It was on the tip of his tongue to insist he wasn't fucking bent. Instead, he growled, "Fuck." His fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose tightly, as if he could push the tension away. He needed to get out of here and hit something. Or see Isaac, except for the part where Isaac was staying in Cornwall so he wouldn't implicate Marcus and Isolde. "Fuck," he swore again, with more soft vehemence.
Gaze narrowed as he looked across at her. "None of your fucking business that I shagged my wife," he muttered. And definitely none of her business how it happened, finally, after so many years of marriage. "What the fuck are you on about with a--what? Turkey baster?" Wasn't that something house elves used? Sounded like something for cooking.