Author's Note: This is easily the most ambitious piece I've written yet, although it's still pretty darn fluffy. I did my very best to make sure that it was tasteful despite the more suggestive subject matter, so hopefully I've succeeded in that.

xxx

Don't feel a thing – you wish
Grasping at pearls with my fingertips
Holding her hand like some little tease
Haven't you heard the word of my wanting?
–Steven Sater/Duncan Sheik, "The Word of Your Body"– Spring Awakening

xxx

From the moment that Marian Paroo had met Harold Hill, even when she had felt nothing for him but fierce anger and disgust, the librarian had been unnerved by the physical effect that the man had on her.

Certainly enough men had tried over the years to win her hand and her heart – or more often, she suspected, just her body – that Marian was no stranger to a man's attempts at charm. She was not a vain woman, but she had long ago become aware of the reality that she was attractive to men, and no amount of pointed coldness or aloofness in her demeanor could ever free her from their heavy-handed efforts at "romance".

So Marian had learned to endure these annoyances stoically, the same way that one learned to put up with the occasional paper cut or headache. When the romantic hero of her dreams came to sweep her off her feet, she knew that it would all be worth it – and she had no worries that her white knight might be among the men that she had been so quick to rebuff. For, while she was aware that kind, noble, honest and handsome men existed, and she had harbored girlish affections for more than a few in her younger days, the men who actually pursued her were far less appealing. While she sometimes felt a bit self-conscious that she had managed to reach the spinster's age of twenty-six without allowing herself to be courted even once – well, better to be alone with no regrets than to have yielded her first kiss to some gangly, buck-toothed youth or sneering, lecherous cad!

But then that July, Marian Paroo, who had trained herself to see men for the bumbling assortments of flaws that they were, had met the man who was by far the most flawed of them all – he would never, could never love her, was clearly pursuing her as part of some despicable game – and she couldn't get him off her mind. Yes, he was witty, charming, and intelligent, but more than that was his sheer masculine presence, the startling electric tingle that she felt when his fingers brushed her skin, the scent of his cologne and that low murmur in which he spoke to her, the waves of his dark shining hair that fell across his forehead, the heated intensity in his eyes. Even before she fell in love with Harold Hill, before she even liked him, Marian knew deep down that she would have gladly, eagerly submitted to his kisses – maybe more, if he'd seduced her into it, which had certainly been his intention. He was the first man who had ever awakened such feelings within her; the first man she'd ever had to fight so hard to resist. If Harold hadn't decided to become a true gentleman at the last minute, goodness knows what would have happened between them!

And when all was said and done by the end of that turbulent month, when everything had changed so completely and Harold and Marian had pledged their love to one another, those feelings hadn't changed – but Harold certainly had, and when he began to court her properly, he showed much more restraint. Now that his every action toward her was no longer a part of a calculated seduction, Marian felt that she could trust herself again. Certainly, Harold was a passionate man, and their embraces often verged into the realm of the improper – Marian had no idea that there was so much to be learned simply about kissing, and Harold was quite the instructor! – but nothing that they had done was truly out of the ordinary for a couple in love, and Harold never pushed her.

Still, that charge of desire that they felt for one another lingered over their courtship, and as the months passed and they became more and more comfortable together, their embraces steadily grew more heated and prolonged – and once again, Marian was starting to fear her own impulses. Yes, she had dreamed for years of falling in love, marrying and having children, but she had never really considered marital relations as part of that equation; realistically, she knew that it was something that would have to happen, but it wouldn't be right to think of such things, and the whole process sounded too painful and embarrassing to be of any interest.

But when Harold kissed her and touched her, Marian's entire body seemed to cry out for more, and she knew, though the knowledge troubled her, that she wanted him. Thankfully, the wanting was still vague and obscure enough that she could usually manage to shake it off when they were no longer so entwined – at least, it was until one afternoon about two weeks before the wedding, when Marian found herself startlingly awakened to the intensity of her passions.

xxx

After a lengthy meeting with the Ladies' Events Committee, spent poring over the excruciating logistics of setting up a makeshift reception hall while almost every one of the ladies had seen fit to recount the finer points of her own wedding, Marian found herself in desperate need of a walk to clear her head. The day was sunny and warm for late November, so the librarian thought that it might be wise to take advantage of the unseasonable weather before the winter descended in earnest.

Eager to inform her fiancé of some of the more outrageous suggestions that she had been forced to deflect for their wedding, Marian sought out Harold at the Emporium. Just as she took hold of the door handle, she was rather shocked to feel it open from the other side. As it turned out, Harold was just as eager to get out as she was, after he had passed a dull morning filling in his ledgers, and before long the two of them were strolling along the lakeside together, talking and laughing about the perils of allowing the townsfolk to have any input over their wedding.

"Here we were supposed to be talking about how many chairs belong at a table, and Mrs. Squires and Mrs. Dunlop simply would not stop arguing about what kind of sleeves would look best on my wedding gown!" Marian exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "I know I could have stopped it by simply informing them that I already have my gown, but then they'd have all demanded to see it and criticize every little thing about it. Anyway, there'd have been no hope of keeping it a secret from you anymore after they'd all seen it – you'd know just what it looks like in under an hour!"

With a flirtatious grin, Harold took her hands and tugged her to stand close to him under the sparse shade of a tall, bare tree. "I'm sure no description could do justice to the real thing," he told her, kissing her forehead. "I bet you'll look like an angel in a wedding dress."

As pleased as she was by his words, Marian shook her head with a coy giggle. "An angel, now? I do think that's a new one. Will you never run out of ridiculous ways to flatter me?"

"'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?'" Harold quoted, stealing an arm around her waist. "I know you've always wanted a man who'll quote Shakespeare to you..."

"Really, Harold?" Marian directed a challenging smirk at the professor. "I don't suppose you know the next line, then?"

Frowning for a moment, the music professor pressed his fingers to his temple in thought. "'Thou art more lovely and more – um, lovely and more – temperamental!'" Harold responded defiantly, causing Marian to nearly collapse in laughter.

"Well, it's close enough," she told him, wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes. "I'd say your version is a good deal more truthful than the original, at least."

Stepping behind her, Harold wrapped his arms possessively around her waist, pressing a light kiss against her golden locks. "You're the only person I've ever met that can take the power of words away from me, Madam Librarian."

Suddenly, Marian was finding herself at a loss for words as well as she reveled happily in the warmth of his nearness. "The words you use are just fine, Harold," she told him at last.

Harold, however, no longer seemed concerned with their previous conversation as he occupied himself with the task of nuzzling and kissing the top of her head. "Your hair always smells delectable, do you know that?" he pondered. "Such beautiful hair, too, like spun gold... I don't think I've ever seen such lovely hair."

Too content to admonish him for such outrageous flattery, Marian simply accepted the compliments with a dreamy smile and leaned back in his arms. "I don't know if I'd go that far, but I have always been proud of my hair. Goodness knows where it came from, with my mother and brother and father all as red as carrots! I think my father's mother may have been a yellow-haired lady, but I never met her." She gazed up at the passing clouds as her mind fixed upon a long-ago memory. "When I was very little my hair reached down past my waist, and when I wore it in a single braid, Papa would call me 'Rapunzel'. When I took it all down at night before I went to sleep, he'd call out, 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!'"

Marian giggled softly, still hearing her father's playful words in her mind. "I do still wear it long, of course, but I'm tall enough now that it doesn't look nearly as impressive."

"You know, I've never seen you with your hair down," Harold mused, his fingers gently teasing the stray curls around her ears.

"Yes, you have," Marian asserted, a bit confused by his statement. "I've worn it down several times – in curls, like on the night of the ice cream sociable – you always tell me how much you like it."

Harold shook his head. "That's not down, darling. While I think it's lovely when you have it set all pretty like that, I mean down – no pins or anything."

"Well, it wouldn't exactly be appropriate for me to go around in public with my hair loose, would it?" All at once she was imagining what it might be like to have Harold run his hands through her hair, and her heart leapt at the thought. Her hands unconsciously flew to her hairpins, pushing them more firmly into her hair, and in a moment Harold's fingers were covering hers, tracing the shape of her chignon.

"No, it wouldn't be appropriate," he purred into her ear in a low, smooth voice. "But I'd sure like to see it."

Even in her innocence, Marian could perceive the suggestive hint in Harold's tone, and the reaction of her body was instantaneous. Images of Harold unpinning her hair suddenly turned to images of him removing her clothing and her underthings, kissing her bare skin... Her free hand clenched into a fist at her side, gripping the fabric of her skirt in an attempt to keep control.

"My hair," she stammered, flustered. "You mean my hair." Her heart was beating at such a rapid pace that she could hear the pulse of blood in her ears.

"Mmm," Harold murmured, his fingers trailing slowly, slowly down her fingers, down her arm until he was caressing the nape of her neck with feather-light touches. Nothing he was doing was truly untoward, but he might as well have been undressing her for all the effect his touch had on her. Every part of her felt awake and alive and ready for his touch.

She was finding that it was becoming rather difficult to breathe properly – and then Harold's lips were on her neck and even her ability to think was melting away, and she could only sigh and gasp and delight in his caresses.

He trailed little kisses and love-bites around her neck and her jaw, making her shiver and tremble, and almost before she realized it Harold had turned her around so they were facing one another. Instead of immediately pulling her in for a true kiss, however, he tilted her chin up and ran a teasing finger across her lips, his ardent gaze locked on hers.

"Gorgeous," he breathed, and the slight waver in his voice betrayed the tumult of desire beneath his confident bearing.

Marian's mouth opened slightly under the caress of his finger as she instinctively searched for a response, but the only words that came to her mind were foolish, far too forward – You too. As his finger trailed over her parted lips, it lightly brushed across the tip of her tongue, a strangely intimate sensation.

However, her lack of reply didn't affect Harold in the slightest. Instead of waiting for a response, he seized the opportunity to pull her flush against him and meet her mouth with his own. He kissed her again and again, breathless, open-mouthed kisses that brought her to trembling in his arms. And just when Marian thought that she might simply swoon from bliss, the professor tightened his grasp, his hands for the first time sliding down from her waist to her hips and then her backside, pressing their bodies together.

Feeling his arousal against her was startling, and Marian's instinct was to draw back in embarrassment, but Harold's hold on her was firm, and it occurred to her that he had wanted her to feel this – a thought that flooded her body with desire once again. It had never even occurred to her that their kissing would be enough to arouse him to such a degree, and she wondered if this happened to him often when they did this. Pressing her hips back against his in curiosity and longing, she was shocked when her actions provoked a low, husky groan from Harold, and even more so when she became aware of the quivering response from between her own legs. In her addled state, she couldn't decide if she was grateful or disappointed that Harold could not perceive the effects that their embrace had been having on her – but when they broke apart, gasping, Marian suspected that he must have known. His eyes blazed with a fire that she had never seen there before, his expression intense and unsmiling. The energy between them was magnetic; it would have taken very little to send them tumbling back into each other's arms.

Recognizing the immense dangers of the situation they had gotten themselves into, Marian abruptly disentangled herself from Harold's arms, forced a lighthearted laugh and walked a few steps to the lakeside, hoping that she could pretend as if what had happened between them had merely been a light flirtation. Desperate for something to distract herself from the desire that still clouded her mind and lay on the surface of her skin, she hurriedly picked a small stone of the ground and flicked it into the water, trying to make it skip – a pursuit that she had not engaged in since childhood, and in which she had never had a lick of success.

She felt terribly self-conscious, intensely aware of her flushed skin and the unmistakable dampness in her drawers – but she was even more embarrassed by the fact that Harold, just behind her, must have been fighting off his own much more visible symptoms. After a few minutes had passed in silence, Marian felt that she could once again turn to face Harold, who was leaning a bit awkwardly against a tree, checking his pocket watch.

"Well!" she declared, a bit too cheerily. "I suppose we should probably be going, don't you think?"

In response, Harold grimaced. "I'm sorry, Marian – did I upset you? I know that may have been a bit too much."

The librarian's eyes widened in disbelief, and she shook her head. "I'm not upset, Harold... I just..." She moved closer to him, biting her lip in anxiety. "We should be careful, so we don't... make a mistake," she whispered, her voice becoming nearly inaudible in her mortification.

"Right, right," Harold responded with a quick nod as he moved to take her hand. The two of them hastily moved away from the shore to more well-traveled pathways, Harold guiding their conversation to more mundane matters, and it seemed, for the time being, that the matter was resolved.

But even in public, even as the November winds blew against them as they walked down the street, Marian could not stop feeling the heat of Harold's lips and hands and body against hers, and what scared her the most was the nagging thought that what they had done had still not been enough for her.