Note: So here I am once again, with nothing but some really fluffy fluff to offer y'all. This ficlet has nothing to do with the holidays, but - happy holidays anyway! :)

In 1962, the Darwin family donated The Orchard to what was then New Hall (and is now Murray Edwards College) at the University of Cambridge.

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"Dummkopf," Deryn says, grinning at him over the book. "It's mostly Latin. You already speak that, aye?"

Alek's brows draw together, and he somehow sits straighter. "It may surprise you," he says, tart and imperial, "but my Latin tutor focused more on law and less on anatomy."

She snorts. " 'Course he did. Well, you're a zookeeper now, love. The beasties haven't much need for a solicitor."

He maintains the scowl for another moment, then gives a short laugh and lets himself slump back into his chair. They're in the library of The Orchard, Dr. Barlow's grand, rambling family home in Cambridge, with orders to study up on anything having to do with their new jobs.

First things first: Alek knows sod all about biology.

So Deryn's pulled a massive, splendidly illustrated edition of Anatomy of the Human Body by Henry Gray from the shelves, reckoning that they should begin with the species they're most familiar with.

"I would much rather read about British military history," Alek says, rueful.

"Aye, or aeronautics," she agrees. Gray's book is full of dense, close-typed boffin-speak, one jumble of Latin on top of the next. She flips a few pages and tilts her head, considering. "It's not so awful if you only look at the pictures."

He leans forward to see the book, close enough that she can smell the warm scent of his skin. "I suppose not."

She eyes the line of his jaw for a moment, then turns a page and has her attention drawn away. "Blisters! Look at that."

It's an illustration of the bones of the hand, from wrist to fingertips. She'd known there were plenty of wee bones in her hands - Dr. Busk had always been keen to highlight the anatomical similarities between bats, whales, and humans - but it's more than a bit amazing to see it all laid out in detail.

When she says as much, though, Alek grimaces. "It's ghastly."

"Don't be such a ninny," Deryn says. She grabs his hand from where it's resting on his lap, him being far too mannerly to have it on the table. "You've the same bones in here."

"That doesn't mean I care to look at skeletons," he says, tart again, twitching his fingers but making no effort to pull free.

"Clanker." She turns his hand this way and that, sweeping her thumb across the slight hollow of his palm. Metacarpus bones, according to the book.

He inhales, soft and quick.

She lifts an eyebrow, glancing at him; his ears have gone pink at the tips. "Oh, aye?" she says, unable to keep the grin from spreading across her face.

"We're in the Barlows' library," he reminds her.

"Mm," she says. She peers at the illustration again. Phalanges - those are the fingers proper, it seems. She spreads his, and runs one of hers up and down the sides. Tracing a handprint in mid-air. "We're studying, then."

"Deryn," he says, more amused than exasperated. "What exactly are we studying?"

She gives him a wink, then brings his hand closer to press her mouth against the heel of his palm. "Carpus," she says, breath skating over his wrist.

His other hand settles on her upper arm, gripping it tightly.

She kisses the back of his hand, making certain to drag the tip of her tongue across his knuckles. His skin is warm and faintly salt, and rougher over the knobby bones. "Metacarpus."

"Deryn," he says again. Unsteady. He lets go of her arm and strokes the short hair around her ear, curving to rest at the corner of her jaw.

She takes the tips of his fingers in her mouth, one at a time, and nips at each, just enough to make him draw a sharp breath and close his eyes. "Phalanges," she says, and then leans forward to kiss him on the lips.

Instead of pulling away and blethering on about being in the library, as she expects him to do, he grips the back of her skull and deepens the kiss, nudging her mouth open, forcing her to turn until their knees bump each other.

Barking spiders.

She wonders if the book has a diagram of the tongue. Might be worth finding.

She lets the kiss run its course for a decent (or indecent, rather) interval. Finally she slips sideways, kissing along that tempting jawline, finishing by biting softly at his earlobe.

He laughs, breathless.

She sits back, a bit breathless herself. Their hands are still tangled together, and she gives his fingers a squeeze. "Have all that?" she asks, grinning.

"I'm not certain," he says with a straight face. "It seems very complicated. Perhaps you, as my tutor, would allow me to practice?"

"Well," she says, pretending to mull it over. "We are studying."

A smile gleams in his dark green eyes before he takes up her hand and kisses her palm.

It tickles. She's not expecting that, so she doesn't quite swallow the laughter.

"Hold still," he says, stern - except for that gleam in his eyes.

"Sorry, love. Try again."

He does, but it's no use: she's gasping with laughter before he gets anywhere near the phalanges. But when she tries to pull her hand free, he keeps a ruthless grip and continues. It's pure dead torture.

"Blisters, stop!" she finally says, still laughing, still gasping. There are sodding tears in her eyes.

Alek leaves off with her hand and kisses her on the mouth instead, which is much more to her liking. It doesn't go on as long as the first, but at least she's not ticklish there.

"Not a very soldierly reaction, Liebe," he says, feigning disappointment.

Deryn grins at him, wide and happy, the warmth in her chest suddenly so sharp it might pierce her if she doesn't. "Aye, but I'm a zookeeper now, remember?"

The gleam in his lovely dark eyes softens into something very much like her own expression, full of simple happiness. His fingers find hers again and hold tightly. "In that case, shall we continue our studies?"

He flips forward in the book, settling on an illustration.

Muscles of the neck. Lateral view.