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forasecondtherewedwon · 2 years

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The Night Today

Fandom: A Discovery of Witches Pairing: Phoebe Taylor/Marcus Whitmore Rating: E Word Count: 3035

Summary: “How long do we need to pretend it was the twins I wanted to hurry back for?”

They’ve been kissing lazily in Fernando’s dark entryway while the others celebrate with champagne in the next room when Phoebe asks, “You remember when you told me you were a revolutionary?”

Marcus grins, eyes barely open.

“And then you laughed at me? Yeah, I remember.”

It makes Phoebe laugh now, a snuffle against his throat when she presses her face to his neck. He’s holding her to him and he sways her in his arms, shoulders rocking against the wall.

“I didn’t believe you,” she says, lifting her head. When their eyes meet, her expression grows shy and flustered, the way it has since they met at the auction house and he first looked at her like this—a mixture of acknowledging her intellect and wanting to take off her clothes. Marcus doesn’t say anything and Phoebe finishes, “But I see it now.”

He smiles, brushing the back of his fingers across her cheek.

“What do you see?”

Her eyes dance with his, hopeful yet trying to assess whether or not he’s teasing. But he’s speaking in earnest, like she is; not everyone needs to scowl when they’re being serious (Matthew). He watches her expression relax as she reads him like one of the pages she’s been poring over for weeks in his absence.

“I see…” Phoebe begins, palms warming his chest through his black t-shirt as they rest over his heart, “…someone capable of facilitating alliances. Someone whose painful past doesn’t stop him from looking ahead to a kinder future. I see a leader—”

At this, Marcus shakes his head, breaking eye contact. He can feel the snide smile on his face.

“It’s not me who’s the leader. Matthew—”

“Would not have succeeded without you,” Phoebe quietly insists. Marcus sighs and glances at her face. It’s all the time she needs to smile at him, encouraging the upward tug of the corners of his own mouth.

“Well, that’s true,” he allows in an amused tone, though he’s not fully joking.

“And none of that’s the main thing.”

“What’s the main thing?”

“Life, Marcus. Perhaps your greatest rebellion was coming back here and helping to bring those babies into the world.”

He rolls his eyes, feeling the compliment is overblown.

“They hardly needed my help. Sarah had the situation in hand.”

“But you did come,” Phoebe presses. “And you did help.”

“How long do we need to pretend it was the twins I wanted to hurry back for?”

Her lips part to answer, but he’s already ducking his head, nose skimming her throat before he kisses her skin—flushed from their reunion and two glasses of champagne. His mouth is slow and her heartbeat is fast. Her fingers tighten on his chest, slightly bunching his shirt, and he cradles her lower back.

“Don’t let Matthew hear you say that,” she jokes, but it’s breathy, questioning. Do you really mean it? Phoebe asks with her body leaning into his, with her hand on the t-shirt he’s been wearing since the delivery, since the car, since the plane from Louisiana.

His answer to the question she doesn’t ask in words is the slide of his hands down over the curve of her ass and the climbing path of his lips. Her breath hitches exquisitely just before he roughs her mouth up with his, kissing her with the craving he’s archived every day they’ve been apart. Of course it was her he was itching to fly back to. He’s never before spent time in New Orleans and felt so much of his heart pulling him away from the family he sired, telling him home is now elsewhere. It’s where Phoebe is. She makes him feel confusingly, blessedly young. Her mouth tastes like the sweet, expensive champagne Miriam poured generously into flutes and he has to dig his fingers in to stop them from shaking.

“I love you,” he pants. He’s said it before. “We could go back to yours, what do you think?”

She’s nodding, her forehead grazing his, before she stops herself and frowns, pulling back.

“What if they need you?”

“I’ll keep my phone on.”

“Is it wise to go though? I thought we were doing the safety in numbers thing for now?” Her pragmatic eyes search his.

“I’ll watch your back,” Marcus says, smirking as his hand creeps up her spine beneath her blouse. Phoebe shivers in spite of herself. “Anyway, Diana would tear any uninvited guest limb from limb. They don’t need us tonight. But I need you.” His hand flexes on her backside and he tilts his face in to kiss lightly across her cheek, right up to the edge of her mouth. He touches the corner with the tip of his tongue.

“I suppose if we stayed the sound of crying infants would only keep us awake,” Phoebe says thoughtfully.

“I’d prefer not to have sex with you in a house where Matthew is listening for every little sound.” He smiles. “But I will if I have to. Your call.”

She pushes back from his chest, smiling coyly. Her hands glide down to his hips and hook into his belt through his untucked shirt. The pressure is negligible, but it still feels like she’s pinning him to the wall. Marcus’s gaze crawls over her, hiding none of his lust as he feels her studying his face.

“Let me get my things,” Phoebe says, “and we’ll go home.”

Too late, he thinks. I’m there.

—

He thought Gallowglass had practically become the doorman around here, but with the man and his motorcycle departed, Marcus flags his own taxi.

He and Phoebe have walked a few blocks from Fernando’s and it’s felt unbelievably freeing. Maybe it’s just the transatlantic flight that’s made him glad of fresh air, or maybe it’s that they’ve hardly had a chance to do something so normal, so purely for their own enjoyment, since their first date. He holds the door for her as she slips into the back of the taxi and gives the driver her address. He looks in at her, down at her, and when she turns her head to see what’s keeping him, everything in him twists and scatters. It feels as though she’s watching the beautiful pieces of him catch the light, flecks of glitter in a snow globe. He climbs in next to her and shuts the door securely.

Not five minutes into the ride, Marcus’s arm around her shoulders (he’s a perennial ignorer of taxi seatbelts), Phoebe pulls her phone from her bag and focuses on the screen. He remains relaxed—if there’s an urgent message, she’ll tell him—and turns to watch the streets pass beyond his window. Shut shops, houses with lights aglow behind the curtains. He should feel guilty about his sense of contentment when there’s so much uncertainty ahead. He should.

All he lets himself feel is the buzz of his phone in his front pocket. Marcus extracts it and releases a huffed laugh to see he’s received a text from Phoebe. He looks at her, grinning, but her eyes are firmly forward. The upward tic at the corner of her lips has him curious.

I’ve never done this before, she’s sent him.

Brows drawing together in perplexity, he again looks from the screen to her face.

“Wha—”

Her hand lands on his thigh.

He already has them spread, stretching his legs, and he feels spine-tinglingly vulnerable as Phoebe’s hand moves higher in the space he’s accidentally provided for her. Her abrupt halt just shy of his groin gives Marcus a chance to snatch an unsteady breath, but her fingers knead his thigh through his jeans and he knows the mercy is short. Her posture under his draped arm is rigid. She won’t look over. He considers it supremely entertaining—her effort to appear entirely appropriate for their driver. He thinks he’ll enjoy forcing her hand. Literally.

Marcus plucks her wrist to lift her hand and reposition it on his crotch. Twitching from the moment she initiated this, he’s now hardening nicely. His smile, as he watches Phoebe struggle for composure, is triumphant. Admittedly, he’s less smug when she unzips him with fair subtlety and reaches into his jeans to stroke him through his boxers. The self-satisfied smile belongs to his girlfriend now. He’s slightly awed, slumping in his seat with his eyelids fluttering towards closure as she works his shaft.

“Just up here,” she directs the driver, cutting through his haze.

Phoebe grabs her bag while Marcus hastily rezips his jeans. She beats him to the fare and then he’s offering her his hand, drawing her out into the cold night, and the taxi is pulling away from the curb.

“I missed you,” she says. Keeping his hand, she leads him towards the building that houses her second-storey flat.

“Is that all the explanation I’m gonna get for why I’m hard as a rock right now?”

Phoebe smirks as she gets out her key.

“You missed me too?” she offers.

“You’re right about that,” Marcus says on an exhale, taking her face between his hands and kissing her greedily, pressing her back into the doorway. He feels her hands steal between them to clutch the front of his coat in both fists. He loves it when she does that.

“I thought you might be tired,” she gasps, “from your trip.”

She so often wears skirts, which he finds endlessly arousing, but with Phoebe in jeans, he can bend his knee and nudge his thigh between hers.

“The adrenaline of the delivery,” he explains. “I’m…” He smirks. “…reinvigorated.”

“I think we’d better go inside.”

He backs off enough to allow her to unlock the door but remains at her back, finding her hip through the heavy fabric of her coat.

“Wouldn’t want to give anyone who’s not a taxi driver the opportunity to gawk,” he quips.

“Shut up,” she admonishes, embarrassed.

Marcus leans in and runs his mouth up the side of her neck, letting his teeth scrape her skin without breaking it, listening to her heart react.

“It was hot,” he murmurs to her. “I love it when you miss me.”

Phoebe gets them through the door and they pound up the stairs hand in hand.

Inside her flat, she adorably offers him wine—red, his favourite to drink with her for the bloody shine it lends her lips—but he’s already feeling a little bit drunk without it. His hands are on her as she hangs their coats. She neatened her appearance before they said goodnight to Miriam, Sarah, and Fernando, and Marcus takes satisfaction in rumpling her, freeing the tail of her blouse from her jeans. When Phoebe places her hand on his cheek, he turns his mouth to her palm, kissing her, and then taking her hand in his to kiss her knuckles. His eyes locked hotly on hers, he traces his tongue between her fingers, tasting the warm metal of the thin gold ring she wears on her index finger. She grips him through his jeans.

Discarding their clothes along the way, they make for Phoebe’s bedroom. Her abode may not beg the explanation of “family money” that his does, but it’s so her, and she has no roommates; when he strips her bra off with eager hands and launches it, they can laugh to see it land on the kitchen counter without having to retrieve it for the sake of decorum. The t-shirt he sheds and flicks away like a matador’s cape will bother no one. He hops out of his jeans in the hall.

Phoebe switches on a lamp and he observes that the whirlwind he’s made of her life lately is barely reflected in her tidy room—decamping to Sept-Tours and returning only to bounce between her place and Fernando’s and he can’t see much amiss besides a couple of open drawers in her dresser. When he’s been here before, she’s prepared the bedding with fresh sheets, but he likes that he can inhale the scent of her sleeping body when he throws himself back onto the duvet. Rising up on his elbows, he admires Phoebe as she stands at the foot of the bed and peels her underwear down. Centuries he’s lived, and it’s been too long.

“Come to me,” he invites, reaching out a hand to her.

But Phoebe, with her smile of secret seductions, only puts her hands on his knees and kneels on the rug. Stark naked, Marcus shoots upright, the ruddy head of his cock tapping his abdomen. She squeezes his knees.

“Stay down,” she requests softly, and he groans, dropping onto his back.

He needs the patience of all his lifetimes to withstand this. She licks him until he has her duvet in a death grip, sucks him until his back’s bowing with the effort of not bucking across her tongue. Her hands pet his thighs, moving forward and back. Like he’s hurling himself to safety from a crumbling cliff face, he lets go of the duvet and finds a new hold for each of his hands: Phoebe’s caressing fingers and the crown of her head. He strokes her springy waves and unravels the place where she’s pulled them back, causing the length of her hair to spill across his thigh. Overwhelmed, Marcus’s eyelids flicker. Her fingers wind through his while her head bobs, indulgent and unhurried, and his eyes clamp shut as he comes.

Breathing shakily, he feels her pull off of him. She joins him on the bed, settling on her side and arranging his limp arm beneath her neck. Her knees draw up against his hip as she curls into him, kissing his shoulder. He’s come back to Phoebe. His world is perfect bliss.

“You’re trying to exhaust me,” Marcus sighs, eyes still closed. “But I refuse to be tired until you let me have you.”

Phoebe smiles.

“You have me,” she says.

He hums vaguely and wedges a hand between her thighs, grinning at her gasp when he quickly trails it higher to feel how wet she is, arousal slicking his fingertips. He massages her and, wordlessly, Phoebe shifts her thighs apart to negotiate for more.

Opening his eyes, he cocks his head at her and clarifies, “I want to have you properly.”

“If this is what ‘properly’ entails,” she says, loosely circling his wrist with her fingers as his gently manipulate her clitoris, “I’m liking it so far.”

“Good.”

He builds the pressure, varies the speed, and once Phoebe’s starting to sweat—he spies the glossiness of the skin between her breasts—she lets him tip her onto her back. Marcus hovers over her, taking her mouth tenderly until his fingers plunge inside her and she cries out. He’s hardening again. Kissing down her neck to her chest, he drives his fingers into her deftly, wringing more cries like a disjointed song, and her breast rises to meet his mouth as her back arches. He drags his teeth across her nipple, gratified when her hand flails up to grasp his hair.

“I have you. Missed you. Love you,” he swears, extracting his fingers and rubbing them, glazed in arousal, around and around her clit.

“M-Marcus,” Phoebe brokenly entreats.

“Phoebe, love.”

Her hips jump under his touch. She grips his wrist again to keep him in precisely the right spot. Blood pulses in his groin as she guides him. The light is on and he is grateful, watching them pleasure her together.

He buries his face between her breasts, clasped against her at the moment her orgasm hits. Marcus inhales the scent of her deeply—as though he’s the one who needs to catch his breath. Phoebe continues to writhe on his fingers, so he keeps them stiff for her, even as his waiting erection swells with envy. When her swaying slows and she sighs, exhalation ruffling his hair, he withdraws his hand and climbs up until their faces are level. Her appearance is always so neat; he aches with desire at the sight of her undone.

Delicately, she cups his face. Her thumb rubs his mouth and then her fingers whisper across his forehead, along the slant of his eyebrow. They outline his ear and earring and he smiles at her because it tickles.

“I love you too,” she says.

“Yes,” he acknowledges.

On either side of his hips, her thighs rise.

“Reinvigorated, hmm?” Phoebe wraps her hand around his cock. He thrusts a bit in her hold.

“Aren’t you tired?” Marcus checks.

“I refuse to be until I’ve had you properly.”

His grin snaps into place, but he takes his time removing her hand from him, dropping his hips to hers and grinding against her wetness. Phoebe moans, seizing his hip and the back of his neck. The rush of delivering the twins returns to him, the memory of bounding down the stairs on legs tense from crouching and clapping his eyes on Phoebe first as he came into the room. Her expression as she saw him for the first time in weeks, his success, surge upon surge of dopamine. Maybe he can’t wait after all.

She angles her hips encouragingly and Marcus aligns himself, easing inside with ragged breaths. He lowers onto his forearms to be close to her. They sink into each other like a single person falling through water to meet their reflection. There’s Phoebe, and there’s him, and mostly there’s the heat between them as they cling to each other, hips rocking fervidly. These sounds—from their mouths and below—are for them only. Though he can’t deny to himself that he would have strutted proudly down to breakfast tomorrow morning if they’d stayed at Fernando’s.

Marcus stuffs an arm under her back, clutching her waist as his hips shuttle faster. The birth compelled his instinctual recall of centuries of medical vernacular, but he praises Phoebe’s great beauty in simple words, panted into her ear.

He hopes the trip to New Orleans will be the only one he had to make without her. He’s missed her, missed her enormously. He promises her scrambled eggs in bed tomorrow if she will eat them naked.

Phoebe smiles as she lets go of everything but him.

#my writing #A Discovery of Witches #ADoW #Marcus Whitmore #Phoebe Taylor #Marcus x Phoebe #ADoW fic

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whoffle-747 · 2 years

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Okay here me out, Marcus x Phoebe fanfiction where Phoebe is already a vampire before the events in Shadow of Night. Like Miriam is still her maker and she was turned Phoebe because she turned her long before she ever met Marcus. I think it’s a pretty decent plot. But I can’t write fanfiction 😭😖, I’ve tried.

#a discovery of witches #marcus x phoebe #marcus whitmore #phoebe taylor #fanfiction #vampire #miriam shephard #please someone write this

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anthonybrxdgerton · 3 years

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A DISCOVERY OF WITCHES 2.04

#adowedit #adow #marcuswhitmoreedit #phoebetayloredit #phoebe taylor #marcus whitmore #adow s2 #spoilers #mine: marcus x phoebe #marcus x phoebe #mine #100

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lucasbarr · 2 years

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I’m writing a Marcus Whitmore rewritten origins fic and listening to the Blurlesque soundtrack. Now I’m imagining a Marcus/Phoebe Burlesque fic 😂 I love early 2000s campy, niche classic movies ok? And headcanon that Marcus does too. I could totally see him pulling a Tom Holland on lip sync battle!

#burlesque #marcus x phoebe #marcus whitmore #phoebe taylor #adow #adow au #a discovery of witches #all souls trilogy #all souls series

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unadulteratedhacylover · 3 years

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How is there like no Marcus/Phoebe fics on AO3???? There is literally like 1! This needs to be remedied asap!

#marcus whitmore #phoebe taylor #marcus x phoebe #phoebe x marcus #a discovery of witches #ADOW

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apinchofm · 1 year

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♡ ULTIMATE SHIPS MEME ♡: Current OTP's

↳ Marcus Whitmore & Phoebe Taylor in A Discovery of Witches (2018 - 2022)

“But here’s the thing, Phoebe.” Whitmore lowered his mouth until it was inches from her ear and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Unlike the men who have taken you out to dinner and perhaps gone back to your flat for something afterwards, your propriety and fine manners don’t frighten me off. Quite the contrary. And I can’t help but imagine what you’re like when the icy control melts.”

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love-tv-freak · 2 years

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A Discovery of Witches

Phoebe x Marcus - 3x07 Episode 7

#adow #a discovery of witches #phoebe taylor #adelle leonce #phoebe x marcus #marcus whitmore #edward bluemel

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greatheartgiver · 3 years

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A Discovery Of Witches needed more Marcus and Phoebe scenes.

#a discovery of witches #marcus whitmore #phoebe taylor #marcus x phoebe #phoebe x marcus #adow

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ohnotoomanyfandoms · 3 years

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Here is my early review of A Discovery of Witches season 2!

I hope this can bring some joy to fans who’ve been waiting so long for the second season. Trust me when I tell you that, as a massive fan of the books myself, the wait was worth it, because the show outdid itself this year. Enjoy the review, I will appreciate all your comments and shares ♡

I will be back with more spoilery talk after the show is out, so keep an eye out for that.

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adarafaelbarba · 2 years

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So as mentioned in my previous post about this bingo, my birthday is next month. And for that occasion I wanted to host another bingo! Like my last bingo in October 2021, this one will have moodboards to the squares. You don’t have to use them, but they’re there for inspiration, and can also be used in your fics as a “cover” if you’d like 🥰 I’m gonna have the moodboards up before the bingo starts on Monday 17th of January 😅

here are some rules:

1. It’ll start on January 17th and ends on February 17th at Midnight (Norwegian time)

2. Write one, ten or all of the fics. But don’t feel like you have to write them, this is a fun little writing exercise

3. You can write a head canon, ficlet, multi-chapter (one moodboard/square per fic) or a one shot. But please, if it’s longer than 500 words, put it under read more.

4. The fics can be fluff, smut, angst, etc if you feel like they would fit with the aesthetic of the moodboard you write for. Please remember to tag the fics with the right warnings before posting it.

5. Tag me when you post it, so I can keep tracks of the fics that are posted for this challenge and use the hashtag: #adarafaelbarbabirthdaybingo

6. Characters allowed (reader insert, oc, ships)

SVU:

Rafael Barba

Sonny Carisi

Mike Dodds

Nick Amaro

Peter Stone

Odafin “Fin” Tutuola

Alex Cabot

Casey Novak

Olivia Benson

Amanda Rollins

Rita Calhoun

Kat Tamin

Elizabeth Donnelly

Other Raúl Esparza Characters:

Jackson Neill

Nevada Ramirez

Jonas Nightingale

Bryan Kneef

Frederick Chilton

Paul Mendelsohn

911 / 911 Lone Star:

Evan Buckley

Eddie Diaz

Maddie Buckley

Chimney

Hen Wilson

Bobby Nash

Athena Grant

Owen Strand

T.K. Strand

Grace Ryder

Judd Ryder

Marjan Marwani

Paul Strickland

Carlos Reyes

Tommy Vega

Mayans MC:

Miguel Galindo

Angel Reyes

Ez Reyes

Bishop Losa

Emily Thomas

Coco Cruz

One Chicago:

Matt Casey

Kelly Severide

Brian «Otis» Zvonecek

Joe Cruz

Stella Kidd

Gabby Dawson

Violet Mikami

Sylvie Brett

Emily Foster

Jessica Chilton

Gianna Mackey

Evan Hawkins

Jay Halstead

Antonio Dawson

Adam Ruzek

Kevin Atwater

Erin Lindsay

Hailey Upton

Vanessa Rojas

Sean Roman

Kim Burgess

Connor Rhodes

Ethan Choi

Will Halstead

April Sexton

Crockett Marcel

Jeff Clarke

A Discovery of Witches:

Baldwin Montclair (Trystan and Peter’s version, but specify it 😅)

Matthew de Clermont

Marcus Whitmore

Diana Bishop

Miriam Shepard

Domenico

Sophie Norman

Nathaniel Wilson

Gallowglass

Satu Järvinen

Juliette Durand

Phoebe Taylor

Hamish Osborn

Chris Roberts

Ransome Fayrweather

Outlander:

Ian Murray

Frank Randall

Jamie Fraser

Clair Fraser

Briana Fraser Randall

Roger Mackenzie

Fergus Fraser

Marsali Fraser

Jenny Fraser

Harry Potter/Fantastic Beasts:

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

James Potter

Newt Scamander

Young Dumbledore

Kingsman:

Eggsy Unwin

Roxy Morton

Harry Hart

Merlin

Charlie Hesketh

Percival

Lancelot / James Spencer

Ginger

Whiskey

Tequila

Characters from the King’s Men

MCU:

Thor Odinson

Steve Rogers / Captain America

Tony Stark / Iron Man

Dr. Bruce Banner / Hulk

Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow

Sam Wilson / Falcon / Captain America

Bucky Barnes / Winter Soldier

Dr. Stephen Strange / Dr. Strange

T’Challa / Black panther (rip Chadwick 🥺)

Shaun / Shang-Chi

Xialing

Wenwu

Wong

Peter Parker / Spiderman (Tom, Toby or Andrew. But specify it 😅)

Clint Barton / Hawkeye

Wade Wilson / Deadpool

Scott Lang (Ant-Man)

Carol Danvers / Captain Marvel

Baron Helmut Zemo

Yelena Belova

Monica Rambeau

Wanda Maximoff / Scarlet Witch

Pietro Maximoff / Quicksilver

Charles Xavier / Professor X

Erik Lehnsherr / Magneto

Druig

Makkari

Dane

Thena

Sersi

Ikaris

Ajak

Gilgamesh

Kingo

Phastos

Note: If there’s a character/fadom not listed, feel free to DM me.

7. No RPF/real person fic. No underage character (includes reader/ocs)

8. Please signal boost this post, regardless if you participate or not

9. Most important! Have fun! 🥰 Feel free to dm me with any questions or concerns

#adarafaelbarbabirthdaybingo #law and order svu #one chicago #chicago pd #chicago fire #chicago med #kingsman #marauders #fantastic beasts #outlander #a discovery of witches #marvel #mayans mc #karen hosts a bingo

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

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Gladly Be a Fool

Fandom: A Discovery of Witches Pairing: Phoebe Taylor/Marcus Whitmore Rating: E Word Count: 2883

Summary: The missing scene after Phoebe and Marcus stumble into his bedroom in episode 4.

“Is this alright?” Marcus asks, despite feeling Phoebe’s calf wind around him like the heavy scroll on an antique gilt frame—the kind of thing they surely have in the vaults at her auction house.

“Completely,” she says against his throat before leaving a lingering kiss. “Does it seem like I think this isn’t alright?”

“Just checking.” He laughs at himself, scoffs with his eyes shut. “It was only that you looked a bit disoriented when we…”

“Flung ourselves onto your bed?”

Phoebe’s bold. He suspected, even with her backtracking after kissing him by the cab, and he enjoys it immensely.

“Yes. Forgive me. Occupational hazard.”

Smiling, he bends his head to her neck. She tilts her head to make space for him. The hum of blood beneath the surface of her skin is more intoxicating than the red wine, less than the creep of her fingers unbuttoning and spreading his shirt. He wishes he were wearing something smarter; blue plaid isn’t his go-to seduction look. However, he didn’t foresee this when he darted to Phoebe’s office earlier. That just toppled into dinner, from dinner into a lovely stroll while they discussed his taste in music to the soundtrack of her laugh, from playful conversation to the kiss that left him longing on the sidewalk, to her surprising call, to, finally, the supreme pleasure of holding her body in place with his and the prospect of imminently warming his cool sheets.

“Are you saying you’re trying to assess my health? In other words, play doctor with me?”

“I don’t think it’s playing doctor when I actually have the qualifications,” he argues between kisses, meandering up to her cheek, then her mouth.

“I suppose I have been acting out of character. Do you think that could be a symptom of anything?”

Phoebe pushes at his shirt and Marcus lifts one hand and then the other, slipping free of the sleeves so she can toss the garment aside. He lifts his head and cocks it.

“I’ll keep you overnight to make sure.”

He doesn’t think he’s offered her anything unusual, and yet she clasps the back of his neck and leads him through a kiss the flavour of gratitude and relief, intense desire welling just beneath. The last thing gets him harder than anything. He presses his groin to her thigh, wanting her, hating his jeans.

Reminding himself that he’s a thinking being, a centuries-old intellect, not just a creature of primal hungers like the one Domenico described, Marcus defers briefly to his brain. The verdict there is that Phoebe’s feeling reassured by his implication that he’d like her to stay the night. She’s inquisitive, attempting to decipher him since they met, holding back even more questions than she asked. Amid all her uncertainties where he’s concerned, his invitation is solid. A promise that predicts the next eight or so hours of her life. He decides he can appreciate that craving for a knowable future. By job and genetics, they’re perhaps both more comfortable with the past.

“I really can’t believe I called you,” Phoebe confesses, working on his belt. “I’m normally not—”

“Liar,” he teases. His hair’s in his eyes as he stares smugly down at her. “A woman who dresses entirely in red is definitely a woman who makes the first move.”

Now to get her out of all that red. Remembering his other guests, Marcus moves swiftly to his feet and closes the bedroom door. He jerks his thumb towards it and mumbles about a friend staying with him as he returns to Phoebe’s waiting arms. His heart doesn’t so much beat as somersault, watching her skate her dress up her legs—presumably, the better to wrap them around him. He feels flushed, imagining forgetting the clothes and just pounding into her.

“Technically,” she pants as his hand skims her inner thigh, fingers trailing along the lace hem of the slip beneath her dress, “the call was the second move.”

“Well, I’ve got to make one of the moves.”

“You really should. Unless it takes you a while to get going. Hamilton six times…”

Grinning, Marcus shakes his head at her and feels for the line of her underwear at her hip. He starts to tug, then wriggles his fingers under the band instead. As he slides his hand down to cup her, he fits his lips back over hers. Phoebe sighs shakily into his mouth as his fingertips glide through her arousal. He applies a gentle touch, tracing her with a surgeon’s finesse.

Before he can ask her which move this qualifies as, she’s opening his fly, her ring scratching against his zipper. The kiss opens up, growing harsher, teeth grabbing lips, her tongue pushing into his mouth then his into hers, until she’s gripping his cock and he’s sunk a finger inside her. He curls, she palms. Between their obscene sounds, he recalls the neat click of her typing as she brought up Lot 42 on her computer. It makes Marcus smile to himself. Then, he dives deeper into the kiss and into her, adding a finger, coaxing a broken moan from Phoebe that vibrates across his tongue.

He raises his head and her hand with it, fingers twined in his hair, because he’s honestly not sure she’s taking in enough oxygen. She might be breathing heavily, but her hand doesn’t quit, fingers encircling him as she pumps faster. Feeling his hips begin to rock as he seeks satisfaction, he realizes he’d better distract her.

“Hope my hands aren’t too cold.”

Phoebe laughs breathlessly and does stop dragging him to the edge for a moment, but then she reaches for his hips with both hands instead, pulling his jeans and underwear down.

“I think I’ve stopped noticing,” she says.

“Am I boring you?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Not like that,” Phoebe tells him. Then, “Yes. Yes, like that,” as he pulses his fingers shallowly and drags her clit in urgent circles beneath his thumb.

“You can have the first move,” he cedes. “I’m claiming credit for the first one of these.”

But he’s got to actually get her to orgasm before that claim’s really worth anything, so he continues what’s making her squirm. With his other arm, he drops from his palm to his elbow, freeing his hand to unbutton her dress from the top. Her chest is warm where he brushes his lips. He exposes more skin, then the lacy neckline of her slip. Being disappointed by too many clothes is a modern man’s insanity—what does it for Marcus are these layers, needing time to strip and reveal, this thick feeling of anticipation drawn out. He watches the dainty gold pendant bob against Phoebe’s throat as her breath hitches. Groaning, he leaves her buttons for now and grabs the hand not in his hair, interlocking their fingers and pressing the back of her hand into the mattress.

“Almost there,” he murmurs to himself, but Phoebe squeezes her eyes shut and nods rapidly in response as the nails of her other hand bite into his naked hip.

Her legs tangle around his and tense when she comes; the leverage pulls him in as her hips jerk up from the bed. He was trying not to grind his erection into the satiny fabric of her skirt, but it’s too late for that now. The contact has him kissing faster over her collarbone and up her neck, sucking where her pulse throbs until Phoebe moans, clamping even tighter around his fingers. Marcus clenches his jaw hard and rests his forehead on her neck, wondering if that was just a spike at the end of her orgasm or whether he compelled her into a second.

When her hand loosens against his, he draws back to look at her in the yellow light coming through his windows from the street.

“Not too cold,” she says, smile slack and easy from the wine and the release.

“Good.”

The word is no louder than the rustle of bedding as he withdraws his hand and braces himself over her again. He stares admiringly down at her. She just makes him feel… like he’s really glad he didn’t pawn the miniatures investigation off on Miriam.

Holding his eyes, Phoebe brings her hands to her chest. Her smile turns sly as she runs her fingers along the open front of her dress until they encounter the next fastened button. She undoes it. Marcus’s gaze leaps from her hands to her face and back. He grins, hanging his head, at her ability to do this to him. She knows too, because she doesn’t speed up. She takes her time all the way to the very last button. When she sits up to shrug out of her dress, he does as well, kneeling between her thighs as she does a little hop to whisk the skirt out from underneath her. She casts the dress aside.

Marcus takes a long breath through his nose, studying Phoebe in her short sheath of white silk. She’s wearing a bra under it—white, ribbed, unlined—but he can see her hardened nipples. While he stares, she unclasps her necklace and lowers it onto the closer of the two nightstands. The chain trickles through her fingers.

“Not the watch?” he asks with a grin when she’s touching him again, hands on his sides, moulded to his ribs.

Phoebe shrugs, barely glancing at her wrist.

“Didn’t think it was really in the way.”

He gives her a considering frown and kicks his legs out from under him, peeling his clothes off. She looks slightly shocked, mouth open in a scandalized smile as she does her best to keep her eyes on his face. Shame.

“Is that all?” he wonders.

“I guess I just like knowing what time it is.” She pauses. Goes on. “So much of the past is identified so indistinctly. Paintings or jewellery by year, some artifacts by decade with our appraisers’ best estimations. The possible timeframe only gets broader the farther back we go. Things travel through time… objects… but we lose details. Maybe it’s silly, but sometimes it amazes me that I can know the time down to the second. I think time is underappreciated.”

“Now that,” Marcus says, leaning in until their lips almost touch, “was a much more interesting answer.”

“Coming from you, I take that as a compliment.”

He’s not positive that was a compliment, but he kisses her anyway. Though he can feel her smile like she might say something else, his hopefully-charming insistence wins her over and her mouth seals to his with more certainty. He groans into it, cupping her cheek to angle her head as he deepens the kiss. He misses her hand wrapped around his cock and yanks expressively at the blanket to either side of her hips. Phoebe shifts back against his headboard, curving her legs out of the way. The second he has the covers whipped down, he catches her behind the knees and pulls her back to him, laughing. Marcus’s smile is broad as he settles between her legs. He traces the neckline of her slip, ignoring where the hem’s scrunched up above her hips, revealing her white underwear, for the moment.

“Did you think about me when you put this on this morning?” he inquires, fingering the lace.

“I didn’t know you’d be coming in. To the office,” she clarifies when he jauntily raises an eyebrow.

“Hmm. That’s not exactly what I asked.”

Marcus kisses her shoulder, heading towards her throat. He slips his hand under her ass to keep her in place as he grinds down with his hips.

“I take care in my appearance,” is all Phoebe seems willing to concede.

“And that appearance is very lovely.” He can feel her arousal through her underwear and rubs against her more precisely, dying to bury himself in her. “So very lovely,” he pants against her skin.

“You’re being very charming for someone who’s already got me half naked.”

“Oh, I never turn it off.” He flashes an enticing grin.

He can feel, and hear, her heartbeat, then his cock twitches eagerly and they’re in another scramble—the first was to make it to his bed, this is to get her out of her underwear and him inside her. She takes care of the former as he stretches to fish a condom from the drawer of the nightstand. If she asked, he would say truthfully that he was thinking about her this morning. The way he pleased and flustered her when they met by suggesting she should be the one in charge of the auction house was in his mind when he ventured to the shop, guiding his hand as he tossed the box of condoms into his basket alongside the coffee creamer and eggs he was bringing back to Sophie and Nate for breakfast. The thrill for the rest of them might have been the discovery of Matthew and Diana’s miniatures; the thrill for Marcus was doing everything he could to provoke a smile out of Phoebe Taylor.

Pressing inside her, he inches the white slip up her stomach with every gasp. Her fingers grip the back of his neck, her eyelids lowered, her parted lips bumping his as they share air. Marcus thrusts shallowly once he’s all the way in and Phoebe shifts her hips, widens her legs; they adapt to each other.

His hands caress her skin more insatiably the more of it he bares. He can feel the goosebumps under his fingertips, unable to count them because she’s rocking her hips with his, driving him deeper. Phoebe intervenes with the slip, stripping it off over her head, then her hands slap to his back and they kiss hard as he bucks into her. Marcus absorbs her high whimpers, refusing to break the kiss. Fuck, she’s incredibly slick around him and he badly wants this to be as good for her as it is for him. He hooks his arm beneath her thigh and folds it up. The moan that leaves Phoebe is almost enough to stand even his heavy, floppy hair on end.

He dips his head, tugging at her nipple through her thin bra. He can feel her wristwatch against the back of his neck as her fingers comb into his hair. Not everything’s been removed; so many pieces of her. She thinks he’s evasive and mysterious, but he’s sure he doesn’t know the half of it with her, and that excites him. Phoebe in his bed excites him. He lets her pull him back into a messy kiss and allows his eyelids to flutter open ever-so-slightly, stealing glimpses of her. This room is full of mirrors, but most are hung just a little too high on purpose because it isn’t really his reflection Marcus wants. He doesn’t need his own face looking back at him, he doesn’t need two nightstands for all his shit.

Breathing harshly through his nose, he catches the wine they drank downstairs, her gin at dinner. There’s the scent of night air and the faint hint of the perfume she must have put on this morning. He smelled it at her office earlier, but at the time it seemed a little too—as Phoebe defined their first kiss—forward to ask if that was for his benefit, like the later uncovered silk slip. She’s as irresistible when experienced through this sense as any other.

“F-faster,” she directs, bowing her body against his, and he is happy to oblige. He loves her sweat. He’d be perspiring himself, if he weren’t what he is.

The present rides him as he moves quickly in and out of her. This is fast, him and her, for something he thinks is more than a hookup. Two days to get them from his cold hands to her heat under and around him. One dinner, one walk, one call, a multitude of kisses. He is so, so into her.

His hand finds and grasps her hip, heaving her up to stroke inside her differently while pinning her thigh to her stomach. She cries out and he knows he’s got her.

“Good god, Phoebe,” Marcus breathes into her ear.

She shudders and shakes, clenching around his cock. He switches to long strokes as she climaxes, powering through them, trying to last if only to extend the present, here to play time’s own game. All of his seconds are Phoebe sighing and catching her breath and being so vibrantly human beneath him. He finally finishes with one of her hands kneading his shoulder, the other on his cheek. The orgasm ripples through him, muscles taut as his hips snap to hers and push until he’s empty.

He almost doesn’t want to pull away, but he’s being stupid. He swaggers unhurriedly over to the bin to chuck the condom, smirking back at Phoebe, who he’s caught watching his ass, as he thought she would be. She rolls her eyes with a certain fondness while she takes the liberty of rearranging the pillows that are propping her up.

“You know what would be great right now?” Marcus asks as he rejoins her.

“What’s that?”

He waits until she’s looking at him dead on before he grins.

“A little Duran Duran.”

#my writing #A Discovery of Witches #ADoW #Phoebe Taylor #Marcus Whitmore #Marcus x Phoebe

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