At the top of the stairs before he'd reached the door to Macnair's room a thought had occurred to him unbidden: Ford wondered which one of these doors lead to her room. He still didn't feel great about carrying on with Macnair while he was married to someone else. Macnair could tell him over and over again that Tatiana Lestrange was under no illusion about the nature of their relationship and she didn't expect anything more from him, but Ford would probably never entirely believe it. Even if you were going to marry someone you didn't love, it would at least be nice if they respected you enough to stay faithful, and he was quietly convinced that if she ever found out about the two of them carrying on together, she'd be hurt (among other things, probably, none of which were good). But the weird relationship dynamic they had where they didn't love each other and were maybe both pretending that didn't matter wasn't Ford's fault, and he'd at least half convinced himself that he shouldn't miss out on getting to spend time with maybe the only person who'd ever really liked him because of it. In any case, the specter of Tatiana Lestrange wasn't going to chase him away tonight.

Not that he had time to think too much about it, anyway, because Macnair was stopping to kiss him again. Ford couldn't help the smile that came to his lips at how insatiable Macnair seemed to be. It felt good to feel wanted like this.

"You did say rushing was one of your fatal flaws," he teased lightly. He reached out to touch Macnair's chest with one hand, just brushing his fingertips along the front of his shirt. "How noble of you to turn your attention to self-improvement."

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