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The first one had been merely a joke, one whose outcome neither of them had expected.
Her sword sang as it countered a vicious strike from him, his scepter arcing down toward her, and Marianne snarled out a laugh. She loved this, she loved this so much. This was heat and power and excitement thudding through her veins, it was lethal and quick and she had to be on her guard every second and oh, god, how could it get better than this?
She saw an opening and lunged forward, got blocked, and quickly avoided the swift uppercut that would have taken her head off. She spun out of the way, her grin a taunt. “Have to be quicker then that, old man!”
“I hate –" Bog grunted as she tried for another opening, swiping her sword away just in the nick of time, “ - that that’s your new nickname for me.”
Marianne gave a little snort, but flew too close with her next attempt, and with lightening speed he hooked her right leg with the scepter. She tried to escape, but he used her momentum against her and swung her away. She thudded hard against the wall, feeling her teeth click, and gave an embarrassingly winded grunt at the impact.
Bog laughed at that, his smile edged with malice, and Marianne glowered at him even if the injury was a minor one. Point to Bog. She clung to the wall and steadied herself, before flying at him again, undeterred. “I hate that you’re such a dirty fighter,” she growled out, and then grinned nastily as she flipped her sword to her other hand and swung it at his side, once again unprotected. Bog was able to block it, but just barely, and he snarled out a curse. Marianne’s smile was as sharp as her blade. Point to me.
They both backed off and retreated to the ground, glaring at each other, Bog’s fangs bared and Marianne’s smirk vicious even as sweat dripped into her eyes. They circled each other, panting, before Bog made a feint to Marianne’s right and she quickly lunged, her aggressiveness making her rash. No, wrong move, he’s bluffing -!
Bog proved her right, shifting his position and swinging his scepter at her right side, which he knew was weaker. Growling, Marianne parried it up and away from her, before Bog bore all of his weight down on her sword with his scepter, effectively trapping her. Marianne glared up at him, her arms quivering with the strain, and now his grin was a taunt. “Like I need to be a dirty fighter when you’re giving me so many – " he broke off and nodded to her left leg. “Widen that stance, it will stabilize you more.”
Marianne corrected her footwork and immediately felt the difference, and gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks!” She quickly forced his scepter up and away with her sword and turned on her heel, falling into a side stance, anchoring her feet as she drew her sword up, the flat of the blade mirroring her cheek. She gave a rueful sigh, feeling her legs ache. “I still need to work on that.” Bog had the upper hand when it came to lower body strength, though Marianne was sure that most of that was due to his longer limbs.
“You are getting better,” he promised, his tone encouraging.
Marianne gave him another tiny smile before dropping back into a glower, and she lunged toward him, her sword hissing as it arced toward him. Bog’s smile morphed back into a vicious grin, and he swung the scepter to meet her weapon, and the rasp of metal was sharp as sparks flew. Point to both of us, currently a tie. Ooooh, I love this!
She smiled and continued their banter, the clang of their weapons a familiar background noise. “You are completely vicious with this, you can’t deny –"
“You would never forgive me if I held back,” he grunted, parrying. “And fighting viciously isn’t the same as fighting dirty –" Swift jab at her side, swipe at her legs.
Sidestep, spin, strike scepter away, sword near his throat. “Like hell it isn’t!”
Duck away, a hard swing at her head. “Fighting dirty implies cheating.” He pinned her blade down to the floor, forcing her into an uncomfortable crouch. He grinned at her, cocky. “I don’t cheat.”
She grinned back before heaving up with all her might, freeing her sword and aiming it at him. “And I don’t need to.”
He circled her, and she kept her sword trained on him the whole time. “You’d be tempted –"
She scowled, annoyed. “No I wouldn’t!”
He grinned, knowing he was striking a nerve. “In a moment of desperation –"
“Believe me, almighty Bog King, you would know if I was fighting dirty,” she retorted, and suddenly grinned, malice and mischief in her eyes as she saw her chance. “In fact –"
She launched herself into the air and flipped, landing hard down behind him, and before he could even react, she was up against his back, pinning his arms with one arm. Her voice was a dangerous purr in his ears. “Let me demonstrate.”
Before he could struggle against her – really, he was the stronger one of the two, if only marginally – she lifted her free hand to his back and, giving a saucy grin, teasingly stroked up his spine, her fingers trailing tantalizing little paths between his wings. “Now how’s that for fighting –"
Bog collapsed to his knees, nearly taking her down with him, and Marianne jumped back, her eyes wide. He fell hard; his hand barely catching him, and his scepter tumbled out of his grip to the floor with a loud CLANG.
Marianne gave a stunned blink. “…Dirty. Uh, whoa.”
Bog’s eyes were squeezed shut, his breath short, and Marianne was willing to bet it wasn’t due to entirely to exhaustion from the fight. She quickly knelt down to him, letting her sword clatter to the floor next to his scepter, reaching out a concerned hand. “Bog, sweetie, are you okay -?”
“That -” he managed to get out, sinking further to the floor, and Marianne wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tugging him upright and to her, “- was quite the demonstration, Tough Girl.”
Marianne huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “Um, guess so.” She grunted as he groaned heavily, letting himself sink against her, his body almost limp. “Jeez, you’ve never reacted like this before to the spine thing –"
“You promised me not to do it,” he gritted out, a flush to his cheeks even as he blinked dazed eyes. “It’s…it’s been a while since you last…tried that…”
“Yeah, I did, hence the whole example of it being underhand,” Marianne pointed out, catching his chin and pulling his face towards hers. He didn’t seem to be in any discomfort, just…really, really dazed. The opposite of discomfort, actually. Huh. That much power from one little gesture…
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled.
She blinked at him innocently. “What?”
“That smirk was entirely too power hungry, Tough Girl,” he muttered, and Marianne rolled her eyes. “Don’t you go about misusing this, now. That is still very much off the table for sparring.”
Hmmm, okay, for sparring – way to watch your words, buddy. “Okay,” she promised. “No more spine thing when it comes to sparring.” She gave a thoughtful hum. “Even if that was embarrassing” – Bog gave a warning growl at that, the tips of his ears flushed, but Marianne ignored him and continued on – “I feel like you can take an important lesson from this.”
He cocked a brow at her, looking distinctly unimpressed. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
She gave him a cheeky grin. “In a fight, you need to watch your back.”
There was a pause before Bog gave another groan, and whether it was another one of dazed pleasure or at her absolutely amazing and wickedly clever wit, Marianne wasn’t too fussed to figure out. She bit her lip, trying to stop her giggles as she helped him up.
Point to me.
The second time was a distraction.
Bog glared down at the trembling group of goblins, his glower fierce even for him. “And what, pray tell,” he gritted out, and Marianne winced sympathetically from her perch on the throne as the goblins flinched under the harsh rasp of his voice, “did you hope to accomplish with collapsing the tunnel?”
“Please, Sire, we didn’t mean to collapse it!” Piped up one froggy looking Goblin.
“We told Brutus he was too big to go in there!”
“But we thought that since it was an escape tunnel, it ought to fit all of us-"
“And since Brutus is the biggest one, we thought maybe a test–"
“You just said you told him not to go in there!” Snarled Bog, flaring up in anger. “Are you pathetic cretins going to tell the truth or do you wish to continue trying to deceive your King?!”
Marianne sighed. She knew that the goblins could be boisterous and prone to destruction if not kept in line, and more than a little trying, but really, Bog wasn’t doing himself any favors by getting so worked up about this. “Okay, sorry to interrupt, but can’t the tunnel be repaired?”
“That’s not the point,” he snapped, shooting her an annoyed look. “The point is that you lot -" he turned his attention back to the goblins, who cowered some more, “-insist on testing things that I have expressly outlawed for the sheer sake of curiosity –"
“Not just curiosity, Sire!” objected one little Goblin, licking his beak nervously.
“Yeah, mayhem too,” piped up Mucus, who Marianne knew had the reputation of being more than a little bit slow.
Bog’s rage made his reply to that completely unintelligible.
Marianne looked at him with some alarm. “Okay, Bog, I get that you’re angry, but you’ve stopped using words.”
He ignored her and rose from the throne, looming over the goblins, his expression incensed, erring on the side of murderous. “I don’t what I’ve done to deserve the sheer idiocy that you thick-headed louts continuously come up with, but so help me, if you’re going to insist on pulling any more stunts like this –"
Sliding off the throne to stand behind him, Marianne looked once more at the goblins and felt a little pang of pity at their petrified faces, and was suddenly seized by an idea. A mad, crazy, Bog-would-never-forgive-her idea. But if it stopped him from being such a drama King and helped these guys –
“- so much as put single claw out of line, YE WILL BE DOWN IN TH' DUNGEONS AN' ROTTIN' THERE FER TH' REST OF YER MISERABLE –"
Okay, desperate times, desperate measures. Quickly stepping closer to him, Marianne ran her fingers as teasingly as she could up his spine and – fatal blow – brushed a light kiss at the joint of one of his wings as well.
There was an undignified WHUMP as Bog staggered back and collapsed onto the throne, which was shortly followed by the clatter of his scepter once more hitting the floor. Marianne fell with him, tangled up in his limbs but still dragging scratchy little paths up and down his back with her nails and dusting soft, feathery kisses at the nape of his neck. She desperately tried not to laugh as he let out a small, strangled moan, his wings twitching hard, any further shouting forgotten.
Wriggling closer to him, she drew his face to the crook of her neck, while waving one hand hard at the goblins as they blinked up at the scene before them, thrown by the sudden change of mood. “Get out of here,” she mouthed as Bog let out another groan and nuzzled into her embrace, his warm breath gusting over sensitive skin.
The goblins immediately scarpered out of the Throne Room at high speed, their faces a mix between relief and glee. Marianne smirked at the sight before getting back to the matter at hand – quite literally - and dragged her fingers down his spine once more, really using her nails. Bog shivered helplessly underneath her touch before he spoke.
“Don’t think…I don’t know…what you’re doing,” he managed to get out, his already strained voice somewhat muffled what with his mouth still being pressed against her neck, and Marianne felt a frisson of pleasure shoot through her as the rough line of his jaw scrapped against her skin.
“Mmm, and what is it that I’m doing?” She murmured, gently lifting his head up to brush her lips along one sharp cheekbone to his mouth before kissing him, teasing and soft even as her fingers continued to stroke up and down his back, the texture of his rough segmented scales sending little pinpricks of heat sparking through her.
“You’re – ah – deliberately distracting me,” Bog muttered between kisses, “by exploiting this weakness, perhaps out of a misguided – mmmph- attempt to help those wretches –"
“Don’t think of it as a – mmm – distraction,” she replied, and moved one hand away from his back to stroke a finger down one of his wings. Bog groaned, letting his head sink back against her shoulder and trailing his claws along her hips. “Think of it as – oh, yeah, keep doing that – redirecting your attention to something as equally important.”
“You’re absolutely horrible.” Bog’s voice was almost a whine, and Marianne couldn’t stop her grin at how young he sounded, before she tugged him back up to her for another kiss.
“And yet you’re still kissing me,” she murmured into his mouth, smirking a bit.
“For now,” he growled, even as he managed to tug her even closer.
Marianne’s chuckle quickly melted into a moan, but her triumph was still undeniable. You should’ve watched your back.
The third time was a fight, though one of a wholly different nature than sparring.
Marianne couldn’t stop the shuddery little moan that spilled off of her lips like dew off a leaf as Bog’s fangs sank into her, a gentle sting on her flushed skin, his tongue a softer, hungry apology, laving over the tender flesh, each caress of it flooding every bit of her with liquid fire.
She writhed under his ministrations, giving a ragged sigh, and Bog gave a nip at that that made her catch her breath. God, there was no way she was going to be able to hide these bites, no way, not when he decided to turn an warm kiss on her palm into a ravenous, trailing series of bites and open-mouthed kisses up her arm to her shoulder. Now he was at her neck and she was melting in his arms, panting and week-kneed and it was honestly a damn good thing that he had her pinned against the table because she would be a puddle on the floor right now if it weren’t for that fact –
They hadn’t meant to fool around, they honestly had been planning on going over those old Dark Forest maps, had set up in one of the studies, there had been nothing remotely seductive about it, she truly had been curious, he had been eager to show her, they had been bantering and snarking at each other and – god, okay, really, how did someone who had supposedly less experience than her know how to do that with his hands?
She let out an embarrassing and needy whimper as his fangs scraped over the little dip of her throat. Bog gave an answering sound to that, something that could have been a rough groan of satisfaction but she was pretty sure was actually a laugh. Point to Bog. Jerk. Jerk who is seriously way too good at kissing.
She quickly retaliated, nuzzling at his neck before alternating nipping bites and heated kisses up the long stretch of his throat, sucking where it met his jaw before moving onto his ear, tugging at it with her teeth while she rolled her hips against his, hard. He jerked against her, and his next groan sounded somewhere between incredibly turned on and deeply distressed. Marianne smirked. Aaaaand point to me.
He shot her a dark look even as he tilted her chin up to expose her neck. “All that talk about fighting dirty,” he muttered between kissing along her jaw-line, his prickly skin catching at hers, and she hummed at the feel of it. “Bloody hypocrite, you are.”
Marianne gave a purr of a laugh, which was honestly quite a feat seeing as she was pretty freaking breathless just then. “You think that’s fighting dirty?” she murmured against his mouth before capturing it in a languid kiss that melted the both of them. Giving a nibble at his lip that had him sighing with rough bliss, she broke away to bump her nose against his, grinning. “Uh-uh, we’ve talked about this before – this is fighting dirty.”
She gave a bite to his neck, fierce though nowhere near as damaging as his fangs, his scales and skin so wonderfully rough against her lips she briefly wondered what licking them would be like - ooooh, I’m gonna save that idea – before she dragged both sets of nails down his back, hard, not deep enough to leave a mark but close.
Bog’s response was instantaneous. Eyes rolling up, he gave a violent shudder and immediately collapsed against her, slumping hard and forcing her to splay backward across the table, pressed into the maps and books set there.
“Bog! Holy – Bog, you’re squishing me!”
“Wha’ did ye expect?” Oh holy hell, he was slurring, he was actually freaking slurring.
Marianne tried to wriggle out from under him, and Bog made no move to make it any easier on her, his body limp and heavy and covering her body completely. His scales jabbed into her, which she normally didn’t mind at all, but not when she was getting crushed! “Not you swooning like that, you big dork!”
“Ah would ne’er swoon,” he muttered against her, his mouth somewhere on her collarbone, and she was torn between irritation that he had made no effort to move and wanting to laugh at his thickened accent.
“You swooned hard,” she teased, and yelped when he gave her side a pinch. “Jerk.”
“Ye started it.”
“Oh what, and that makes you falling on me okay?!” She finally managed to find some leverage and, with some effort, pushed both of them up off the table, where they both swayed a bit as they stood, Bog groaning. Honestly, it had been amazing that they had been able to keep standing the whole time, what with how utterly knee-weakening that make-out had been…
Bog vainly tried to give her a cross look, the effect of which was somewhat ruined as he kept shaking his head as though trying to clear a fog from it. “You can’t surprise me like that,” he groused, even as he leaned down to her mouth, “and you said you wouldn’t do that anymore –"
“Must have forgotten,” she answered, shrugging blithely and giving him a light kiss. “My mind gets a bit hazy when we –"
“No kiss is that good,” he growled, claws scraping at her sides.
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Bog King,” she purred, looking up at him beneath her lashes, and it was such obvious ego stroking, but she meant it, and he managed to flush even more even as he tried to stop a grin tugging at his lips. Point to both of us.
He cupped the nape of her neck and pulled her to him, appearing to have sufficiently recovered. “You’re still a wretched little liar,” he murmured, giving one of her ears a kiss before going back to her neck, and she hummed happily while her smile grew mischievous. Ah, what the hell, go for broke.
“It’s not nice to call me names, Bog,” she murmured back, craftily walking her fingers up an arm as he began to concentrate his attentions there, the scrape of his teeth leaving little tingly trails of heat on her skin. “If you’re going to be such a grouch, you’re gonna have to watch your back –"
This time it was light and teasing and she was barely even touching him, she swore she barely did, but then without warning she was being pulled down once more by Bog as he sank to the floor like a stone. She caught him and heaved upward desperately, staggering.
“Bog! Bog, c’mon, I’m sorry, I’ll stop now! Bog, this isn’t funny! Please stand up! Bog! DAMMIT BOG, THIS IS NOT A TRUST FALL EXCERCISE, NOW STAND UP! BOG!”
The fourth time was necessity.
Chilled weather had come to the Dark Forest early, and she merely did it to get him to quit hogging all the blankets on one particularly brisk night.
Shivering and furious, shredding the moss between his claws, Bog saw that this was getting out of hand, and vowed to put an end to Marianne’s reign of terror.
The fifth and final time was revenge.
“So,” She quickly ducked a swing, parrying and blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes, “Dad and I have been talking –"
“Is that – watch your side! – good or bad?”
“Not sure yet,” she grunted into her next thrust. “It’s” - another swing, kick the scepter out of the way – “it’s kind of complicated.”
“How” – swipe at her legs, evade her jab – “so?”
She sighed and flitted back a bit. “It’s about my coronation.”
Bog blinked, surprised. He had been expecting the usual drivel about her predilection for dark and dangerous and utterly unsuitable monarchs. “What about it?”
“We’ve – well, he’s been thinking about moving the date up.” She let her sword drop and fiddled with her hair, clearly edgy about talking about it. “He thinks it might be a good idea.”
He signaled for a break, which she happily took, and they drifted back to the floor and leaned on their respective walls, catching their breath. He flexed his arm – the damn thing could still twinge something fierce at times – and gave her a curious look. “What do you think about it?”
She sighed, wiping her brow. “I…I honestly don’t know. I mean, I always knew I would rule, I grew up with that fact, trained for it…but…” She gave a frustrated gesture, before her shoulders sagged. “Usually the next in line inherits the throne after the death of the current ruler. If I do this sooner, I wouldn’t have to deal with trying to rule a kingdom while dealing with Dad being…y’know, gone. I could ask him for advice, and I could start changing things, start on implementing the diplomacy idea for real, and…” she paused, before continuing a bit shyly, “…it would make things more…equal.”
He cocked a brow at her, confused. “Equal?”
She flushed prettily. “Between us.”
Bog frowned, still perplexed. “We already are equals.”
“Not really,” she replied frankly, though she gave him a tiny, pleased smile nonetheless. “I mean, let’s face it – you’re a King, and I’m just a Princess.”
Bog was starting to get annoyed. “You’re not ‘just’ anything.”
Marianne rolled her eyes at him. “Chill, Bog. I’m just saying that going on sheer technicality, I have less power than you. With this…” She paused once more, her fingers fidgeting with her arm brace, and exhaled softly, “…I would be a Queen by my own right.” She felt her stomach twist as she thought about all the implications that, and glanced at Bog, slightly nervous about what his reaction would be.
Queen by your own right…which would make things both easier and infinitely more difficult between us. Bog frowned, lost to his thoughts. He was certain that despite whatever nerves she may have, Marianne would be an excellent ruler to the Light Fields. She was already beloved by the subjects there, known for her wits and bravery in battle, and was gaining increasing support with her ideas for diplomacy. She was strong, smart, and had never bent to pressure from others.
She would also be increasingly and overwhelmingly busy with the Light Fields, which meant that even if she had the success with bridging the gap between the two Kingdoms as she so dearly hoped for, their time together would once again be constrained.
That wasn’t what worried Bog truly, though. He knew that while she had the support of some, there were still those in her Kingdom who would always be leery of her association with him…
…And yes, alright, maybe there had been the merest little seedling of an idea, one he had actually never admitted to himself, to have her Queen of the Dark Forest before the Light Fields claimed her as theirs. He knew it would mean nothing, would make no honest difference, but goblins were proprietary creatures, and he couldn’t help it, she was a part of his world, his Forest, as good as if she had been born here –
“Bog?” Marianne squirmed a bit. He was taking a while to answer…
Bog quickly returned to the conversation. “If it’s not being equals that you’re worried about, you needn’t,” he stated honestly, looking into her eyes so she would see he wasn’t merely trying to pacify her. “As for the other things, you can only ask yourself this – do you want to be Queen?”
She paused, not expecting that, and then slowly nodded. “Yeah…I do.”
“Do you want to be Queen for the right reasons?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Which are what?”
He raised a brow at her. “You tell me, Tough Girl.”
She looked away, slightly resentful that he wasn’t letting her wriggle out of answering the question and but also appreciative that he was taking her concerns seriously. “I…I think I want to get the diplomacy thing started and not just so we can hang out together – though that’s a plus.” She gave him a slight grin, which he returned, before she continued, pursing her mouth. “We need to adapt to new things, right now the Kingdom is stagnating…working with the Forest would help us change, and for the better. I could finally start tearing down all those useless rules that only exist because of some stuffy traditions. I want to change things, stop the Elves from living so separately from everyone, get rid of those laws that only benefit the fairies…” She looked at him, her eyes thoughtful. “I want everyone to know they’re protected under my rule, to know that they’re being heard. I want to help.”
Bog nodded, his smirk growing, and he felt a strong rush of pride for her. “Sounds like the right reasons to me.”
She smiled at him and exhaled long and slow, knowing it was silly to feel such relief at his words. But Bog knew how to rule; he knew what it took to be in that kind of position, and despite his often brusque treatment of his subjects, he knew the dangers of truly misusing power. If she had both the advice of her father and Bog to listen to, she felt she had a pretty good chance of not botching things up entirely.
She hummed thoughtfully, her smile having a mischievous edge to it. “You know, some of those old rules I want to abolish deal with marriage…maybe Griselda would be interested in giving me some advice in how to change them for the better.”
Bog felt any warmth gutter out at that, dread washing over him like a wave. “Or you don’t have to say a single thing to her at all.”
Marianne rolled her eyes at him. “Or she could offer some insight in explaining to my father why marriages between elves and fairies shouldn’t have so many stipulations, never mind that marriages between goblins and fairies are so unthinkable that it’s not even considered necessary to ban.”
“Be that as it may,” Bog retorted, though his heart had given a traitorously enjoyable little twist at hearing her mention marriages to goblins, “if you even make the barest mention of marriages or weddings to my mother, you’ll be dooming yourself and your precious Kingdom to endless stories and –“
“And it will be extremely helpful,” she shot back.
“Or your subjects will be driven to a state of such misery that they will stage an uprising, overthrow you, and I’ll have leave my Kingdom to come over and help you sort out the mess that you got yourself into –“
“Oh, gosh, Bog, so much for having any faith in me!”
“That was before your plans descended into lunacy!”
She gasped in mock outrage, and drew her sword. “Careful, Bog King – those are fighting words.”
He grinned at her, and grabbed his scepter. “And yet you’re the one to draw your weapon first – that’s a reckless move in diplomacy for a Queen, love. Some would might even call it an act of war –“
“I’ll show you an act of war,” she growled, but her eyes were bright and her smile threatened to break through her fierce glower at any moment, and he loved this, loved that they could do this so easily, go from serious discussions to goading and jokes to the heat of fighting and how in the world did he get so lucky?
They eagerly fell back into the fight, and soon the cavernous room echoed and sang with the clang and clash of their weapons, Bog snarling out a laugh as her blade nearly slammed down onto his shoulder only for him to drive it away with a well placed blow.
“You’re getting too cocky, Bog!” Marianne yelled, and her smile was sharp and bright and went through him as keenly as any blade.
“You’re getting too slow!” He returned, swinging hard at her side, and she smacked it away, snarling at his comment.
“Pretty sure you’re just arrogant,” she huffed, and her eyes suddenly took on a dreadfully familiar glint, and she spun around him, her footwork as graceful as dancing, and he knew immediately what she was aiming for. “I think that you need to watch your –"
“Oh no you don’t,” he snarled, and he quickly grabbed her in a one-armed embrace as she reached for his back. She squirmed in his grip, and Bog’s smile was vicious with triumphant retribution. “Time for you to learn a lesson, Tough Girl.”
Marianne was about to hurl some insults at him when she felt claws drag down between her wings all the way to the dip of her spine, teasing and torturous, and oh my god, oh my GOD–
“Hnnng,” was the only comment she was able to make before sliding out of his grip and onto the floor, her body slack, her head spinning. Oh god, was she drooling?
Bog looked down at her and felt his smirk grow as he cocked his head at her, faux-concerned. “You quite alright there, Marianne? Tell me, how’s your back?”
Marianne was sure she should be fuming right now, but oh man, it felt like liquid heat was dripping down her spine, like something precious and golden and intoxicating was sinking into her skin, oh man, oh man, she had no idea, no idea at all.
“Oh,” she said dazedly, staring up at the high, vaulted ceiling from the floor, quite unable and unwilling to move just yet. “Oh, wow. Woooow…” She shifted her head to look at Bog, who was finding himself torn between satisfied amusement and surprise over how extreme her reaction was. “Is this…is this how…is this what it’s like for you, every single time?” Oh god, oh god…
“Pretty much,” he answered, and his grin was sharp and more than a bit smug. “I think the context of the moment matters, and how used to it one is. Judging by this,” he looked down at how she was splayed out on the floor, with her drooping eyes and her blissful smile, “I would say that I’ve gotten better at controlling my reaction.”
If he had told her that before, Marianne would have laughed her head off in disbelief after seeing how extreme his reactions had been, but now, what with her spine still sending slow little tingling sparks of pleasure pulsing through her, oh wow, oh god, oh sweet holy hell…
“You,” Marianne stated empathetically, her head still lolling, “have amazing control, Bog.”
He chuckled, dark and warm, and scooped her up. She sighed, letting her head blissfully sink against one spiky shoulder, and he let himself enjoy the simple contact before speaking. “Now, have we learned any lessons from this?”
Marianne shook her head as though trying to clear it, and hummed slowly. “Uhhh…we both need to watch our backs?”
Bog snorted. “Aye, and what else?”
“And…” Marianne wriggled further into his embrace, “I need to stop exploiting that spot?”
“Mmm-hmm. Knew you were a fast learner, Tough Girl.”
Marianne gave a groan, and lazily swatted at him. “Okay, you can gloat over this, but just this once.”
“You’re so generous. So, we’re in agreement? No more using the spine thing, in any context?”
“No more spine thing, in any context,” Marianne nodded, then got a slightly salacious edge to her smile. “Unless…we both want it.”
Bog was about to disagree when he remembered the delicious slide of Marianne’s clever fingers, with their scratchy little nails, dragging intoxicatingly down between his wings, and his own smile became rather lecherous before he replied. “Deal.”