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Jocelyn woke early. Far earlier than usual. The storm was still raging outside, the wind driving the ice-cold rain hard off the sea and into the house. Jocelyn tightened her arms around Maggie gently. She lay in the darkness, still beside her. And she waited. She was no longer nervous about today. She already knew the answer. This endless longing of being with her. Listening to her breathing, their connection pulling at her chest. Jocelyn kissed her shoulder softly. Tasted her against the night’s pale skin. Trailed her fingers slowly down her side and into her waist. Then firmer, her hand on her hip and pulling her back into her. Maggie stirred.

Jocelyn kissed her neck slowly. Carded her fingers down into the apex of her thighs. Maggie stretched out into her, turned her head to kiss her softly, open-mouthed. Turned in her arms as Jocelyn stroked slowly along her folds. Pressed her body into her. Brushed her tongue into her mouth, gripped her hair, pulling them closer as she kissed her. Pushed up hard into her hand. She was still so wet. Jocelyn sank her fingers deep inside her. The angle was awkward and uncomfortable but she didn’t care. She needed to hold her, love her, fuck her, bite down into her skin. Stroke down hard over her clit as she came in long staggering gasps against her lips. Jocelyn knew as she lay breathless in her arms that she would fall asleep again almost immediately. Soft and lingering as she kissed her, her hands still in her hair. Jocelyn wrapped her body around her gently. She was already asleep. And she held her through the darkness. And she waited.


Jocelyn woke. Maggie had curled her body into her as she slept, her head buried in her neck, her hands warm and soft on her breasts. She breathed in deeply. Waking like this no longer churned her stomach into blind panic. She knew Maggie needed to touch her, to love her. So desperately sometimes she woke like this, as if she had climbed into her skin in her sleep. Jocelyn kissed the top of her head gently, pulled her closer to her, careful not to wake her. Counted each warm, steady, yellow breath on her skin. Maggie smelt like sex. She wanted to touch her, needed to touch her, to be inside her. To come with her in the darkness. There was a kind of eternity, lying in bed with her like this. In the dark. Waiting. So she held her. And she waited.


When Jocelyn woke again, Maggie was watching her.

“Merry Christmas, my darling,” Maggie whispered softly, moving her hands off her breasts and into her hair to kiss her. Jocelyn tightened her arms around her, put her hand on the back of her thigh and pulled her into her. She cupped her face to kiss her deeply, pushed her body hard into hers as she rolled her onto her back. There was an eternity in the darkness, and she had had enough of waiting.

She bit down into Maggie’s neck. Pushed her legs open. Felt Maggie’s body respond to her. Push up into her. Open her legs wider. It was always like this. These intermittent, never-ending moments in the dark. They made love like they had been waiting for fifteen years. Her hands firm and sure over her body, over her breasts, between her legs, together in one skin. Jocelyn pushed her fingers deep into her, curled them as she moved. Thrust with her. Maggie pulled her up to kiss her hard, ran her nails down her back, forced her thigh harder into Jocelyn’s core. Her muscles contracted and expanded around her hand. She was holding herself on the edge, waiting for her, moving them together. Breathing into her. Holding her. Jocelyn covered Maggie’s open mouth with her own, her tongue deep inside her. Thrust hard into her. Moved them together faster. Entwined their hands and pinned them above her head, held her open, fucked her, loved her, her fingers warm and wet inside her, moving them together in the darkness. She was beautiful and she was hers. And she loved her. Always loved her.


Jocelyn put on her pyjamas and padded downstairs in the dark. Maggie was in the kitchen. She stood in the doorway, still for a moment, listening to her move. The lights were on. The white dots in her vision swam as she tried to focus in the sudden brightness.

“Hello, you.”

Jocelyn moved towards her, grateful for the single, coherent sound of her voice. She wrapped her arms around her waist, slipped her hands under her pyjama top and onto the smooth, soft skin of her stomach. She was still warm and musky from their sex.

“What are you doing before we have even had a cigarette, hmm?”

Maggie turned her head to kiss her. “Breakfast.”

She rested her chin on her shoulder, felt Maggie move against her as she worked. Closed her eyes. The light was too bright.

Maggie brushed her lips into her hair. “It’s mince pies, my darling,” she said softly.

“Mince pies for breakfast?”

“Mince pies for breakfast,” said Maggie firmly.

Jocelyn smiled. “Is this a Maggie Radcliffe thing?”

“It is.”

“Ok.” She held onto Maggie’s hips as she stepped back, tugging at her gently. “Come outside with me.”


Jocelyn leant against the cold grey wall, lit her cigarette. Breathed the smoke deep into her lungs. She listened to the rain pound down into the house in icy sheets. Let their lovemaking slowly cohere into her body. She could still taste Maggie on her hands. She pulled her into her when she joined her in the shelter of the alcove, wrapped her thick wool shawl around them both, held her as they smoked. There was eternity, and there was the darkness. And there was Maggie, warm and safe in her arms.

“Marry me.”

She felt Maggie jerk back in her arms, her eyes on her in the darkness. This wasn't how she had planned it – and she had planned it meticulously – but she had been in love with her long enough to know it was now. Held in these eternal, never-ending moments, this endless need to touch her, to wait for her, always in the dark with her. She stubbed out her cigarette, carded her fingers gently through her soft, fine hair.

“You said, when we kissed on the hill, not to wait too long to ask you.”

“I did.”

Maggie leant back into her, cupped her face with both her hands. Jocelyn kissed her gently.

“So marry me.”