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Marcus looked over at the woman with dark blonde hair who was asleep beside him. He was comfortable, but he had noticed that the fire on the hearth was dying down. Lazily, he reached over to the nightstand, picked up his wand, flicked it noiselessly at the fireplace and watched the flame rise up again, rekindled for the moment. There were worse ways to start a couple of days off than finding someone mutually interested in "going someplace quieter."

He had been hoping he could find some leads on anyone who might have an inkling of where Gideon Pierce had temporarily landed now that he had no ministry to prowl about in, and since Khaat had issues a search and seizure warrant that had stripped Pierce of every asset he had in England. Marcus's search had taken him to Knockturn. He had gone into the nightclub to get warmed up. He'd gotten warmed up, but it had had nothing to do with the firewhiskey.

There hadn't been many ground rules laid last night. In fact, there hadn't actually been all that much conversation, really. He'd gotten a drink, and when the blonde walked up, he'd given her a smile and bought her a drink. Then they'd done some relatively harmless flirting. Marcus had gotten quite good at flirting since marrying The Harpy. The more she'd hated it, the more Marcus had polished his flirting skills. That had helped him develop a love for a "casual" lifestyle.

The blond had impressed him. Wait--what was her name again? Last night, he had wondered if she was a gymnast or a dancer. She had been graceful and flexible and, well, quite lovely. Now it was silent in the room, except for the crackling of the logs in the fireplace, and the cold November rain on the windows. It was a thoroughly miserable looking day outside. Marcus's mental list of reasons for calling the front desk to stay another night was getting longer. He could find reasons to simply stay in all day. Lots of reasons.

He'd wanted a decent place to stay, so he'd checked them into 41, because it was a decent five star place with some great amenities. He had gotten the conservatory suite because he particularly had liked the thought of being able to look up at the stars--for whatever stars they would see in downtown London. Now it was a little odd watching the rain fall on the glass ceiling above him.

Tea, he thought. They needed tea. He slid reluctantly out from between the sheets, slipped on the white hotel robe he'd found in the bathroom, and went to the kitchen and made tea. He brought it back put the tray on his bedside stand, ditched the robe and slid back between the sheets.

At this point, he hadn't found anything not to like. Rain on the roof--check, fire in the fireplace--check, fresh hot tea--check, warm bed--check...and naked blonde next to him, one with few expectations--check and double check. Yep It was starting out to be a decent day off. If she wanted tea when she woke, she would have to work for it, he smiled silently, picking up one of the mugs and taking a sip.

Immersed in the dream world, the werewolf sprawled delicately between the starched sheets, her creamy skin specked here and there with constellations of freckles shining in the amber glow of the hearth, did not for a long time give any indication of her imminent waking. Then, slowly, as the rain continued to tumble onto the glass above the heads of the room’s inhabitants, she began to roll her shoulders, her lips cracking apart a little to express from within her a few little moans and sighs of satisfaction and unconscious realisation that she was in a safe place. Her arms curled affectionately about the pillow upon which she laid and eventually, though slowly still and languorously, her eyes began to flicker open and back into life as she emerged from the other realm.

It took a few moments for the dark-haired witch to ascertain where she was. Then, once she was sure, she pushed herself up, rising her chest out of the mattress to look around. A chill brushed across her breasts and she gave a small hiss of dismay, her fingers curling around the sheet sloping around the top of her backside to pull it back up over herself. She buried her head back into the pillows, turning her nose into the material to smell the sweet scent of the soap the laundress must have used. It wasn’t the same as her own home. That was what affirmed to her – as though she didn’t even realise – that she hadn’t gone home on her own and tedium had taken her into the lustful embrace of someone else. Truly, she was beginning to suit her job now, the night time one, that is.

“Is it morning?” Beth asked, turning herself over onto her back to eye the wizard she knew to be stood drinking tea.

The witch slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position and she combed her fingers through her hair, smoothing out the curls that had formed where once the dark locks had been straight. She spread her lips, still rouged a little from the night before, and addressed the man, his name still not quite computing in her head properly, with a coquettish smile. It was oxymoronically cat-like although only she registered the slightly bizarre edge to it but put off any of the thoughts. In the room she was Zelda. She wasn’t plagued with all of the realities of her own life with this man. She could play someone else and pretend to be happier, carefree, and truly alive – even if it wasn’t all true. Like this it was easy.

Pressing herself forward onto her hands and knees, Beth crept forward across the bed, the sheet unfurling softly from around her, shimmering off of her skin like water. She lifted her head and licked her tongue across her lower lip, a cheekiness glowing about her. She sat back on her knees once she reached as far as she could go and inclined her head challengingly at the man. Her ringed hands fell to her sides and she smudged her lips together, curiosity burning in her eyes as she took him in beside the light of the fire.

“You look better without the robe,” she commented teasingly, adding, “why don’t you come back to bed?”

He heard her wake, and her relaxed movements told him she wasn't in any big hurry to be dashing off either.  Good.  As great as it had been last night, he was certainly glad to see she was willing to hang around.

"I didn't like the robe much either," he laughed, tossing it on the floor.  "That's why I hid yours."  Well, he hadn't worked hard at hiding it.  He had merely moved it and had draped it over the shower head in the bathroom.  He joined her back on the bed.

What the hell was her name?  He gave it a moment more thought, replaying the pick up last night. Nope. He hadn't gotten it. Nor had he even given his own. It hadn't played out that way.

"I'm glad you're not in a hurry to leave," he said quietly, running his fingers through her soft hair in a gentle, affectionate caress, "whoever you are." He smiled, slightly amused that names hadn't been important all night, and they didn't seem one jot more important now.

His hand paused to linger a moment on her cheek.  "It looks like its going to be cold and rainy all day. I think," he said softly, nuzzling her, "so you really ought to let me keep you warm today." He didn't see her as being interested in the tea, and he was losing any interest in it fast.

"I made tea," he said in a whisper in her ear, letting his hands wander. He kissed her neck. "But you don't want it. You really don't.  It's lousy anyway."  That wasn't true exactly.  The Earl Grey was decent enough.

She fascinated him, though. As one dimensional as that would sound for him to say it, he couldn't put his finger on it, but she held his attention in a way that most other women didn't do--beyond anything that had happened in the bedroom. It was, indescribably, something about her, something he just felt.

Maybe it was her scent, or the mystery she carried about her.  Or something else altogether. He wanted to know more about her. First things first, though.  The more his hands wandered, the more he had other things at the top of his agenda.

"If you really want the tea, though," he said, "persuade me.  And if you don't want it, then persuade me anyway."

She was that woman. All of the discord that she had been prescribed by mutinous forked tongues and narrowed, prying eyes had finally bruised past her lips to sizzle and melt into her gut. A flyaway and a runaway here she was and all direction had been lost. She was now who she had always been told she was: whom she had been forced to play for so long. The charlatan had reached her crescendo and she was finally every inch the scarlet woman her lips and choice of attire had given those who looked leave to think. They could now assume what their colourful minds desired and for all it was worth they were right and anything they dreamt up could be true.

In every way she was no longer an auror – though she hadn’t been one of them for long enough to know that now. No, she wasn’t a law and enforcement officer, either. She was a table dancer in Satan’s. She sat on rich men’s laps and went to bed with them occasionally to win their trust and their secrets. She was doted upon by the foolish who liked pretty things and this man was no exception either though whether he was foolish or not had yet to be seen. She had decided at a juncture she couldn’t quite decide upon that she was no longer worth the gold she was paid in to play the games she did. She was a minimum wage and tip girl and proud for it, prouder than she’d ever been as an auror.

At least at Satan’s there was no doubt of who she was.

The robe was lost. For it she was glad. A smirk alighted on her lips and she brought her arms around his neck, her fingers ghosting across the skin of his shoulders as she did so. She tipped her head back as his hands began to weave through her hair and her smile grew, arching her lips upwards as amusement shone in her eyes. There was a challenge at hand, of course. She didn’t know what he was convincing him of as she certainly didn’t want tea but irrespective of it she found herself rising to it and attached her lips to his shoulder blade, her hands slipping down towards his hips.

“You had better keep me warm,” she purred in his ear, reaching for his hand to slide it further down her back. “I’m afraid I won’t ever get hot and bothered again.”

Beth lifted her head and pressed her lips against his, her teeth nipping absently at his lower lip as she deepened the kiss further. She pulled at him, urging him on top of her as she leaned back against the pillows.

“You persuade me,” she tease. “Make the expense of this bed worthwhile, hm?”

"Well, let's give it a try, shall we?" he laughed. Unlike his reputation as being a bit of a womanizer, he preferred to respect the women he was with. He preferred to linger over the first act of the play first, rather than rushing to the height of things in 60 seconds or less. He rather liked spending a great deal of time letting things develop at their own pace. He enjoyed the touching, the caressing, the kissing, the experimentation.

Women that rushed it were a huge irritation to him. He had, more than once, gotten up, gotten dressed and left his dates cold and wanting. It was too much like both using and being used.

Right now, he was enjoying getting to know her, getting to know her touch, her scent, her hair, her skin. He savored the taste of her kisses. He noticed quickly what she seemed to enjoy or what she did not. That mattered to him. He was refusing to let himself be "played", at least as much as he could help. He would go along with pretty much anything she wanted, so long as it felt genuine. The minute he got the feeling it was mechanical, he shifted directions on her, pushing her for more. He didn't care about whether she disrespected him, but he wasn't going to disrespect her. More importantly, he wasn't going to let her disrespect herself. He briefly had been tempted to make a remark to her about it, but as heated as things seemed to be getting, this clearly wasn't the time. Words would definitely get in the way.

It might have been a pick up, but that didn't mean that it had to all be the stereotypical, pre-scripted pick up. Last night, it might have been lust or firewhiskey or both, and in the dark, there had been a lot that had been either hidden or just plain overlooked. That was harder to do in daylight.

He gave just a flash of a thought to the fact that his scars that were each a badge of surviving yet another narrow miss had been easier to hide in the dark too. If she hadn't felt them last night, she certainly could see them today. Being naked didn't bother him. He didn't have any hang-ups about that. Being exposed, though, that was another matter, and he got the very clear feeling from the way they both danced around even introductions that she had the same hang-up he did. Sex, they could do and apparently could do well. Truth? That was going to be harder.

Oh well, as he figured it, it might take him a couple of days to want to be done with the sex, so the truth could wait.