Author's Notes:

I finished the first version of this fic back in May 2013. Back then, I had only recently fallen in love with North and South (both the novel and the miniseries), and I loved the story so much that I decided to write something. Ever since I finished the first version I have revised this story many, many times, and most of those changes were based upon character insights I gained after discussing the original narrative with people on the internet.

The narrative is set in the series-verse, starting during Margaret's/Mr. Thornton's wedding night. It is a pastiche fic without a solid plot that consists of six episodes, each focusing on a step on the journey towards (sexual) intimacy. I have divided the story into three chapters: the first chapter consists of the first four episodes, simply because they do not contain any M-rated content. The second and third chapter definitely do deserve the M-rated label, so you can skip those if that is not your cup of tea.

I hope you enjoy this fic, and please tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is very welcome!

The Flavors of Entanglement

When we touch someone, even if it is just the slightest brush of hands, we might be able to tell whether the taste of the touch was enjoyable or not; whether the flavor was sweet, or sour, or decorated with the riches of spices. As affection craving humans, we try to aim for the sweetest, most delicate flavors, but we cannot always avoid the bitter or the worse.

I. Sour

During her first night as a married woman, Margaret was told to close the door and sit down on the edge of the new double bed, the very one she had to call her own. She obliged without saying a word, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot in her stomach, and failing. She forced herself to stay seated, hands in her lap, her heart in her throat.

Upon noticing her anxiety, Mr. Thornton sat down next to her and covered her folded hands with his own. He looked more blissful than she had ever seen him before, Margaret decided, and this observation made her feel even guiltier about feeling the way she did.

Her guilt disappeared when he started talking, his speech headed in quite the opposite way of what she had been expecting. He assured her she would not have to fret, because what she was dreading so much would not happen that night. She sighed, the tension she had been burdened with leaving her body slowly. She could not deny that she was relieved because of his decision, but she still felt like she had failed him somehow. She asked him whether something was wrong, and if she could do anything to make it right.

"Margaret, believe me when I say there is no need to feel guilty," he said reassuringly. He proceeded to explain that even though he loved her ardently, he felt it was not fair if he exposed her (or himself for that matter, he added coyly) to that experience yet. He felt she did not know him well enough and vice versa, and thus he wanted to wait.

Margaret nodded, but she did not quite know what experience she had been saved from: she was only vaguely aware of what was still awaiting her, and she despised her own ignorance. She did not know the details, everything she knew she had gathered from hearsay. From what she understood these messages were conflicting, the experience differing from person to person. Up until that point, Margaret had always relied on written sources, but the physical aspect of marriage was something not even her excessive reading habit could help her with.

"How long do you wish to wait?" she asked, that uneasy feeling entering her body once again.

He remained silent for a while, contemplating her question. She could not tell if he was waiting to answer because he had to count the days, or because he had already figured out the number before her inquiry, and wanted to delay the answer because he did not want to come across as too eager.

"What if we waited until the first of July? Twenty-seven days. Would that be reasonable?" he asked.

Margaret nodded in reply, engraving the date in her mind.

He then asked her if he could kiss her every night before going to sleep, and the doubt in his voice made it sound as though he did not think himself worth it. She told him he should not to be afraid because she would comply to that request more than happily. She demonstrated how much she was willing to engage in the ritual of good-night kisses, and at that moment she could feel the tension leaving his body as well.

II. Sweet

Getting to know each other involved short episodes of conversation over breakfast and dinner, and sometimes in between if time allowed it. These moments helped to build a mutual understanding and trust between the two of them.

During the first few days of their agreement, Margaret hesitated to talk because she hated to disrupt her husband's daily life. This attitude changed when she became conscious of the fact that he always took the time and effort to ask her about her own day. Sometimes she had been spending her time on a piece of embroidery, even though this bored her easily because she preferred to read - much to her mother-in-law's disapproval. Margaret was not too affected by this scorn, since she had long ago given up on trying to please Hannah Thornton every single time.

Margaret quickly understood that all of the conversations that transpired between her and Mr. Thornton were part of a process that involved rearranging those tiny fragments of their histories to form a coherent bond.

She had not expected that same process to involve long hours of the both of them talking in the darkness of their bed chamber, him sitting back against the head of the bed, and her head resting against his shoulder or chest. Even though this quickly evolving habit made her miss out on at least an hour of sleep every night, their conversations did not feel like wasted time. In the mornings she often remembered the feeling of his heart beating against her fingertips, and his natural scent as it lingered on his pillow.

Because of the stories he told her she began to feel like she genuinely started to get to know the fine layers of his personality, and not just the superficial way she had perceived him during the time before their marriage. It did not just assure her of her love for him: it lead to a rebirth of her affections. Naturally he was still the same man, but his stories had settled in his mind, and she was allowed to call them hers now. She would never dare to admit that it was a thought that crossed her mind frequently, as people would have thought it unruly for a woman to think of her husband like that.

Margaret told him about her childhood, even though he often avoided this topic when it came to his own background, and understandably so. At times, when she was telling him a particularly funny story, she could see the smile on his face, and sometimes she could feel his mouth curl against her ear if their position allowed his lips to brush against her skin. She felt accomplished whenever his chuckle developed into a full laugh - a deep sound that rang in her ears and reverberated through his chest onto her cheeks.

She always made sure she was wearing her nightgown whenever he entered their room at night. Before he could see her she had always combed through her hair with her fingers, the waves in her hair making it nearly impossible to use a regular brush if she did not want it to become unwieldy. Even if she was rather tired, she would hold onto her promise loyally and wait for him to come and kiss her good-night.

Margaret started to see a pattern in the ways he engaged in this act of affection: whenever he was tired his kisses were short but tender, a perfect way to prepare for a night of well-deserved sleep. Their kisses started to last longer when he had to get rid of an overflow of emotions. Most of the time this meant that he was happy, and even though he would never explicitly show his good spirits to others he would always find a way to let her know how he felt.

Even though she enjoyed his good moods quite well, she secretly longed for the nights when he came home frustrated with the weight of the world. She always let him rage if he felt the need to, and when his anger had subsided he would look at her, as though ashamed of his outburst, and kiss the concerned look off her face. On these nights she could feel a certain degree of desperateness in the way his mouth moved against hers.

It was on one of those nights that he felt the need to intensify their kisses, in a way he had not attempted before.

The first time she felt his tongue against her upper lip she backed away. She was unable to hide her surprise or stifle the short, uncomfortable laugh that came out of her mouth. He looked slightly hurt, which made Margaret feel ashamed of her response.

"I did not mean to do that," she said softly, "please, try again."

This time when she felt him repeating the action she opened her mouth tentatively, and she could hear the contented hum-like noise coming from the back of his throat. His tongue felt strangely warm and foreign against her own, but that wasn't what made her feel uncomfortable: her uneasiness was caused by something entirely different. There was an ache in between her legs that she had never felt so consciously before. There was no doubt in her mind that the way he was kissing her was related to this feeling.

III. Bitter

"Whatever is troubling your mind, dear, you can tell me," Mr. Thornton told her.

Margaret found herself standing before her husband, her arms wrapped around her fully dressed body protectively while staring at the wooden floor.

Shyness was not a common occurrence for Margaret, but when it came to acts of intimacy she preferred not to discuss whatever was on her mind. She realized she had no choice this time, because her husband was staring down at her, patiently awaiting what she wanted to tell him.

"I never know where to place my hands when you kiss me," she said eventually, embarrassment as well as frustration shining through as she spoke. Her problem was that her hands either remained in her lap stoically whenever he kissed her, or meekly held onto his arms. It all depended on whether they were sitting or standing up, but her limbs were never fully engaged, not like his were. He always found new places where his hands could hold onto her, although his favorite place remained the sides of her head.

"I believe you do know," Mr. Thornton said.

She looked at him in great confusion. Did she? She could not imagine how.

"Allow me to show you," he continued, and reached for her arms, slowly untangling them from their position around her stomach. He then took her left hand and placed it on his shoulder. She took his actions as an incentive to do the same with her right hand, her thumb brushing against the side of his neck. When she spread her fingers so she could hold on to a broader surface she could feel his muscles move underneath his skin.

"Oh," she said, as his implications became clear to her, the memory of what happened during the riots flashed before her eyes, "I do. I remember, I-" her voice faltered, and yet she smiled, "shall I kiss you now?"

"If you please," was his amused reply.

She leaned in, and she could not help the feeling of pride caused by instigating the kiss. She had to stand on the tips of her toes because of their height difference, and she did not want him to have to bend down for her. By means of an experiment, her hands moved from his shoulders to his neck. When that proved to be uncomfortable, her hands slid down his arms again and hooked them around his waist, embracing him in that way.

"You are starting to learn," he said proudly when she stepped back onto the soles of her feet again, her hands still clasped around him.

Margaret thought this remark to be slightly inappropriate because it implied that he was her teacher, even though he was barely more experienced than her. She could not quite tell why he came across as more knowledgeable, but she figured it had something to do with the idea that he felt no shame in letting his body do the talking. Physical gestures had always been his preferred mode of communication, after all.

IV. Savory

Margaret had fallen asleep on the bed before she had had the chance to say good-night to her husband. She had been waiting for him to join her, clad in her nightgown, but she had been terribly exhausted. Eventually she had given into her body's yearning for rest, and she had fallen asleep along the width of the bed. She was lying on her right side, one arm curled around her stomach, the other next to her head. Some strands of hair had fallen across her face, moving up and down along with the rest of her body as she breathed in and out.

In the world between wake and sleep, Margaret scrunched her nose while the door creaked in its hinges as it opened. She tried to ignore the sound, since the world of sleep was doing its very best to win her over. She heard someone rustling around, and realized she had better wake up completely, for that person had to be her husband.

Her eyes flew open when he lay down on the mattress next to her, still fully clothed save for his cravat and coat. He was lying on his side and facing her with that very specific sentiment that made the skin around his eyes wrinkle (and Margaret's stomach flutter, for she was the object of his adorations).

"You must be tired," he said, brushing the hair out of her face. She smiled lazily, not knowing how to reply to something so blatantly obvious.

Mr. Thornton kissed the tip of her nose, but Margaret could see the look in his eyes that she had come to known as his desperation for wanting to press his mouth against hers, and not just her nose. He did not deny himself that pleasure, and Margaret found herself holding her breath when he rolled her onto her back, his upper body pressing hers into the mattress. His right hand reached for her neck, and she could feel his thumb brushing against the skin just below her ear.

Slowly but surely this type of physical contact had become interwoven with their nightly rituals, and every private touch they relished and every affectionate caress they shared made them grow closer together. Even though the warmth of his hands had become increasingly familiar to Margaret, it did not mean that her body accepted all his physical love unprotestingly. She was still temporarily ashamed every time he touched her body below the line of her clavicles, whether that touch was an accidental occurrence or not.

This unfortunate reaction happened especially when his palms collided with her ribs and his fingers had explored the underside of her breasts through the fabric of her nightgown. Though his caresses did not feel unpleasant, she often had to ask him to cease his ministrations because everything became too overwhelming. He would stammer a confused apology at that, looking down at his hands as though they had wandered to that part of her body all by themselves.

Margaret had promised herself to listen to her body rather than simply wondering if the things she thought of would be too improper or impossible at that moment. After all, the man she loved seemed to be capable of listening to his own wants and needs, and she wished she was able to give into her whims as easily as he could. If he was going to teach her, she might as well put his lessons into practice.

This idea had stayed etched into her mind while he had pinned her down, so she reacted immediately when he stopped kissing her for a moment.

She closed her eyes. When she was certain that her mind was devoid of humiliation, she shifted her legs and urged him to lie down in the space in between them. As a result he came to lie fully on top of her, creating an even more intimate position, albeit slightly less convenient for her. His weight pressed against her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. She pushed her hands against his shoulders to catch his attention. She needed him to know that his position was not convenient for her.

"I do not want you to stop," she said, "but you are too heavy."

He apologized, leaning back on his elbows, making sure he could no longer obstruct her lungs. She could now feel the emphasis of his body in other places. She felt her breath hitch in her throat as a sign of panic; she did not know where to go from there. He remained static, and it seemed he did not know what to do, either.

Margaret smiled up. Mr. Thornton tried to kiss the smile off her lips. He failed the first time, but that did not make him less determined to try again. By his third try her smile had faded, and he started kissing down her neck instead. She did not understand when that part of her anatomy become so sensitive - perhaps the sensation had always been there, hidden away, and it had merely needed the right key to be unlocked.

His hand replaced his mouth, his fingers dipping into the neckline of her nightgown only just slightly, the tips of his fingers brushing against her collar bone.

Margaret yawned and promptly covered her mouth with her hand, knowing this to be a completely inappropriate response to what he was doing.

"You are exhausted," Mr. Thornton said, his voiced laced with indignation because Margaret had given that sort of reaction to the brush of his hand. It had been an expression of fondness and Margaret felt embarrassed because her body had rejected him.

"I am, and I am sorry," she said, "it is not your fault."

"You leave me with an easy choice. Sleep, it is."

He left her with one soft, lingering kiss before moving away. His absence left the front of her body unpleasantly cold.