These few more seconds will be occupied by Rosy taking her pants off! Does that clarify anything?

Not sure "clarify" is exactly the right word, if anything it makes things more, um, uncomfortable, down there, and also in the future. But he does, reluctantly, pull his pants and underpants off, and winces a little, at the thought of her inevitably looking at him. (Also she's attractive, fuck, she's hot and she's gonna be his really really really soon.) 

She's smiling fondly at him again. But slightly differently this time.

Eep. John blushes, and does his best to cover himself with his hands. (It probably doesn't entirely work.) He blushes some more. 

So, he could do that, or, consider: she could kiss him.

Oh. John kisses her back, taking a hand off of himself to wrap around the back of her head and pull her closer and kiss her deeply and passionately. (That doesn't really help anything down below, though, it kinda has the opposite effect...) He kisses her hard, several times and then (he's supposed to be good) manages to pull himself away. "It's... probably a bad idea to keep doing that," he says, trying to get ahold of himself. "We have, um, things to do. First. Right?" 

"Yes. You were just looking very kissable. C'mon, let's traipse naked through the woods."

"I... okay. Yes. Let's." He lets go of her, fingers hanging in the air for a moment (like this is a silly romance novel, which it isn't, this is real life, magic or no), and then lets them fall, and... doing his best um, obscure his body parts without actually drawing attention to them, follows Rosy to wherever she will lead them. 

He is drawing so much attention to his body parts but Rosy isn't going to make him think about it. She makes sure he has his fidget wristband on, folds and hoists the chair he's been using while he waited, and then leads him back to where they rehearsed places not so long ago.

The ritual space looks much more magical now. There are lines and symbols drawn in the dirt, twigs and quartz spars spiked into the ground, and clear circles marked on opposite sides of the area. She sets John's chair down, very carefully, in the nearer one, then looks him over to make sure he still has his fidget wristband.

"Ready?"

The way the place looks is almost enough to distract him from some unfortunate body parts! (Almost.) It does look a lot more magical now, and John wants to ask questions about what exactly is going on with everything, but a) he's not going to understand, and b) they have much more important things to do right now. Still, he takes a moment to admire all of it, and agrees: "Ready!" 

Rosy beams and kisses him on the cheek.

As rehearsed, she walks around the edge of the circle, and when she's standing by her sub-circle she closes her eyes and cups her hands and summons her light. It shines between her fingers for a moment before she opens them, and seven big bright shards of colour break away from the central mass: red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, and purple, with white left lonely in the middle. The colours drift through the air to land on the seven crystal spars arranged around the perimeter of the circle, and the white fragment follows, finding its place atop a larger central crystal.

It's not clear whether the crystals are absorbing and perpetuating the coloured lights, or whether Rosy is maintaining her concentration to keep them there; she doesn't have that look of intense focus she was wearing last time John saw her make light, but then, last time John saw her make light she was haloed in a swarm of hues, and this time it's just eight pieces, probably less than a tenth of what she was manipulating before. If the cognitive burden scales with the number of shards, she could probably do this much in her sleep.

She takes a deep breath, and catches his eye, and smiles, and steps into her place.

Well that's really pretty! John is, almost mesmerized. 

Not enough to miss the cue that he's been nervous about (that and the lines) for the past couple of hours, thankfully (though it was a close thing and he was maybe a tiny bit off and it'll probably be fine and won't affect the ritual much. He hopes. He doesn't know for sure, but he knows better than to ask, or to even make any noise at all, that was on the list, so he'll just be silent.) He quietly steps into the circle (nearly) at the same time as she does, and sits down in the chair to watch and fidget with his toy. 

Now comes the part where Rosy does important ritual tasks and John is bored.

Contrary to that description, the important ritual tasks are actually fairly engrossing. A tangible sense of weight settles over the clearing, and as Rosy gestures and hums and concentrates and the coloured lights flare and dance and sway, the weight only increases. It's not impossible to look away from or anything, but there's something unnaturally mesmerizing about the barely-perceptible flow of energy between points in the circle, the way patterns in the motion of the lights hint at deeper patterns in the magic woven through them.

Gradually, the tone of the enterprise shifts; the heaviness in the air settles into place, stops increasing, and the patterns in the magic begin a more intricate dance. Visible glimmers of light escape the quartz crystals to run along the grooves between them, tracing out the lines and arcs in a swirling radial rainbow with exquisite choreography. A second ring of quartz spars lights up, and then a third, and then liquid light spills into the grooves from the white crystal and floods them completely, and when the diagram on the ground is radiant from edge to edge, white flames spring to life in all the twigs marking the remaining intersections.

Rosy looks across the circle to catch John's eye.

Yeah, John hardly has time to be distracted with his fidget toy; he's distracted by whatever Rosy is doing instead, by the lights and the sense of meaning or import or something about the place (how do rituals work, really? He'll probably never know and now is not the best time to ask), by whatever Rosy is doing, exactly as she moves and focuses (and looks really hot all naked and she's going to be his really really soon now!), and he looks around at all the lights and crystals and Rosy and whatever else is going on, nearly mesmerized by it. And then the flames go up, and John's mouth opens in shock and delight. (If he had been doubting the existence of magic before, which, maybe a little, he isn't doubting it now.) 

The flames are a shock but Rosy is pretty, and when he looks her way again she's trying to catch his eye, and that means he's supposed to be doing stuff, right? Right. Right, shit, right! He shakes off the reverie and looks back at her and almost involuntarily smiles (soon, soon!!) ear to ear, and stands to greet her as she approaches. (Soon!!!!!)

The sense of weight heightens, or maybe more accurately focuses, as Rosy crosses the circle to stand before him. There is a sense that his cue is coming.

"I come before you of my own will," she says, not quite able to keep the smile off her face. The quiet crackle of burning twigs quiets further when she speaks, like the flames are subtly pulling back to offer her the spotlight. The weight of the ritual sharpens, prompting John to give his line.

John can feel something, in the sense of meaning the ritual has/is doing to him, practically telling him to Pay Attention, to Be Ready. He pays attention. He's ready. And then Rosy says her line, and John knows he needs to say his. (It's a good thing he's got it all memorized!) (Also, soon, fuck, soon!!) "I acknowledge your choice," he says, trying to give the line all the meaning and gravitas it deserves at the moment, staring into her smiling face. (He can't help but smile himself at this point, it's so close, she's going to be his!!!)

The sound of flames gives way to his words just like it did to hers. John and Rosy are the stars of this show, and the world itself seems to know it.

"I ask nothing, and offer everything."

(Is he turned on now? He's turned on now, isn't he. He shouldn't be thinking about that, he only has a couple more lines!) "I understand your offer," he says, looking into her eyes (and not thinking about what's going on down below). 

"I give you myself, Euphrosyne Angharad Blake, to be bound to your will, your unwavering servant, fully and without reservation."

(John is not the only one here who is turned on.)

(Yup, that's about as hot as he expected it to be. Hotter, even, seeing her say it in the nude, staring at him with... he has to say his line!) "I accept your gift," he says, very very turned on. (Soon!!!!!! Now, even!!) 

All around them, white flames flare like fireworks. Rosy sways slightly on her feet as the energy of the ritual rushes in. Coloured lights spark in the depths of her eyes, a fleeting rainbow of magic. The sense of weight that has been pressing down on them this whole time concentrates itself rapidly into her, and she braces herself against the moment of its completion, because—there it goes—all of a sudden instead of pressure and weight and energy coming in from all sides there is nothing, as the flaring flames die away, and if she wasn't prepared for it she might fall over in the sudden absence.

Invisible threads pull taut between them, and a new sense opens in John's mind, specifically for the purpose of informing him that Rosy is his.

She is looking at him with mesmerized, worshipful awe.

She'd said he would know, and he does know. She's his now. (His, his, his!!!) Well, for the moment. He does want to make sure she's okay with it (though look at her eyes, her body, her everything, of course she's okay with it!) but that can (and should, he has a plan) wait a few moments. He's supposed to be able to order her around right now, right? (He wants to, he's really fucking turned on at the moment.) Well, let's try it. "Kneel," he orders her. 

"Yes, Master," she says, sinking gracefully to her knees without breaking eye contact.

—after which she can't stop herself from grinning broadly and doing a tiny delighted wiggle.

Well if he wasn't turned on before (he was) he is now (very much so). He wants... fuck he wants. (She's his she's his she's his she's his!!!) He could make her do anything now, he can feel that that's true, and, as far as he can tell, she wants to be doing all of this. Her face says so. Her eyes say so. (Her entire naked body says so.) All it would take is ordering her to open her mouth and she'd agree (and enthusiastically, too) and order her to suck and she'd agree (very enthusiastically) and... fuck. He has a plan (but he can linger for a few moments, right? He should... check how she's feeling anyways.) "I, um," he stammers a little. "How, um, how are you feeling? How is it going? From your end?" (He sounds all flustered, damnit.)