name is Maeve, all of my siblings were named after months, a twin brother and three sisters." She rolled her eyes; that was a constant source of annoyance in her life. "You have instinctively picked up my favorite nickname and I really enjoy it." She smiled sheepishly at that one, biting her lip in thought over what else to tell him.

"I love to read, but you knew that. I was a Gryffindor in school, but I'm sure you could have figured that out too." Hotheaded was a traditional Gryffindor trait, right? "My favorite classes were transfiguration and astronomy; I'm studying to become an animagus, though I haven't been as diligent with it as of late." In general, she had thrown herself into it when August had disappeared, but the eagerness ebbed as time had worn on.

The trivial tidbits about herself were the easy part, it was the last part of his admission that she didn't quite know how to answer. He was right, they'd gotten to this part alarmingly fast and though she was perfectly content with this, she could also easily see herself wanting more. "If I'm being honest, I don't know what I want out of this; I'm a very in-the-moment person." Because it had happened so fast, Febby hadn't yet wrapped her head around all of the possibilities they had in front of them. "I do know that I enjoy spending time with you whether we're doing this," She gestured with one hand, meaning the conversation. "Or this." She then kissed him slowly, taking care not to linger too long, but just long enough. "And that I would like to see a lot more of you when this fucking fog disappears."

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A genuine smile spread on his lips as she began talking about herself. He filed every little detail, every little roll of her eyes and rise in her tone, in his memory for later use. He'd have to utilize them at some point; the question was when the opportunity would arise to do so.

"February Maeve Lynch," he murmured, pronouncing her name aloud in full. It rolled off the tongue, the sleeker middle name adding more elegance to the clunkier—but no less charming—first name. His struggled to keep his eyes from fluttering shut as she continued to run her fingers through her hair; he offered a teasing look to remind her what sort of feelings that brought to the surface. Then, he took his turn sharing his own trivia.

"My middle name is 'Oswald', which is my father's given name," he started. "He's my family—no siblings, or mother." He added that part quietly, hoping she wouldn't inquire further. "I was a Slytherin at Hogwarts and graduated in the class of 1870." She could do that math; he assumed he was at least a good ten, fifteen years older than she was. "I don't remember a particular class being my favorite while at school, though Defense Against the Dark Arts has been the one I'm the most skilled in nowadays."

She was exceedingly more interesting him in most ways, but she assumed she'd be more boring when she was his age. (Or at least he liked to hope so; he didn't like the idea of being just a boring person in general.)

Trivia then turned into expectations—and she made it clear she had none. He wasn't sure what his were necessarily, but he knew the thought of her disappearing one day brought a tightness to his chest.

"I'm obviously not a long-term planner; I think you've figured that out by now," he murmured, kissing her gently when she leaned up. "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't hope... that this—" He hesitantly motioned between the two of them, unsure of how she'd react. "—went well."

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— set by MJ! —

Febs tilted her head to the side, watching him as he spoke, completely relaxed as they shared more about themselves. She'd be lying if she said she didn't like the way her name rolled off his lips. She hated her first name, it was such a mouthful and once upon a time considered going by her middle name, but she did have to admit the shortened versions of her given name were enough to keep her from doing so.

Despite his look, she continued to run her fingers through his hair; it was more for comfort at this point, though she felt her hand slip when he mentioned that it was just himself and his dad. It was such a stark contrast to her own upbringing that she had never imagined. Her house was full to the brim of loud, obnoxious, but loving people who just couldn't stay out of one another's business. To only have one parent and no siblings must have been incredibly lonely growing up. She didn't think this the moment to ask more on that so instead focused on his graduation year. "I was four in 1870." She teased, not that it mattered to her, at all, but it was kind of funny.

"I think I'd be lying if I said any differently." Though what exactly that entailed, Febs wasn't sure, but she was the one who had less expectations here. Tt was harder to be disappointed if you kept the expectations low, which was something she believed in across every aspect of her life, not just in this case.

She did feel better now that some of that was out in the open; she didn't realize she wanted to hear those things too until just now. The question was now what? Spout more random facts? Try to rekindle the flame?  Ask something specific? Should she go home? She didn't have an answer so she asked him, "Now what?"

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At her comment regarding her age, he unintentionally snorted and fell into a fit of silent, chest-shaking laughs. Merlin, out of all the facts she could have picked up on, she'd thought it best to tell him how old he was.

Insufferable woman.

"Is this some twisted way of calling be a cradle-robber?" he teased, pushing her lightly against the wall so he could place his arms on both sides of her. "I'm not that old; I  haven't found a single grey hair yet." He did the calculation in his head; if she was four when he graduated, she must have been born in 1866, which made her twenty-one. He didn't know what he expected—she definitely wasn't a silly, first-season debutante, but neither did she look much older. Still, their age difference was a little wider than the average pair.

He was glad that she'd affirmed that she too hoped for a positive outcome, either if neither of them were certain of what that entailed yet. Marriage was an obvious answer, and it was certainly the only one society would accept, but then he had the issue of the Minister's demands to deal with (something he'd rather worry about another time).

"We could continue snogging," he offered sheepishly, bending down to find the sensitive spot on her neck with his lips. He didn't want her to go, not yet. "Or you could tell me more about that dream," he teased.

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— set by MJ! —

Hearing him laugh after all that serious business was the best thing she could hear. She had a bad habit of letting her big mouth get in her way, but even so, at least tonight, they had been able to work through it. "Truthfully I wouldn't have put you a day over thirty." Febby hadn't strictly done the math, but it was a pretty good age gap. She let her head fall back against the wall as she looked him, chuckling along with him at his comment about his hair.

"I think that even if you did it would quite dashing." It was one of her favorite words to use to describe him and it was true. "I am quite fond of your hair." Clearly, she'd had her hands in it all night. Her fingers tightened involuntarily as he pressed his lips to her neck once more, starting the rush of adrenaline in her system yet again.

That dream, she'd only mentioned it to be a tease, but she'd been thinking about it all day too. Her lashes fluttered closed as she hummed out a little note of approval of his choices, thinking about how best to explain "Let's see," She started with a chuckle, but leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I mentioned less clothes, which meant more skin." What she wouldn't give to feel his hands on her skin. They were rough, which she expected, he did work after all, but she quite enjoyed the friction of it. "You had your hands all over me." Febby nipped gently at his earlobe as she pressed her body closer to his.

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If she was trying to flatter him, it was working. He'd never liked looking much younger than his age, but thirty-six was getting up there; looking thirty with the experience of thirty-five was definitely something to be desired. She hadn't relented on the hair-pulling, and as they fell back into their desire it was becoming especially infuriating.

"I've noticed," he breathed huskily against her neck. He hadn't yet decided which part of her was his favorite, yet; there was really no part of her that was less perfect than the rest. He supposed her height—while not something he could feel—was one of her best features; it made him able to kiss her without much strain.

She began talking about her dreams, and his vivid male imagination made it oh-so-easy to imagine himself in the situation she was describing. (The whispering didn't exactly make controlling his urges easier, either.) He did not hesitate to lean into her, his hips pressing against hers in a desperate search for friction.

"I'll have my hands all over you soon,"  he huffed. He mindlessly let his hands wander across her back, eventually letting them find their way to her front size and up to her chest. "Next time you're not allowed to wear a corset," he grumbled before possessively sinking his teeth into her neck.

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— set by MJ! —

Though she was used to the fast-paced, desperate tone to their meetings, this slow gradual build was just as good, if not better. It left her imagining what it would be like once he actually got his hands on her. A shiver of anticipation shot straight down her spine.

"Edric!" She gasped quietly as she felt his teeth on her neck- she wasn't strictly opposed, but marks. "No magic, can't fix bruises, no marks." She breathed out, a breathless demand, thoroughly distracted by his hands now.

Even through the layers of fabric, she could feel the heat of his hands on her chest; undoubtedly something that would get added to her dreams tonight. All she could do was nod about the corset and imagine what it would feel like without that damned contraption in the way. Febs had to press her lips to his neck to suppress a moan, hands steadying herself by curling into the fabric of his robes. Arching toward the sensation, she tried to gain some control back and dragged her lips back to his, but she may have actually lost this battle.

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He chuckled as she scolded him, and only pulled back momentarily to survey the damage he'd left. There might not be a bruise, but there was definitely a red mark. He leaned back down and pressed an open-mouth kiss to the damaged area, letting his tongue swoop over the skin as if it would magically heal the wound.

She was very bad at protesting, though; she buried her face in his neck and he could feel the hum of her muffled moan against his neck. A smug smile found its way onto his face, and he was pleased she couldn't see it at the moment—she'd likely find a way to wipe it right off. It didn't stay there very long though; she quickly moved to kiss him, and he didn't hesitate to respond with enthusiasm.

Even though they spoke that taking the next step was something that would take place in the future, their actions didn't support the claim—and he wasn't very inclined to put a stop to it until she did.

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— set by MJ! —

Febs felt like her entire body was on fire, a slow intense burn that threatened to consume her. She finally surfaced from the kiss, gasping for air as she tried to rationalize just what they were doing- or rather going to do (or not) tonight. Despite the desire running through her veins, she still wasn't sure she wanted to take it as far as they could right here, right now. She had never really put much thought into how it would happen, but that dream gave her some kind of idea.

It has hard to slow down, and admittedly she didn't quite want to, but she also had come to realize just how long they'd been there and she was running on borrowed time. She leaned back in kiss his cheek and pressed a few light kisses down his neck as she moved to rest her head on his shoulder in an effort to calm her breathing. "I think we're running out of time tonight." And though this was certainly not how she'd expected the night to go, she was not complaining.

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The constant push and pull between them would have been aggravating if it had been any other woman, but fortunately his affection and respect towards him made him far less willing to express how frustrating it could be. He pushed the thought into the back of his mind as she placed light kisses across his face, swearing to himself that when he managed to get his hands on her, they were never coming off.

"How unfair," he murmured, moving his hand up to run his hand through her loose waves. "I would say I wish we could freeze time, but that might be more dangerous than advantageous," he continued, pressing a kiss to her temple as he hugged her against his body.

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— set by MJ! —