A/N: Each time I post a story there is the fear that no one will read it, that the series is far enough in the past that no one will care how many ways I can find to get Edith and Anthony to kiss. So if you are reading this, you have my undying gratitude, for giving me a reason to scribble love stories, and for your lovely feedback in reviews. Your kindness and your brilliant writing are a constant source of inspiration and awe. You're all gems and I'm honored to share the fandom with you.

This fic was originally started for Valentine's Day, but you can see how well that worked out. But I assure you, though my production of completed fics has slowed, I am constantly scribbling away for our OTP (my recent WIPs are numerous). I am still here for this ship in a big way!

When I started this collection I was determined to do a fic based on one of Hall & Oates's hits, as their music just makes me happy (it's so darn catchy!). It's not surprising that this is what I came up with, considering how busy I myself have been with work projects over the past two-three months. They say write what you know…

**Warning: Smut ahead! Rated M for scenes of a sexual nature.**


K – Kiss On My List

Music and Lyrics by: Daryl Hall and Jann Allen

As recorded by: Daryl Hall and John Oates

Your kiss is on my list

Your kiss is on my list

Your kiss is on my list of the best things in life

Your kiss is on my list

Your kiss I can't resist

Because your kiss is what I miss when I turn off the light…

XXXXX

Anthony leaned against the curling footboard in his adopted daughter's bedroom and glowered at the small scrap of paper in his fist. On the other side of the door which connected the bedroom to a dressing and bath room he could hear Marigold babbling and laughing as she played in the bath and the doting voice of the maid attending her. He read again the neat, slightly-sloping phrase:

Make sure Marigold has her bath.

He made a noise low in his throat, part growl, part groan and shoved the paper in his pocket. Then he turned, slumped down on the mattress, and sighed a silent exhalation of anguish, closing his eyes tight as if his lids would stem the dull ache spreading through in his chest and coagulating as a heavy lump in his throat.

He knew Edith was busy. Knew that there were times when her job would require everything from her; her time, energy, creativity, sanity. He knew that her office was rolling out an entirely new publication; that as owner and co-editor she was paramount to its success; knew that this meant a flurry of writes and re-writes, their removal to the London house so Edith could attend meetings upon meetings, and endless proofing. He knew all this.

But it still hurt.

They'd been at dinner—Edith breezing in late, after toiling to finish proofing a cooking layout before she stopped for a quick repast.

"I'm sorry darlings," she addressed her daughter and husband through the fingers that rubbed at her eyes, "I just had to finish up that piece."

He gave a sympathetic smile. "Will you be joining us for a little bit after dinner?"

Her face grew strained. "Sadly, no. I've got two more pieces to mark up tonight, Herb is calling at ten to talk about the feedback on his sheets, and then I've got to write an introduction for a short fiction we're featuring."

He'd tried not to show his disappointment, knowing it'd been a long shot to hope she could spare the time. This preoccupation with work was common recently; except that she usually found at least an hour most nights to come into the library and play devotedly with Marigold before bedtime, then tuck her daughter in before scurrying back to her desk. Anthony's next glimpse of her would be either through slitted lids as she crawled into bed sometime around midnight or in the morning as she rose and dressed hurriedly for another long day.

"...and then there are the reader letters for the housekeeping page," Edith was verbally rattling off her to-do list… "and I have to write a letter to Monsieur Bizet about ads..."

As she continued, Anthony examined her face: wan and weary, with purple u's cupping her eyes; her jaw taut with concentration as the unseeing eyes reviewed tasks and deadlines. This sort of "conversation" had become standard as well in the past fortnight and when changing the subject one occasionally had to repeat oneself twice before Edith could fully process what had been said. She lived with a pencil tucked behind her ear and a small yellow pad at her fingertips. Anything that she needed to retain must go on that pad during these busy times, as she jokingly said "if it's not secured on paper it'll fall right out of my brain." Her desk, the breakfast table, even her nightstand were littered with to-do lists, notes, and reminders.

Her husband was able to withstand these periods of near-insanity because they were usually brief in their duration and one knew, like a minor cold, that they would pass within a week or so. But this particular busy spell was going on three weeks. Three weeks during which time he'd barely spent any time with his wife when she wasn't reading over a paper or playing with their daughter; and-though he was a cad to think it-three weeks in which he'd received little more than a quick kiss or an absent-minded hand squeeze. He sighed internally, reminding himself that her job fulfilled her and that he loved her and that he really was proud of her no matter how much he missed her when the clouds of publication gathered over them.

And then—

"Oh and darling, could you take on Marigold tonight? I've just got to get this work in—" He'd just begun to nod when—"here." She thrust a small yellow paper at him.

She'd given him a to-do list. Anthony kept his face neutral as the bile rose in his throat. That's what her family had become—an item on her to-do lists; a box to check; have dinner with the family, check, make sure Anthony sorts out Marigold's bedtime, check, go back to working on something more important, check. And yet that wasn't entirely true. She still found time to spend with Marigold. It was just her old worn-out husband that had become a chore. She probably wasn't bothered in the slightest that they hadn't had sex in, what was it, seventeen nights?

If Edith had noticed his withdrawn mood for the rest of her abbreviated dinner, she hadn't shown it. He'd silently brooded, letting his resentment stew and sour as she'd chatted fondly with Marigold. And as soon as the last course had been whisked way she'd hopped up and hurried back to her office, placing a perfunctory kiss on his crown as she swept from the room.

Anthony sighed again, swallowing heavily and swiping at the moisture rimming his eyes. He yearned to storm Edith's office, drag her from her work and…god just touch her. Just to hold her would be a sweet pleasure that he'd missed. But that, he reminded himself, was the kind of distraction she didn't need right now, when every minute was of the essence and her deadline loomed. So instead, he'd get Marigold to bed and go to bed himself, alone.

XXXXX

Edith sighed heavily, letting her pencil fall to the desk, stretching her fingers as she slumped back in her chair. She brought that hand to her face slid it over her aching eyes. Lord but she was tired. Her brain felt worn and callused—as if the gears in her head hadn't been oiled in far too long. She was looking forward to the day this issue went to print. Then she could get back to normalcy. Get back to the daughter and husband that she missed.

She frowned at the thought. She wasn't quite sure what had possessed her to make a to-do list for Anthony. And she certainly hadn't missed that his reaction had been…well certainly not thrilled. She felt the guilt spear her chest. She had neglected him terribly these past few weeks. Exhausted tears leaked slowly from the corners of her eyes. How was she supposed to balance it all? The paper and motherhood and also find the energy to be the wife that Anthony deserved? Her mind drifted…the sensation of combing her fingers through the hair at his nape, tracing the line of his neck down to his broad shoulders as he talked… Her heart throbbed with an almost painful longing. She loved Anthony, and she missed him. And the thought of him hurt… Well, she'd just have to find time for him soon. Because no matter what her job asked of her, Anthony and Marigold were more important.

XXXXX

"I know that Laura, but you really don't need me to—" Edith paused as she reached the sidewalk, lifting her arm to hail a cab. As a boxy cream and black motor pulled to the curb where she and her somewhat bemused co-editor stood, Edith completed her thoughts. "You and Herb can take a look at the proofs and sign off on them. I trust your judgement. I have some shopping to do this afternoon and an important engagement tonight."

And, so saying, Edith climbed into the cab, leaving the offices of the Sketch at the unprecedented hour of two o'clock. Shortly, the driver stopped in front of a shop with the same large windows and lavishly decorated placards as most London clothiers. Only the heavy purple curtains draping the windows alluded to the intimate nature of the garments in which the company specialized. A style of "dress" that was far more daring than anything Edith had ever worn before.

She took a steadying breath, feeling the blush climb her cheeks as her pulse quickened. No turning back now, she thought, no matter how foolish this may turn out to be.

XXXXX

Anthony had had a day for his hurt and anger to diffuse by the time the family sat down to dinner that night. A slight indignation still smoldered, but he was nothing if not pragmatic and fussing and fuming over the situation with Edith wouldn't make her any less busy. However, Edith's demeanor, shyly solicitous during the soup course and downright flirtatious by dessert couldn't help but mitigate his lingering anguish. He was blushing and grinning so much that his torte when largely untouched, his heart and his loins responding to the promise in Edith's smiles.

But he should've known better. A deadline was still a deadline, and after dinner, there had been about forty-five minutes of playtime with Marigold before Edith sighed and excused herself to her desk. She'd left Marigold to his care again and promised she "wouldn't be too long." Which, he thought moodily, meant that she might come to bed at eleven-thirty rather than midnight.

Anthony pushed the dressing room door closed behind him, sighing as he looked once again at the empty bed before him. How long would…But what was that? A distinctive, very familiar slip of yellow paper. His brow furrowed, and he approached grumpily, feeling his temper re-ignite. To-do lists on the pillow now? But as he cast his eyes to the paper, he saw that the list contained three simple items:

-Make sure Marigold is in bed.

-Disrobe.

-Come and kiss me.

He was still frowning when he spied a similar paper on Edith's pillow. His eyes wandered over the few short lines.

-Send husband to bed.

-Slip into something stunning.

-Seduce your husband.

XXXXX

Feeling rather like child creeping downstairs on Christmas Eve hoping to catch Father Christmas, Anthony padded down the empty stairs into the cavernous entryway, shuffling through sleepy silence to the library door, which hung welcomingly ajar. His heart thudded loud in his ears as he seized the doorknob, a heady mixture of nervousness and anticipation and even a little chagrin buzzing at his temples.

He blinked once, letting his eyes adjust to the change in light from the dimly lit hallway to the library he now faced. His eyes focused upon the scene and his heart stopped. The door which connected Edith's office nook to the main library hung open, and through it he could see Edith, framed in the doorway like some regal pin-up. She lounged upon her desk, her lithe body sprawled across its leather surface, her long elegant legs draping over the edge. One arm extended behind her for support, which also had the delightful effect of pushing her petite breasts forward and forming a sensual S where her spine met her bottom. Her other hand rested casually on one thigh, wedding ring glimmering in the soft light, a beacon to guide him towards the intimate harbor only inches away.

Had she been wearing the same blouse-waist frock she'd worn at dinner this pose would certainly have made his pulse quicken, but what Edith was wearing was enough to give him apoplexy. Each curve was draped in a filmy silk of deep red, with ingeniously placed patches of velvety lace which cupped her breasts, barely cresting her pink nipples, and splayed over her hips and into the crease between her crossed legs. More patches of lace played around her ankles, and formed a high daring arc across her bottom towards the base of her spine. Golden waves of hair tumbled over her bare shoulders, framing dark, sparkling eyes, lush red lips and cheeks that bloomed in contrast to the ruby gown. Anthony stood, his body locked in place as electric desire raced through him.

Edith exhaled slowly, the coy smile drooping from her lips. On the other side of the library Anthony's face was rigid, suffused with redness that could be arousal…or anger…or shocked disgust… As the moments passed she felt her confidence ebbing away. This was absurd, she was making a fool of herself. There were women who had the looks to pull off this sort of a routine, but she wasn't one of them. What if all this had no effect? What if she'd stayed from his bed so long he'd realized he didn't really want her there? A lump gathered in her throat as her mind fixated on dark, panicked thoughts. Could she survive in a marriage where Anthony didn't—

Anthony moved. She caught the hesitant step out of the corner of her eye, her muscles constricting in anticipation, her heart fairly vibrating in her chest.

"Anthony?" she mouthed, her voice choked to near inaudibility.

As if she'd awakened him from a trance, he began to move, prowling across the library, every muscle (save those in his injured arm) taut with controlled energy. He reached the doorway and halted again. He released a heavy breath, his eyes traveling over her with unconcealed hunger. She shivered beneath his gaze, her anxiety melting in a rising tide of arousal. Her skin flushed with heat, every nerve straining for his touch.

As if bound by the same siren call, he reached his hand forward, drawing his thumb along the edge of her face, his fingers smoothing over her cheek and under her jaw to her neck. He gave a tremulous sigh, and she stretched forward eagerly to receive his mouth as his lips pressed to hers.

She gave a soft moan deep in her throat, her body curling into the teasing pleasure of his mouth, which nipped tenderly, as if savoring a favorite delicacy. She made her own enthusiastic repast, slipping her tongue forward to taste a favorite part of his lower lip, reaching her arms up to hook around his neck and comb her fingers into the soft waves at his nape. He groaned and increased his pressure, his powerful jaw working in reverent demand as his hand slid along a silken path to her back, pressing her to his broad, heated chest. She shivered as she felt the warmth of his body, thrillingly diffused through the thin layer of her gown. He felt, tasted, smelled so good, so right—a rightness that had been missing in her hectic life over the past three weeks. This was what being married was all about, her soul sighed happily, this was Anthony, her Anthony. She began to feel herself drifting, transforming from flesh and bone to fevered sensation, the skin beneath her husband's palm, the lips beneath his searing kisses, the insistent, wet ache at her core…

And then his mouth was gone from hers, and his lips and tongue began to devour her jaw, neck, collarbone.

"God I love you, Edith," he murmured into her hair as he pressed kisses to the base of her skull.

The short breathy growl conveyed all the loneliness of their estrangement, his raw need for both physical and emotional reunion, and an almost desperate, intrinsic adoration.

The intensity of it cut through her lusty haze and pierced her heart. She felt the tears well in her eyes and spill down her cheeks almost in the same moment. And then she was weeping, tears streaming from her eyes as he stopped his kisses and hugged her against him.

"I'm sorry, my love." She stuttered anguished. "I'm so-so sorry I ever made you feel—unimportant… or worthless or….second best… You and Marigold are more dear to me than…" she choked on a sob. "And I'm so sorry about work. It's just gotten so…"

"Hush, love." He huffed out from behind his own sob. "You don't have to apologize for your work. I'm proud of what you do. It's I who should apologize for behaving like a selfish schoolboy. I know how you struggle to keep things balanced sometimes. You don't owe me anything, I—"

"But I do, Anthony!" She pulled her head up to look into his eyes, one watery gaze meeting another. She placed a hand on his cheek, glimmering tears wet beneath her fingers. "I owe you the same love and support that you show to me every day. I owe you sympathy and companionship. And I owe you this."

Edith snaked her hand between them and boldly let her fingers slide over his half erect penis. His eyes widened infinitesimally, but he didn't pull away.

"I owe it to myself, too. I've missed you, Anthony. And I need you just as much as you need me. You are my husband, and for a little while I want to forget about being an editor and just be your wife."

For a moment Anthony looked as though he might say something. Instead he just gave a small shake of his head…and kissed her. His lips were achingly-sweet, warm and soothing and arousing in the chill aftermath of tears. His lips regained their former impassioned rhythm, deep dipping strokes mining pleasured moans from deep within her, spreading dizzying waves of sensation down in repeated currents over her peaked nipples and into the swiftly reawakened damp heat between her quivering thighs. Her hand was still stuck awkwardly between them, so she let her hesitant touch become more bold, closing her hand over his erection where it strained against his pajama bottoms. His body trembled in response, and she felt his chest vibrate with a groaning purr.

His own strong fingers slid upwards to her breast, one thumb coasting over her lace-clad nipple before his mouth took its place, the dancing muscle of his tongue blending with silk and velvet to drown her in glorious pleasure. His hand now free, he groped for the helm of her flimsy gown, flipping it upwards as his fingers climbed her thigh in a languid caress.

"My wife," he sighed as he lifted his head from her bosom to meet her gaze. His bright eyes glittered with passionate admiration. "My beautiful," he murmured, his long fingers playing in the curls at her entrance, "beautiful wife."

He kept his eyes on her face as his thumb found her, exhaling with a combination of smug satisfaction and greed and pride as he watched her wriggle and whimper at his touch. He worked the delicate flesh in skilled circles, Edith careening against the support of her hands as he slipped one, then two long, deft fingers inside her. He gave a twisted lust-darkened grin at the audible sluice as he pushed into her.

"All wet just for me," he murmured, his fingers working in a slow rhythm, "and to think you've been saving up all this-" he punctuated with a flick of his finger that made Edith give a rejoicing yelp "-all this time, sitting at your desk, all alone, all empty…" his voice was just above a whisper now, growling ferally as the wicked words dripped from his usually quiet, proper mouth. He withdrew his fingers, and Edith protested with a low whine.

She felt herself lowering back to earth, her thudding heartbeat becoming loud in her ears as he took a step backwards, shrugging one-armed out of his dressing gown, disdaining to catch it in the agile maneuver he usually employed, so that it dropped to the floor with a dull rustle. Edith leaned forward then, taking her cue to tug at his waistband, guiding the trousers downward until they joined the gown. She took a beat to admire what was by now a familiar but still enthralling sight—her husband's long lean form, not rippling with muscles yet cunningly shaped by his well-regulated exercise routines. It was the luck of being twenty years younger that her own added plumpness as the years passed wouldn't phase him so much when she didn't exercise quite as conscientiously. Of course no amount of exercise could revive his nerves. But far from repulsing her, the injured arm; that peculiar imperfection that was only her husband's, was simply another beloved part of him, like a birth mark or the shape of a bellybutton—it was simply Anthony. And how she loved him.

His hand returned, his face ruddy and grim with need, clear blue eyes intense. He splayed his fingers over her stomach, coaxing her to lie back against the cool surface of her desk.

"Wait" Edith registered a thought, "don't you want to take this off?" She made a clumsy gesture toward her negligee.

He paused a moment, eyeing the apparently seamless garment.

He leaned close to her ear, nipping at her lobe as he whispered, "I don't think I want to take the time to find out how to…"

Edith's breathy laugh was caught by his kiss before he straightened, his clever hand coasting to her ankle and up to her thigh in repeated strokes, until he had secured one slender perfumed ankle against his shoulder, turning and kissing the sensitive curve of her arch. She gasped at the tingling sensation his mouth engendered, but then he was raising her other leg, insinuating himself even further into the valley between them. She could feel the ridge of him against her folds, radiating heat towards her center.

He paused, taking in the sight of her, flattened atop her desk, the shimmering crimson bunched around her waist, her creamy legs draped over his shoulders.

He let out a ragged breath. "My God Edith, you are so very beautiful."

She beamed up at him, lifting her arm in a gesture of affection which he caught with his hand, threading his fingers into hers. He gave it a squeeze before bringing it down to the edge of the desk.

"You're going to want to hold on, I think," he murmured.

One corner of her mouth kicked up, before stretching into a pleasured O as she felt him breach her. In one swift movement he was filling her completely. He shuddered, closing his eyes for a long moment before he opened them, locking his gaze on Edith's as he increased his rhythm, deep rolling strides that drove her to a mindless apex, until she was straining, pushing her torso up to meet his almost excruciatingly wonderful movements. They filled the small room with the cacophony of their unthinking pleasure, Edith wailing and panting with an abandon that would have mortified her had been conscious, Anthony grunting and growling like some kind of laboring beast. But they both went silent at the moment of climax—Edith releasing a noiseless scream as the pleasure sent her tumbling through white light, Anthony watching her as his own bliss wracked his body and he exploded inside her.

Edith lay with Anthony slumped ungracefully over her chest, her heartrate calming as she took long slow breaths. She closed her eyes, dazed by the pleasure and the recklessness of what had just happened. She could hardly believe they'd been so debauched, so brazen. She remembered the look on Anthony's face, how he'd talked about her body with such a greedy, animalistic reverence. She felt a responding thrill tickle her spine. She and Anthony had discovered something new in one another tonight; brought on by the emotional strain and stress of the past weeks, which left no self-control left to repress their more primal instincts. But though her upbringing told her that what they'd done was lewd, shocking; she couldn't feel ashamed. She felt magnificent.

Anthony lifted his head, sparkling eyes showering her with adoration.

"You are quite possibly the most amazing woman on this earth," he murmured, as he bent to nip a tender kiss against her mouth.

"And you," Edith grinned and kissed him in turn, "are one of the best flatterers."

Several minutes later they lay curled together on the sofa in the adjoining library, the salacious gown draped over a nearby chair so that they met skin to skin. Anthony's fingers smoothed lazily over Edith's shoulders, arms, breasts, as if he were trying to memorize her shape in its minutest detail. Occasionally his lips joined the survey, glancing over her neck and shoulders with little murmurs of praise. Edith lay serenely still, listening to their bodies sighing together; as his touch slowly stirred the still glowing embers of desire into an awakening flame.

She began to squirm unconsciously, instinctively pressing her bottom even closer to his pelvis.

"Oh my darling," he sighed huskily in response, nuzzling a kiss into her neck, "It's not that I don't want you…God knows I…" he gave a small growl. "How I wish my body could keep up with all the things I want to do to you…"

He felt the familiar mix of shame and guilt coiling into a knot in his chest.

However, Edith turned over her shoulder and gave him an impish and not at all disappointed smile.

"What kinds of things?" she cooed.

He gave an equally sinful grin and bent his mouth to her ear.

Edith sighed deeply as her lids fluttered closed. Warm breaths skittered over her ear and shoulder, interpolated with light kisses, his reverent fingers continued to work over her now budded skin, and that elegant honey-gravel voice was detailing deliciously obscene ways that her body might be pleasurably exalted.

"Oh," she breathed when his sensual catalogue halted. "I think those are all excellent suggestio-" she gasped as his fingers reached the crease of her inner thigh.

"Well," he purred into her ear, "why don't you add them to my to do list, hm?"

Edith's grin was displaced by a devouring kiss.

XXX

Your kiss is on my list

Your kiss I can't resist

Because your kiss is on my list of the best things in life…

XXX