The library was too quiet. Barty hated quiet unless he was the one orchestrating it. This kind of quiet—the thick, academic hush of parchment and pretense—made his skin crawl. It was the kind of quiet that asked him to behave.

He didn’t.

You were across from him, halfway through some infernal History of Magic scroll, the lamplight catching the edge of your jaw just enough to ruin his concentration entirely. Your lip was caught between your teeth, and he had a sudden, intrusive need to replace your teeth with his.

Barty tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. Studying you like a problem that could only be solved through touch.

His quill stilled.

The corners of his mouth curled, slow and deliberate. The kind of smile that meant he was about to do something someone else would call a mistake and he’d call foreplay.

He stood, quiet. No need for dramatics. Not yet. You didn’t hear him approach and that? That was the best part.

He leaned down—slow, slow—breath ghosting against the shell of your ear before his lips barely brushed it.

“You always get this little crease in your brow when you’re thinking too hard,” he murmured, voice low, a smirk wrapped in velvet. “I want to bite it.”

Instead, he sank his teeth into the curve where your neck met your shoulder. No warning, no apology. Just skin between his teeth and the low, satisfied hum in his throat as he tasted you.

Not enough to bruise—not yet. Just enough to make you gasp, maybe squirm, maybe shoot him that glare you think is a warning. It wasn’t. Not with him, never with him.

“You smell like parchment and coffee,” he muttered against your skin, tongue darting out to soothe the sting. “Drives me fucking insane.”

Another bite—this time your upper arm, just beneath the rolled sleeve. He marked you like a poem, one stanza at a time. Like ink pressed into flesh.

He pulled back, licking his bottom lip as if tasting the remains of something forbidden.

“I like when you wear sleeveless things,” he said idly, as if discussing the weather. “Makes it easier to remind everyone you’re mine.”

The table groaned slightly as he leaned forward, reaching around to steal your quill without asking, because asking was for people who didn’t know how to take. He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, then promptly bit the lobe.

Hard.

And then softer, lips brushing the shell as he whispered, “Scream and we’ll get kicked out. You know it, love. So.. don’t. Let me have my fun.”

Barty laughed under his breath. Then straightened, already bored of his notes, already thinking about what part of you he’d bite next. His eyes glinted like a match just before the strike, flickering over your features and every inch of skin exposed.

Merlin, he just really loved biting you.