When I was writing 'Acing It', I decided not to bother deciding which one was ace. My original plan was to write two versions, identical except for identifying which partner was asexual and which one had a sex drive during the last scene. Then I decided that would probably run afoul of the 'no duplicate stories' rule on FFnet, (which is where I post all my work initially despite the site's many problems, because it's the site I started out on); and then I decided that identifying which partner was sexual and which one wasn't ran counter to the story's point about it being no one else's business, so it actually served the narrative better to keep it ambiguous.

That said, I wanted to write a story for each version where the sexual partner finds out they're in love with an asexual and the two of them have to work out what that means for their relationship. 'Acing It' can be read as a sequel to either of these stories.

Fair warning: this story may feel less asexual-positive in tone than 'Acing It' was, since although Marianne accepts that Bog is ace, there is an adjustment period during which she is not initially happy to learn that their relationship will never involve sex.

Marianne noticed that Bog's hands rarely … wandered, when they kissed. His hands were entwined with hers, or splayed across her back to hold her close to him, or stroking her hair.

All these touches were incredibly pleasant, but Marianne felt like their relationship had reached a point where she would like to become more physically intimate.

Maybe not sex, yet – fairies and goblins had different anatomies, and Bog and Marianne probably ought to carefully discuss the mechanics of how each of their species usually had sex before attempting to 'combine methods' – but if Bog were to, say, reach up her shirt to touch the skin of her lower back instead of resting his hands on top of her top, Marianne would enjoy that.

Bog didn't seem inclined to make that first move, though.

This wasn't of immediate concern. Bog could be shy when it came to their relationship. Marianne's comfort and consent was very important to him in every step they took together. It was sweet. (Not to mention a refreshing change from her last relationship, which had been almost entirely on Roland's terms.)

It just meant that Bog sometimes needed a little … encouragement. Marianne was willing and able to take initiative to push things forward.

She seized her moment on one of Bog's visits to her Kingdom. He'd come into her study and she immediately kissed him, pushing him back against the door.

"Do ye always greet foreign dignitaries this way, Your Highness?" he teased her when she let him breathe.

"Only my favourites, Your Majesty," she teased back.

Marianne nibbled at Bog's lower lip and he bent to kiss her again.

"All this hunching over can't be good for your spine," she said. She trailed a finger up it. Bog shivered, as he always did when she stroked his back. "Here. Let me fix that."

Marianne hooked on leg boldly over Bog's hip. The spur at the top of his thigh pinched a little but cradled her leg reasonably well. He gasped.

"If you hold me up, you won't have to slouch."

She hopped up, flapping her wings just once for extra lift, and hooked her other leg around his other hip. Their pelvises rubbed against one another as she settled onto him.

Bog cupped Marianne's thighs reflexively, so she wouldn't fall, just as she'd been sure he would. She kissed him again.

Marianne had hoped Bog would turn them around so that her back was pinned to the wall, and grind into her while their mouths and tongues danced. He did not. Bog stood against the closed door, Marianne suspended in the air, kissing her deeply, but not holding her quite as intimately as she'd hoped.

"I love you so much," Bog murmured to her.

"I love you, too," she murmured back. Her whole body ached and tingled with how much she loved and wanted him. Marianne stroked Bog's back again and he jerked in her arms, pressing himself to the door and trapping her hand between his carapace and the wood.

"You'll be the death of me someday," he said. He let go of one of her legs, stroking her spine in return. Marianne plastered herself against his plastron. She made a keening sound.

"Oh, Bog …"

He did not grope her buttocks as she'd thought he might when he adjusted his grip on her. Marianne rocked her hips, trying to rub their pelvises together again, and Bog made a discontented noise.

"Could you – not? I feel like I'm about to drop you."

"You could put me on my desk," she offered. One of Marianne's favourite fantasies involved one of them viciously swiping the paperwork aside, in her office or his, and then her laying back on the desk and Bog climbing on top of her.

He didn't take her up on that offer, but they did continue to kiss in her study for the rest of the afternoon.

That day was not Marianne's only attempt to get more intimate with Bog, but every offer she made was gently rebuffed. She was starting to wonder if Bog was not actually picking up on the hints that she was interested in doing more than they were.

So she had decided to take a more direct approach on her next visit to the Forest.

"Hey, Bog?" Marianne was nestled into his side on a pile of cushions, watching the fire.

"Yeah?" He kissed the top of her head.

"I've been thinking, and we should probably talk about sex."

Bog went very still.

"I … suppose that's a conversation we should have," he agreed. "Though – you really don't have to worry about it."

"I know, you've been very careful about not pushing my boundaries, but that's … part of what we need to discuss, because you also haven't seemed to notice when I try to seduce you."

"Ye what?" Bog didn't exactly pull away from her, only far enough so they could make eye contact, but he moved very sharply. "I'd noticed you – a few times, but – what?"

"Well, that's an exaggeration. I just … it was more that I was trying to get you to touch me more. You know. Show that I was interested in having sex even if we're not ready to have it yet."

"But …" Bog looked down and fiddled with one of the cushions. His head shook slowly. "Marianne, I … I'm … not."

"Not what?" Marianne's eyes started to narrow.

"It wasn't just about – about respecting boundaries, although I do; I would – I'd never want you to be uncomfortable, Marianne. But I – and this isn't you, it's me, it's always been like this for me … I'm … not interested in having sex. It's not because of you; you're beautiful and fun and passionate and I love you more than I knew I could love anyone; I just … don't want sex."

"You've seriously never been aroused? Even a little? By anything we've done?"

All those kisses and touches and passionate whispers they'd shared, and they hadn't meant anything to him?

"I liked it!" Bog insisted. He was looking at her now, blue eyes huge and pleading. "Holding you and kissing you is wonderful! But I – I don't want anything more than that. Physically. I mean, I like touching you and if there's a way you'd like me to touch you then I'd enjoy knowing you were enjoying it, I think – it's only that it's sensual, not sexual, for me –"

"Stop."

Bog shut up. Marianne stood up.

"I love you too, and I don't want you to ever doubt that," she began. "But … finding out about this … changes things. It doesn't change that I love you. But I've had sex before, and I liked it, and I … wanted to share that with you. And … I need a minute, maybe longer, to deal with the idea that we're not going to."

"I understand," said Bog quietly. He was fidgeting with the cushion again. He'd catch it on his claws and tear the stuffing out if he wasn't careful.

"So … I'm going to pace in the hall for a bit. I won't leave without telling you." She knew the Dark Forest better than she once had, but it was still dangerous without a guide.

Marianne's first reaction had been rage at being rejected, followed swiftly by hurt. Would she ever have a serious relationship that didn't come with some awful surprise about her beloved's nature?

First Roland, who only cared for her status and a little for her body but only thought of her heart as a way to control her – and now Bog, who loved her dearly but felt no physical desire for her.

It might make sense, since she and Bog were different species; a goblin not lusting for a fairy didn't sound particularly shocking as an abstract idea. But he'd always been so affectionate and tender and she'd thought there had been passion between them!

Of course Bog didn't have to have sex with her if he didn't want to, that was the first rule of sex, but Marianne had been so sure he would want to that learning otherwise had her confused and reeling.

What the heck was the spine thing about if it wasn't arousal?

… Oh, no, if Bog didn't feel sexual desire, had she been making him uncomfortable? Marianne had been trying to be more forward recently, to show him that she wanted him – had Bog been feeling harassed or pressured?

Probably, since she had been pressuring him …

Marianne was about to rush back in and apologize but she stopped herself. She would need to do that, yes, but she needed to say a few more things, too, and she ought to work them out first.

Did she want to stay with Bog?

Yes. Of course.

Was she okay with the probability that he would never have sex with her?

Politically, they could dodge questions about producing an heir by letting everyone assume that they weren't cross-fertile. As far as Marianne knew, she and Bog were the only fairy-goblin couple together, at least for now, so it would take a few generations for anyone to disprove them if cross-fertility was a thing.

Physically, Marianne masturbated and knew how to give herself an orgasm. She'd hoped to learn what it would feel like to get one from Bog, to learn what he would look and sound like when she gave one to him, but she could live without that and wouldn't be in perpetual sexual frustration.

Emotionally … she still felt the bruise of rejection, but it would hurt even more if she were to lose Bog entirely.

Bog's gut was writhing. If Marianne decided she couldn't take it, decided to leave him …

He wished he wanted her the way she wanted him. Knowing she found him desirable was a thrill as much as it was a problem. He wasn't too hideous for anyone to desire, after all … but Marianne's desire for him could cost them their relationship.

His low opinion of his appearance and his revulsion at the idea of sex had originally been separate matters, but had gotten tangled up together over time to the point where, in certain moments, Bog had viewed his own hideousness with relief, thinking that at least he wouldn't have to deal with sex after all.

But now Bog had Marianne, and along with reassurance that he wasn't the unlovable monster he'd once believed himself to be, she was offering physical intimacy – which Bog still didn't want.

But … what if it was the only way to make Marianne happy; the only way to keep her with him?

Maybe … maybe, if she came back and told him sex was something she really wanted, Bog could try?

Bog enjoyed kissing and snuggling with Marianne. He enjoyed the feel of her skin and the warmth of her body and the soft tickle of her hair and how they fit when they held each other. He wouldn't mind, might even enjoy, touches slightly more intimate than they had shared already …

But the idea of anything involving genitalia, hers or his, made him recoil.

But he loved Marianne and wanted to stay with her forever …

"I can live without sex." Marianne winced at her own phrasing. It sounded like she was saying that she was settling for Bog, not actively choosing him. "I don't want to live without you. And, I'm sorry for pushing you to do more sexually than you wanted to."

Bog looked shy and eager and so very handsome when he smiled.

"So, keeping our relationship how it was, physically? That's alright?"

"I don't know yet," she admitted, because she owed it to Bog and to herself to be fair and honest about this, "but I want it to be."

"So …" Bog put down the poor, mangled cushion. "It would be alright if I kissed you now?"

"I want to if you want to."

Marianne sat down beside him, draping her wings behind her and tucking herself under his arm, where she had been before their talk earlier.

Their eyes locked. Their expressions were tender, but grave.

"You'll tell me if you get uncomfortable?"

"If you'll tell me if you get – uncomfortable."

"Deal."

The kiss was shy, at first, but grew as intense as every other kiss they'd ever shared.