He's the type her kind lead back to Faery for he is touched with grace and myth. In another time this could have been the impetus for her to capture him, to hold him and make him forgo all that he knew and loved for the pinnacle of infatuation.
She is the Apple. This place the serpent.
Her words are sweetly spoken between the blush pink of her perfect cupid bow lips. To these, he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth and watches her. His hand slides up her de-gartered leg, stroking the silken skin of her thigh as he presses a more furtive kiss to her mouth. His tongue slips in, tasting the honey of her mouth as his fingers slip between her legs, feeling for her want and readiness. When he feels the slick heat he rolls so that he is on top of her, pressed against her almost as close as they can be.
Fletcher kisses her again and again, his mouth drifting to her neck or her chin, back to her mouth. Fingers deftly unbutton his trousers, readying himself for the inevitable.