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He emerged through the portal upon a rather light step, as was accustomed to Marius Mistmark. It was how he was known publically; a dashing and charming flirt who could draw out a smile with a smirk or simple glance, whose mood always slanted toward jovial and never seemed to harbor any ill will. His class was the one every novitiate heard about, everyone wanted to attend, and everyone wanted to repeat once it was over.

He was fun.

While all of the other faculty had a choke hold upon stern education, it was Marius Mistmark who was the drastic comparison; capricious and energetic. He was the one teacher that students could come to when having trouble with spells, classmates, teachers, or just life in general. He was a friend, with no limits and no assumptions, even if the insinuation of more lurid events hovered around this friendship.

This reputation nearly came to an end with the events that transpired between he and Fleur Rousseau. Their affair had been 'secret' in the sense that it loomed near the edge of shadow, with acknowledgment - though only of the vaguest sort. It was torrid and passionate, and when it ended the ramifications rippled outward as though a stone had been cast in calm water. Everyone knew something, whether fact and fictitious, everyone knew.

He was unturned by this. Even when Fleur left he showed no outward sign of distress beyond the appropriate sympathy and condolence for her strife. Even though he was the one who ended it, who crushed her heart beneath the boot of his cruel intention, there were some students who were convinced that he had been the victim and blamed Fleur for the entire ordeal.

But that was his way; persuasive without the use of enchantment magic. It was just a gift.

Their home, he and Uslyssa's, sprawled out before him and there upon the couch is where he found her. She was as beautiful as the day he first saw her, sensual and severe in her composure. Even when she relaxed she still held an edge about her, as though at any time the wasps swarming along the silhouette of her soul would lash out and sting whoever summoned her wrath. Still though, he did not fear her. She was his partner in so many ways, and while they were miles apart when it came to some things, in most regards they were identical; mirror images. Two parts of the same whole.

"My love."

It's how he greeted her. It's how he always greeted her. He moved to the rack and slid his cloak from his stalwart shoulders, a simple toss hanging it thereupon. A debonair drift of his shadowy eyes along with a rakish smile promising his beloved wife the carnal pleasure that lingered. Graceful steps, a feline prowl, started him off toward the bedroom, though his gaze was held firmly upon her, drinking in her eyes, calling, begging for her to follow without saying a word.

He knew how to tempt her, how to coax her to follow, as she in turn knew how to do the same to him.

Cadence Smyth had caught his fancy, her youthful and lush body demanding as much attention as her voice. Moir Revenant, the Egyptian Diplomat was another; exotic and beautiful with a looming menace, as though a cobra swaying in hypnotic allure. And then Quillyan Daewen, the willowy delicacy whose naivety was as tempting as her supple limbs. They were his focus for the day as they had all garnered his attention throughout the hours, and now that he was home, able to indulge this simmering arousal, he fully intended to incorporate the talents of his beloved.

With every step a tie was undone or a button unfastened and as he arrived at the doorway to their bedroom his shirt poured from his masculine arms to pool carelessly upon the floor. He turned to face her, showing her the sculpted vision of his naked chest, rippling stomach, bulging shoulders and sinewy arms, and while the sight was arousing in ways that struck the soul, it wasn't until he smiled that the real enticement was seen. There was just something in the way his mouth moved. It was as though when he smiled it was a unique expression intended strictly for the recipient and no one else.

"We should talk." The words were nearly purred. He paused for a moment so that the tension could thicken, and then with a fluid stride he moved backwards, disappearing inside the boudoir.

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His eyes were potent wells of dark brown. The rich hue that of indulgent chocolate, not disturbingly black or even otherworldly amber. No, quite simply warm, rich melting chocolate.

They lingered on the bent heads of his female students as they obediently did as he bade. They swept over the extended lengths of nubile bodies as they stretched for the components he kept on the top shelves. They bore with possessive decadence upon the rounded swell of a shapely ass as the same students bent beneath the counters to find the containers hidden in lower cabinets.

There was something about the way they focused on a young woman while she spoke that hinted at his desire but always revealed his constraint. He was never bold. Only charming and obviously interested.

Many a novice was convinced that he looked at her with just a hint of longing and later would sigh into her pillow as she pictured herself the object of his desire, his honor keeping him tied to his sternly cold wife.

Even with the rumors of his possible trespasses, few really believed he, the charismatic and charming professor who always made time for his students, would ever have acted upon his secret desires.

Always willing to listen. Always willing to lend a hand. Always willing to offer a comforting shoulder. Always....always watching with those warm and inviting eyes.

How could he miss the vivid splash of color in the midst of his students? It had been appeasing to recognize within the tide of upperclassman the shining beacon of the novitiate's interest. Did she have any idea how her presence inundated the impressions of those around her?

He was familiar with this level of adoration he'd simply not expected such bold manueverings from the otherwise scholastically predisposed Quillyan Daewen. The smile that he bestowed upon her was warm as brandy and just as potent, the slow heat of it a sensual burn that grew as if each of her splendidly nervous little breaths blew across the cinders of it.

As he made his way amongst his students, checking upon their work, he made certain to stop and place a strong non-threatening hand upon the delicate boned shoulder of his little prodigy. Leaning over her slender back to peruse her notes, drawn closer, the undoubtedly male weight a hinted pressure as he whispered intimately for her ears alone, "A little advanced for you, is it not Miss Daewen?" The potent dip of his voice was meant to caress her senses, as was the soothing glide of his hand over her shoulder blade, rubbing along that delicate column of a spine as he felt the pace of her heart, allowed himself to revel in the pattern of her breathing and the silken texture of her richly decadent hair.

For a moment he allowed himself to picture that cascade of scarlet draped over his desk, spilled across her white linen pillow as she innocently urged him to her bed, or wavering in a ripple effect aided by the motion of their bodies as she bent before him.

This close, his dark eyes were smoke-filled and mysterious. The gleaming depths filled with her as his devastating smile lingered upon her, "I'm impressed by dedication." Such genuine approval hers to lap up accordingly should she be supple and pliant to such things.

One last squeeze, a barest hint of masculine possessiveness in the grasp of her shoulder and he moved off on a lean saunter toward another student who eagerly awaited his presence.