Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.

I only claim the storyline and OCs.

"Hehehe-"

"Ssshh, sh, sh!"

"Hurrryyyy!"

"I'm getting there, hold it- NNnnaa-not me!"

"Hmhmmmm, oh yes you."

Bog hissed lightly as Marianne's hand dipped even further down into his jeans, nimble fingers brushing over sensitive skin housed tightly within his boxers. "Good fuck!" he whispered, fumbling desperately with his house keys. Since when had he had so many damn keys on this keyring?

"Mmm, good fuck is just right," Marianne all but purred, her other hand gliding up his stomach under his shirt.

They may have had a little too much fun at the party. Between the spiced rum mixed drink Marianne had been sporting, along with his sudden fondness of vodka and the combined number of shots consumed just between the two of them, they were more than a little hyped. And, of course, on the way home in the back of Sunny's slug bug, it was clear what they were more than a little hyped for.

"Got it!" Bog proclaimed with a lopsided grin, shoving the key true and twisting as if his life depended on it. A rewarding squeeze to his nether regions only spurred him on and he was in the door in a flash. Marianne let out a giggly "Eep!" but just as quickly let out a muffled moan as Bog's lips crashed into hers, his body pinning hers to the door. They paid no mind to the racket of the keys falling to the tile floor or the groaning of the older door's hinges as he leaned down only enough to grab her legs and hoist her up. Marianne obliged, arms flung around his neck, one hand tangled in his jet-black hair, the other clawing at his back as her lips danced against his. She squeezed her legs tight around his middle, grinding her hips against him in tandem with the motion of her lips. Bog groaned into her mouth, his tongue warring with hers for superiority as he pushed against her. Despite how lovely her motions were, she was just too small.

The heat of her hips was nowhere near his. And he oh-so-needed the contact.

He tore his lips away, gasping for breath as he hung his head back, only to moan as she started peppering kisses down his throat. He bit his lip, the feather light whisps of her caramel-brown hair tickling his chin as her teeth caught his skin with the perfect amount of pressure. "Oh, love… Oh, I need-"

"Flat surface," she finished for him. She arched her back, pushing her body to him as she forced them away from the door. "Flat. Now!"

"Oh yes," he ground out. He wasted no time, balancing her weight easily as he pulled away from the door only to turn and head into the living room. Somehow, though, in his drunk and horny mind, the idea of plopping her on the couch seemed bad. Perhaps it was the distance from his abnormally tall torso to the sunken cushions of the well-worn seating arrangement, or perhaps it was the fact that it was so narrow, and the back of his mind was concerned they would fall off. Regardless of the real reason, he passed the couch with long, confident strides only to set her with purpose on the surface of the dining room table.

She made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a mewl and only squeezed her legs tighter. However, her hips were now much closer to his and he felt his knees tremble as she pressed against his length – still confined by annoying boxers and tight jeans. He ran his hands down her hips, trailing his fingers down her thighs, her own very tight jeans only serving to annoy him further. He let out a guttural growl as she bit at his neck again, harder this time, her hands dragging from behind his shoulders to pull his aged leather jacket apart. He let out a whining groan.

FUCKING CLOTHES!

He let go, angrily pulling at the offending leather, hurriedly shoving it off his shoulders as Marianne continued to hold him fast with her legs. However, she was clearly in the same mood and smirked. Those golden-brown eyes gleamed in the near dark, glinting dangerously from the streetlamp light shimmering between the curtains of the living room. She leaned back, hooking her fingers under the bottom of her slim fitting hoody. She pulled it over her head, off her arms and tossed it aside with the grace of a dancer and just as quickly attacked her shirt, yanking that up with far less care. His own fingers were at his shirt, pulling as if it were the obstacle between him and his golden-eyed prize. And it very well was – among other articles. Just as he got the shirt flung from his arms, he felt one of the most exhilarating sensations he had so come to love over these last few months.

Tiny but strong fingers moving against his skin as Marianne unbuckled his belt.

Bog bit his lip as he tangled his long, nimble fingers into her wily hair. "Fuck, Marianne-"

"Fuck, yes," she hissed, looking up to him with a smoldering grin that nearly buckled his knees right then and there. She whipped his belt from out of his pants like a lion tamer with a whip and let it go with wild abandon, neither of them so much as flinching as it bashed against the far wall and clattered to the floor.

He could not contain himself any longer and claimed her lips again. Her teeth caught his lip and his tongue delved into her mouth as her fingers made quick work of each button in his jeans and his glided down her shoulders and around her back to expertly unclip her bra; the fact he no longer needed assistance being one of the accomplishments he was outrageously proud of.

Then, he gasped.

The cooler air hitting his overheated skin was only a minute shock compared to those strong fingers of hers wrapping around his length as if having found lost gold. He threw his head back, a loud groan rocketing from his mouth as she squeezed and pushed down, only to pull up and hook a thumb over his tip, circling the velvety skin while pressing down hard. In the next second, her back was slamming the table, a high-pitched giggle escaping her despite the force of the impact.

"Oh, ye found a prize, did ye, tough girl?" Bog growled.

Marianne let out a far silkier giggle, sounding halfway like a moan as she arched up to him. "The best prize," she breathed in a husky tone, her near golden eyes molten as she took him in.

Then, she gasped.

Bog was not going to go down without a fight, pulling her body up to him as he arched into her, nosing her bra up to claim one of her tensed, rosy nipples with his mouth. She mewled under him, her fingers gripping his hair tight as he circled with his tongue, suckling, letting go momentarily to tease with his teeth before repeating the motions. She gasped and arched into him as he brought one hand up cupping her other breast before rolling his thumb over the nipple, intent on making sure both received proper cherishing.

That was when her hips bucked up against him.

A muffled yelp escaped his mouth against her skin as the rough material of her jeans caught his member. As hard as he was, damnear any contact would work, but his mind chose that moment to remind him what was much more preferable.

And fucking clothes were still in the way.

As if reading his mind, Marianne suddenly yanked on his hair. His head came up from her with an audible "pop" echoing into the room as she glared into his eyes. "Pants – off – now!"

He nodded sharply. "Yes."

With that, he rose up off the table, hands quickly finding the button of her jeans as she fought with the bra like it was an octopus clinging on for dear life. He grinned as she let out an animalistic growl then triumphant "AHA!", flinging the offending article into the void that was anywhere but the table. By then, he already had her high-waisters undone and shimmying down her hips. She, assisted him by rolling against the table and wiggling under his fingers, unhooking her legs as he finally started to pull her jeans, panties and all, down her thighs. She lifted her knees to her chest, and he yanked over the mounds of her kneecaps, inching the material down with the speed and grace of a roadrunner…

Only to hit the tops of her mid-calf, lace-up Doc Martins.

"FUCK!" they both barked.

He groaned, a sound born of a mix of frustration with restrictive clothing articles, cool air stinging his hot skin, and just plain pain in his southern regions. Marianne echoed the noise as she reached up, fingering at her boots as he moved her jeans just enough to eye the tight lacing and equally tight double-knot she was known for utilizing.

"You know what- fuck it!"

His eyes were torn from the issue at hand to the molten glare of sheer lust that threatened to burn him to a crisp right then and there.

"Fuck me right now!" Marianne commanded.

Bog grinned. "Yer wish is my command, my Lady," came his velvety growl.

Inspiration took hold and he moved almost instinctively, gripping her legs to pull her just far enough down the table to roll her around to her stomach. He heard and felt her giggle as she planted her feet, as best she could with her jeans restraining her legs, and arched her back. A quick glance at her rear had his mouth watering, but he refused to be sidetracked. He leaned down, quickly getting on an elbow above her as he used one hand to reach down her leg and drag his had up, weaving his fingers along the back of her leg into her inner thigh. Marianne's shuddering sigh as she hung her head made his body tingle, his member throbbing in response. He bit his lip as he tried to contain himself, his fingertips finding the hot, wet folds between her legs. She mewled as he stroked inward, her body very ready for his touch. Her voice hitched as he circled her bud. He had to hold his breath, his head falling, forehead resting between her shoulders.

"Bog… haaiiII swear…"

She was panting, her body shivering. He was fairing no better. "Oh yes," he breathed. He removed his touch from her to grip himself, leaning closer to move his length up and along her centre, coating himself in her moisture while also pushing against that tiny peak of nerves. She whimpered as he forcefully worked to keep his hips still, his legs tremoring. She wiggled against him and rose her hips at just the right angle as he guided himself up. Instinct took over when the heat of her entrance engulfed his tip and he thrust forward.

She gasped and moaned in time with his yelp and groan as he flushed his body to hers. He was still a moment, head hung and face buried into the crook of her neck and shoulder as he relished her tight warmth around him. For a brief moment, he breathed in her scent, lips catching her skin and the very clear and conscious thought of "I don't think I'll ever get used to this" wafted through his mind.

Then, Marianne rocked her hips.

A grin spread across his face and he rocked with her.

As feisty and wound up as they ever got, these first few moments of pure connection were always slow and careful. As if they momentarily forgot what they had been through, and what they had already done with one another. As if it was a new experience once again between them and they were, yet again, testing the waters.

He moved slow, pulling out carefully before gently pushing back in. She angled her hips up and down with his motions, breathing in time with the pace. The barest of whimpers escaped her, matching the hiss of air that escaped through his teeth clamped tightly against his bottom lip.

"Bog," came her whispered voice. She dropped her head just so, angling her face and looking at him out of the corner of her eye. That heavily lidded gaze, her slightly pouted lips and flushed face ignited his insides as she said the one word he had come to expect from her.

"Harder."

He bared his teeth in a wolfish grin as he leaned up, sliding his supporting arm under her to wrap around her chest, holding her shoulder as he cradled her up to him. "Yes, my queen," he all but growled. He did as told, speeding up his pacing as he pushed into her with more gumption. He slid his hand from her hip down between her legs, his fingers catching that taught bud nestled in her folds. Her mewling cry only spurred him on, her body moving in tandem with his as he buried his face in her hair.

He felt the tension starting to build as the pleasure rippled with more intensity through his hips into his abdomen, winding up his spine and tingling through his skin as he fought to keep up a rhythm. Marianne was losing her battle faster than he, her breathing ragged, her body slick with sweat under him. Though he felt his own dripping down his face into her hair, trailing down his back, mixing with hers where their skin met. He felt his pulse pounding in his ears, reverberating through his body as the tightness started to take over. He growled, holding her closer as she whimpered and gasped, her head flung up against him. He started counting backwards from one hundred, determination warring with the pleasure flooding his mind. Ninety-eight, ninety-seven, his motions were becoming less controlled, ninety-six, ninety-five, goodness her noises were killing him, ninety-four, ninety-three, good grief, she smelled so damn good, ninety-two, ninety-one –

"Oh, Bog!"

Marianne went rigid against him and he lost the rest of his capacity for thought, biting down on her shoulder as his hips moved on their own, pounding into her with wild abandon. She cried out, her release washing over her like a tidal wave, crashing into him through their connection as her muscles squeezed around him just right. He cried out with her, his own release hitting him, molten heat ricocheting through his body as his essence poured from him repeatedly.

His hips moved instinctively a few more times before he finally stalled, the both of them falling to the table in a panting, sweating mess as they waited out the white noise that was their climax.

The seconds turned to minutes as they stayed that way, strangely comfortable against the solid wood surface of the table. Marianne was the first to move, tilting her head to brush her nose against his cheek where he had his forehead planted to the table next to her. "Hey," she said, smile in her voice.

He smiled I return, opening his eyes to look at her with a bleary gaze. "Hey."

*click*

Warm, bright light flooded the room and quite suddenly both Bog and Marianne remembered that Bog, at twenty-five years old, still lived at home. Bog's protective instincts took over as he jolted form his position to roll his body over Marianne's, putting as much of his own bared skin between her and the identical blue eyes he looked up to see staring at him from the hallway.

His father, nearly as tall as he with the longest hair he had ever seen on a man, as black as night – hence his own hair color – long sleeping pants and a loose tank-top covering his lean form, was standing in the relative safety of the hallway with an utterly blank expression adorning his face.

Bog simply stared. His breath was held like a child about to be scolded, and he felt the same from Marianne, feeling her own tense concern radiating from underneath him as she, too, regarded the stoic gaze that pinned them both to the table.

Then, a girlish giggle rippled from the dark of the hallway.

His dad rolled his eyes and flicked the light switch again, darkness swallowing the room once more. They heard as much as saw him turn in the lowlight now safely shrouding them.

"This room had better smell like bleach in the morning," came the deep voice of a man trying very hard not to giggle as girlishly as his wife.

"Oh, you know they'll take care of it, love."

"Izzy, my eyes hurt."

"You want me to kiss you to make them better?"

"IZZY!"

"PFFT!"

Bog could not help a grin as he let his head thump back to the table. Another girlish giggle sounded in the room and he giggled with her. "I love you, Marianne," he whispered.

"I love you too, Bog," she whispered back, kissing his cheek.

Thank you for the read. Have a good day or night and a wonderful time~*