Disclaimer: See Chapters 1, 2 or any of my other fics…but I do own Amores Peligrosos, as well as Valentino and Maria. Valentino. Yum.
A/N: Linz if you're reading this, this is for you dearest. Just know that someone in Los Angeles loves you! :) And that not being able to chat with you as frequently as before is driving me insane…really insane. Crazy. Mental.
Sis: You're wonderful. Amazing. Outstanding. Exquisite. And an old lady. :) My soul shall arrive at your doorstep in 3 days.
(This chapter is brought to you by Narc off of Interpol's album Antics. Now, back to our regularly scheduled program!)
*~*~*~*~*
At first you thought that everything would go back to normal. Surely these things happened to other best friends who lived with each other…they would go out one night in good spirits, get horridly drunk, and end up in bed together…of course it happened to others…
And all these others recovered quite wonderfully, did they not?
But then the others obviously didn't see the same thing you saw in her eyes.
She was lying to you.
In the history of your friendship she had never purposefully lied to you. Sure, when you were thirteen there had been that Time Turner incident, but she had been forced to lie to you. And it wasn't as much lying as it was omitting…
But she lied to you. She had been your friend for so long you knew how she looked when she lied. She's lied on your behalf so many times…half the times to save you from yourself…you knew how she looked.
And she was lying to you.
It was only an accident.
Right. And you were Martin the Mad Muggle's closet lover.
You knew she was lying not only because well, you just knew, but also because you were very aware of the fact that you were lying yourself.
It had only been an accident.
Yes Harry, you had accidentally spread her legs wide and buried yourself in her deliciously, and it was an accident that you kept going and going and moaning and sweating until you peaked…
These others…the other people who had had similar accidents…they recovered because usually there were no feelings involved in what they did. It was all purely physical. Pure lust.
Was that what you had with Hermione?
It had not escaped your attention that all this nonsense started when you had caught her in her knickers…would this have ever happened had that never occurred? You'd like to think it would have--eventually. Or else, that would mean you were the world's biggest idiot.
Which, in retrospect, wasn't at all off the mark.
After the "morning after row," you had both gone into your separate rooms and sulked for a while. At least, you sulked. You didn't really know what she did, although for a while there you amused yourself picturing her stalking around in a furious rage.
You had always thought fury suited her.
About an hour after the door-slamming exit, you heard her barge out of her room, stomp down the corridor and into the bathroom. That was when you amused yourself picturing her in the shower, scrubbing herself clean, scrubbing off every single kiss you had placed on her body…
But that pissed you off more than any lie ever could. What right had she to wipe herself clean of you? You had marked your territory in the most animalistic manner…
You decided to begin an experiment. It had to be subtle…you had to be sure that she was lying to you. Of course, you were already convinced that she was, but you had to be sure, even though you were already sure…
All right! So you just wanted an excuse to torment her!
But you just had to be sure…you had to be sure that what had happened between you two the night before was NOT just a random accident due to some freak planetary alignment…no you were quite sure that feelings were definitely involved…
And you had to be really discreet.
So of course, you decided to prance around your flat half naked. (Because prancing around half-naked is the epitome of discretion...)
You positioned yourself expertly: the kitchen. You knew she had to go out there eventually, as you were sure the night before had drained a lot of her energy…
You yourself were ravenous.
You whistled happily as you went about the task of warming up a pot of tea and toasting bread. You practically floated as you set out the marmalade and plates and butter knives. And when she stalked into the room all damp and disheveled from her shower, you had to stop from jumping around triumphantly at her reaction…
That was…that was quite literally a jaw-drop, wasn't it? Miss Granger was in serious need of someone who could scrape half her face off the floor…
You felt that smug smile lift the corners of your lips. You weren't stupid. You were tired of pretending to be stupid. You had seen where her eyes had wandered when she saw you in the bathroom, and you meant to use the mounting sexual attraction to ensnare her fibbing little heart into a trap. That was why you were parading around wearing a pair of jeans. And only a pair of jeans. The button-y kind. With the buttons all undone. That meant that there was a nice teasing view…you could see the question in her mind as she tried to take control of her stubborn jaw…
What would happen if they slowly slid off…
You felt like doing pirouettes around the table.
"Tea, Hermione?" you asked brightly. For a minute there you were afraid that she would keel over, but to your dismay she found enough presence of mind to pull out a chair and plop herself down.
It would have been a lot more fun if you had had the chance to play the knight and catch the damsel as she fell over…and perhaps carry her back to your room…
"I-I'd love some tea, Harry," she replied distractedly. She was nervously tugging her right ear, trying to keep her eyes off the place where she obviously wanted to be looking.
Honestly, Hermione. Haven't you looked at it enough?
You waltzed about happily preparing her tea exactly how she liked it: one sugar, the tea in first. She always had a fit if the milk was served first; she swore she could taste the difference.
Meanwhile, she did the typical Hermione thing and decided to busy herself as to resist temptation. You could see her inner struggle as she violently spread the orange marmalade over each and every piece of toast. You smiled, and felt an ounce of pity for her as she cut the pieces of toast into little triangles: exactly the way you liked it.
But then you remembered that she was lying to you, so you steadied yourself, and resolved to continue on with your obnoxious plan. (Sod the fact that you were lying to her too!)
"So…how did you sleep?" you asked her casually before taking a bite of your toast.
Before answering, she managed to turn twenty shades of scarlet before spitting out her tea. "Harry! I thought we had decided never to mention-it was an…"
"I know, I know," you replied as you carelessly chomped on your food. "I wasn't talking about that." And here, you took a moment to relish the blush of her cheek and the brightness of her eye...what was she remembering? "I was talking about the part where we actually slept. Did you sleep well? I know I take up a lot of space…I hope I didn't make you too uncomfortable."
You were being untruthful, because truthfully, your whole purpose in life was to make her uncomfortable. That was the effect you were going for at the moment.
"I---uh, I slept fine, all right?" she snapped, a lock of her damp hair falling in front of her face.
You smiled as she stammered.
A few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence. You internally debated whether you should just drop all pretenses and shag her there, right on the kitchen table. But then again, a small part of your brain was still inexplicably upset…she lied to you! She was lying to you! If she had her way, you'd both forget about last night entirely…act as if it never happened…you were surprised she hadn't brought up memory charms…
Not that you'd ever agree to such a preposterous thing.
The idea that she might at any second spring out with memory charms freaked you out more than you cared to acknowledge. There just had to be feelings involved, more than yours.
"Harry. Harry!"
You stopped brooding long enough to realize Hermione was looking at you with a faint smile on her face.
"Harry…you have marmalade on your face."
You glowered. Wonderful. What a way to make a woman think of you as suave and attractive.
You swatted at your face randomly, and apparently kept missing the desired spot, as her faint smile suddenly became an obscene display of laughter.
"Here, let me," she said with a smirk. She sucked lightly on her thumb, and used it to remove the excess marmalade from your cheek. Your face grew hot. That wasn't supposed to happen…
A big part of you wanted to turn your face a bit, and suck on her thumb yourself.
But she beat you to it.
"The marmalade tastes better off your face," she said matter-of-factly as she savored the concoction she had so graciously volunteered to remove off of you. But after she said this, her eyes grew big, almost as if she startled herself with her audacity.
Or maybe you were just applying your own reaction; you felt quite startled yourself.
Before either of you could follow that pronouncement with something appropriate, there was a loud 'pop' and Luna appeared out of nowhere.
"Good morning!" she said brightly, helping herself to a piece of toast. "I just came by to see how you were after I apparated you home last night--why Hermione!"
She stopped mid-bite and starred at Hermione with that Luna-esque expression on her face, like she had suddenly just come face to face with some exotic specimen that needed to be studied immediately. "Hermione, there is something different about you today. You look…really healthy." Her face scrunched up in concentration, as if she was trying to think up a better adjective; Hermione just squirmed around in her seat. "You look, I don't know how to describe it…like you're glowing…you illuminate the room somehow…"
You stared between them, thinking that somehow you always thought she illuminated the room. Hermione looked peeved.
"What glow? There's no glow," she sputtered. "Stop looking at me like that!"
Luna ignored her, and turned to you. You saw her eyes widen by some secret comprehension or other. "I see…" she said with a mysterious smile. "Well, I also came to tell you, Harry, that Ron is going to drop by today at random. He says he has something very important to discuss with you." She sighed heavily as she said this.
"When did you see Ron today?" Hermione enquired smoothly, finally taking some control over her vocal chords.
"Oh, he showed up at Neville's this morning to retrieve his wand. I had to take it away from him last night; he threatened to apparate everyone home and, well, you saw how he was…although perhaps you poor dears don't remember..."
"I remember everything perfectly," you said, giving Hermione a knowing look that she purposefully disregarded. "Why don't you stay for tea, Luna?" you asked, standing up to retrieve a cup for her.
"Harry, your fly is undone."
You stopped, feeling the color drain from your face. You hastily tried to do up your buttons, all the while looking at Hermione who was stifling a laugh; you could read her expression clearly:
Ha! That's what you get for trying to bait me…
Luna didn't seem at all fazed by the atmosphere that surrounded her, almost as if she did not quite belong to the spiritual plane she inhabited. "Oh, is that the ring you made her out of my butterbeer cap?" she said all of a sudden. "It's rather lovely…"
The amused expression left Hermione's face entirely as she looked down in shock to see that she was still wearing her "engagement ring."
She was still wearing it.
Who had the upper hand now, eh Granger?
"Anyway," Luna continued, completely oblivious to everything. "I really should be off now; Neville will wonder where I've gone to."
She popped out without another word.
Triumph ringed happily in your ears.
*~*~*~*~*
"Querida…pero no entiendes, que te amo?"
"Valentino! No sabes cuanto e deseado que me digas esas palabras! Pero ya es muy tarde...demasiado tarde..."
You were sitting in the living room, waiting for him. Of course you were waiting for him. Did he actually think he could ever get the advantage in whatever little game he was playing? Because of course you had it all figured out…Harry Potter never walked out of his room unless he was completely dressed; you doubted you had ever seen him barefoot. (That is, not counting that time you happened into the bathroom while he showered, or the night before when you shagged him…)
Retaliation was definitely in order. Not only was he lying to you (Because he was. It was damn obvious.), but he was also going out of his way to catch you at your lie. Because you were both lying to each other, it was rather ridiculous and childish…
Accident my ass.
So you decided to go along with the game…surely he didn't think you'd sit around and fall for it? That he'd break you, and that you'd come sobbing into his room yelling, "You were right, you were right! I lied! It wasn't an accident! I had meant for it to happen all along! Now let's shag!"
Though to be honest, the thought had crossed your mind…
Oh really! Men were such bastards! Them with their egos, believing themselves to be so irresistible…he was just like the rest of them!
But he underestimated you…you were a woman. A female. Games were your forte. Just because you walked around with bushy hair and a book in your hand it didn't mean that you weren't up to using whatever feminine wiles you had…
Dear Harry, don't Ron and a certain McLaggen ring a bell?
He was mad if he didn't think you'd get revenge.
The idea had first come to you during breakfast, in that lovely little interval when you brushed the marmalade off his face. You quite purposefully brought your dirty little thumb up to your mouth and sucked on it…men are so predictable, they don't even know when they're being manipulated…
Well, you can't very well blame yourself! You were quite happy to just continue on forgetting that the night before had ever happened. And he had to go on and ruin it with this charade…
All right, so maybe you wouldn't be happy, but…what other alternative was there?
Which was why you were sitting in the living room, watching his favorite Spanish soap opera Amores Peligrosos. You probably looked like some decadent housewife, seeing as you were wearing nothing but that flimsy, lacy, black, see-through, french-ish, thing Ron had gotten you the previous Valentine's Day. You had never worn it before, as you could see right through it to your knickers…
All you really needed to complete the picture was a box of chocolates.
Secretly, you blame the gaudy outfit for the ultimate demise of the already unstable relationship between you and your red headed ex-paramour. So it was quite a surprise that you actually managed to find a use for the dreaded garment…
You had always loved that practical streak you inherited from your mum.
You twirled around with your "engagement ring" impatiently. You really didn't understand what possessed you to keep it on, but there it was, on your finger, and it made you feel safe. So there.
"Maria! Entiende! Yo siempre té e amado! Pero nunca lo había entendido hasta hoy...éramos niños antes, entiende! Ahora somos adultos, ahora es el tiempo oportuno..."
He said he was only stepping out for a moment, that he suddenly had an intense craving for his favorite biscuits. Honestly! You were never letting him do the shopping again! He always forgot things, or got the wrong ones. It was a mystery how he always remembered to get your Coconut Cluster Cakes, but always managed to forget his own: plain shortbread. It's not as if you were asking him to decipher Ancient Runes.
"Valentino, entiende! Por favor... tengo miedo de enamorarme de ti! Tengo miedo que este amor vaya destruir nuestra amistad..."
You sighed, and played with your ring some more. Any minute now Valentino and Maria would snog and give in to each other, and Harry would miss it. He'd been following the show since his ex-girlfriend, Elisabeth Turcios, got him into it, and you had been dragged along quite against your will…cable was the enemy of bookworms…
"Maria, nada podrá destruir nuestra amistad. Nada..."
Where had Elisa been from anyway? She was a Muggle-born visiting her wizard relatives in London…from where? Honduras? Nicaragua? Lovely girl, funny accent…
"Te amo Valentino."
Ha! There it was! They snogged! So predictable, just like English soap operas. They always end up together.
At that moment, Harry came rushing into the room with an armful of groceries.
"I missed it! I missed it didn't I?" he cried dramatically, throwing everything onto the table and jumping onto the couch. "They got together! What happened? Tell me!"
You were a bit peeved, as he was too busy watching Maria and Valentino going at it to pay any attention to your wanton outfit.
"Yes, they got together," you said grumpily.
"What's wrong with you? I thought you wanted them to-"
And then he stopped mid sentence, and you noticed that he was looking at you. Really looking at you. With that same look in his eye…that look that you had seen as he sank into you, and you writhed under him in the throws of pleasure…good lord he could kill with that look…
You couldn't help the thrill of feminine satisfaction as his gaze over your body…as much as you detested the ridiculous outfit that made you feel more like an early nineteenth century prostitute than an actual human being, you couldn't help but silently thank Ron and his absurd taste in clothing. And the fact that he had learned your dimensions to perfection.
"Why-er…why are you wearing that?"
You crossed your legs and flipped your hair haughtily, feeling oh so aware of his intense scrutiny. Usually you hated things that felt abominably too short to be worn comfortably. You loved them now. "What are you talking about?" you asked him innocently. You wanted to laugh at the look on his face.
"That…that thing. What are you wearing it for?" he asked with a slight stutter. He was blinking his eyes in a very adorable fashion, almost like there was some inner struggle…to close my eyes, or not to close my eyes…
"What do you mean what am I wearing it for? It's comfortable! This is my home! I should be able to wear whatever I want…"
He was scratching his forehead, trying to look away but failing extravagantly. "Yes, but, you never wore that before."
You couldn't help but smile naughtily. "Who says I've never worn this before? Just because you've never seen me…"
He glowered, precisely the response you had wanted. "You--you've worn that before?"
You nodded demurely. "Of course. Ron seemed to enjoy it very much…"
Without even waiting for you to finish the thought, he jumped off the couch and stomped away angrily.
You allowed yourself a satisfied sigh: the score was now even.
*~*~*~*~*
Women. Women were evil.
You had always suspected…it was an idea that had been festering in your brain ever since you were fourteen and had been denied a date to the Yule Ball by your dream girl…
And now you knew this for a fact.
Women were evil.
They were low, vile creatures of the worst kind that did the most tantalizing things in order to drive you mad with agony…and some twisted masochistic part of you was enjoying it. And the sadistic part of you was enjoying the hard time you were giving her which resulted in the masochistic pleasure…
Maybe you should consider traveling back in time and having a nice old chat with the Marquis de Sade for some tips.
After you waltzed in on her in that…that getup, that getup that she had worn for Ron, you decided that you needed to get rid of some frustration. So you ended up in the "magical room" having a go at the punching bag.
She hated it when you turned the "magical room" into your own private playroom, fully equipped with all kinds of contraptions from Muggle gyms. As it normally was a study, and it had to be transfigured into a gym, she complained that half her books got lost in the transfiguration process.
Of course, she always found them eventually. They were usually hidden in the shape of a brand new plant, or a cushion that had never existed before. In her place, you would've found the scavenger hunt quite fun, but all she could do was nag you to death.
That was when you found yourself losing her books on purpose.
When you were younger the constant nagging used to annoy you. You found yourself shutting her out, not paying attention, sort of the way you did when adults tried talking down to you. You had survived all your life without anyone telling you what to do…why did they think you needed them now? You could do everything yourself…
But although you didn't need adults, you did need Hermione. You probably would've died about twenty times if it hadn't been for her, and when your stupid brain finally figured this out, you decidedly stopped ignoring her nagging, and paid a bit more attention to it. Granted, this resulted in major squabbles here and there, (most of which she ended up winning) but at least she was now aware that you were actually listening. And then when you finally moved in together, and the bickering became more frequent, you actually found yourself recognizing the pleasure Ron got in getting her into a strop.
You let out a male grunt of possessiveness, and pictured Ron's face as you threw another punch. Honestly. Ron. Punch. He really was a git. Punch. To think that Hermione had actually had to wear that…getup for him. Punch. And Ron had probably enjoyed it. Punch. Didn't he know that she didn't like things like that? Punch. Hermione had only done so to please him, but she hated it…you knew she just *had* to hate it. Punch. And right now she only wore it to drive you stark raving mad. Punch. And it was working. Double Punch.
The more you hit, the more frustrated you got. You could feel the soreness in your arms, the sweat pouring down your bare back in little streams; the room seemed to grow hotter and hotter. Really…you didn't understand why there wasn't one of these in the Ministry…despite whatever the bureaucrats said about the crudeness of "hand to hand" combat, sometimes your wand slipped through your fingers and you had no choice. How many times had you had to rely on your own wit and strength to get out of a scrape…the other Aurors really needed to learn this as well…your Divison would learn this…
You were so caught up in thoughts of Ron's idiocy, and the planning of the new training regime you were intent on implementing, that you did not hear the loud huff of indignation coming from the door.
"Oh honestly, Harry! Must you always do this?" came Hermione's annoyed tones.
*~*~*~*~*
He was going at it in the study. You could practically feel him beating the punching bag as you remained on the couch, completely engrossed, watching Valentino and Maria shagging like rapidly breeding bacteria.
At least, from what you could tell. Why was it that soap operas liked to tease you that way? You know what's going on under those white linen sheets…why don't they just show the whole process? All you can really see is the star and starlet's heads kissing passionately as they groped and moaned prettily. Too prettily.
News flash for these producer people! Sex isn't pretty. Sex is messy, lazy, LOUD…sometimes it looks downright funny…but what do these writers know? They probably never get laid. And what about the audiences? The whole purpose of a soap opera is an escape from life…and right now, wouldn't you like to be the beautifully tanned Maria, with her long black hair and big brown eyes? Maria, who is quite happily pinned under the gorgeously muscular Valentino, who has lashes longer than most males should…
Oh bother! What you wouldn't give just to be plain, bushy-haired Hermione, quite happily pinned under the quite normally proportioned Harry Potter…
That was it! You'd had it! He was making such a racket with his exercise. Really, what was he doing in there? Playing with pots and pans? (Yeah. It didn't matter that you could just Silencio the room…)
With haughty determination you made your way into "the magical room," only to open the door and realize he had transfigured it. Again. After the millionth time that you'd told him not to!
And you were about to yell at him for it, but then the look on his face stopped you. He was starring at his punching bag so intensely…like he wanted to burn a hole through it with his eyes. You could see the muscles in his arms working, and the sweat on his back…
You felt yourself blush. You had always known that you had a soft spot for athletic boys…perhaps because they connected a missing link in your personality. You were a reader--not a player--and perhaps that was one of the many reasons why you always fell for the Viktor Krums of the world.
Which was why you were now starring at Harry like he was a piece of bacon and you were a hungry wolf, wondering how on earth it was that you had never felt attracted to him before. Honestly now! The idea of it was completely ludicrous! It's not as if you've never found him attractive…he is quite a looker, that Harry Potter…so it wasn't that…and it's not as if he's a complete idiot…mildly daft sometimes, yes, but not completely stupid, so it had nothing to do with a below-normal intelligence…and the fact that he was your best friend had nothing to do with it either because alas, Ron.
So what was your excuse for the sudden attraction that seemed to be building during the last couple of days?
You had none.
Sheer stupidity perhaps…
You snapped out of your thoughts, quickly reminded that you had ventured into "the magical room" on purely argumentative grounds. No amount of sexiness on his part was going to change the fact that: a.) He had been making too much noise whilst you watched a Spanish soap opera HE had gotten you addicted to in the first place, and b.) The "magical room" was transfigured quite against your wishes.
"Oh honestly, Harry! Must you always do this?" you huffed.
He whipped around to look at you, and you had a feeling that the weird thing your stomach had just done had nothing to do with the morning's toast.
"What are you talking about?" he snapped, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.
You wanted to throttle him. "What do you mean what am I talking about? You transfigured the room-again, and most likely lost about half of my books in the process!"
He had the audacity to grin, which made you want to jump on him and, well…
"Hermione, look at your side of the room."
You starred at him as if he'd gone mental. What did he mean look at your side of the room…?
And then you looked to the left, toward your side of the room, and found that it had remained completely untouched. Sure, some odd weight lifting contraption was sitting right between your desk and favorite bookshelf, but for the most part nothing seemed like it had gone through any sort of magical transformation…
Strange how you hadn't noticed it before.
"You didn't…you didn't…"
He snickered. "No, I didn't. I'm not really in the mood to hear you yell my ear off."
You smiled, biting your lower lip a bit. You had known him almost ten years, and yet, Harry Potter could still surprise you…
Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud woosh in the air. Suddenly, you felt something heavy crash into the side of your right leg, and you fell onto some strategically placed yoga mats. Your leg felt like it wanted to rip itself right off.
"Hermione!" Harry yelled, sprinting over to you and examining the bruise that was already forming.
"What on earth was that?" you snapped.
"It was a weight…"
And sure enough, you saw a small, black weight zooming around the room, emanating some strange giggling noise-it sounded oddly like a garden gnome…
"What did you do to it?"
"Oh, it has the same sort of charm a bludger has…it's a form of resistance training. It pulls away from me and I try to hold it steady…"
"Well, un-charm it!" you ordered. "I'm amazed it hasn't made a hole in your skull yet!"
He promptly took out his wand, and the weight crashed to the floor. You smacked him.
"What on earth possessed you to even think of charming such a heavy object? There are no beaters here to protect you! Why didn't you take the charm off right after you finished using it? What if one day I come home to find you unconscious on the floor? I'd kill you!" You continued hitting him, and all he could do was hide behind his arm, laughing. Finally, he got sick of the abuse and grabbed your wrists.
"Hermione, calm yourself!" he said with a grin. "It was only an accident! Usually, I do un-charm it after I'm done. But today, I forgot…"
"You--forgot?" you replied, unconvinced. Honestly.
"Look, I'm going to go find some of Fred and George's bruise remover, ok? Your leg looks pretty beat up."
You crossed your arms and pouted while you waited for him to bring the paste. What did he expect? A weight had just smacked into you. Of course your leg looked beat up! Then you realizing how ridiculous you must look sitting on a yoga mat, a huge bruise forming on the side of your thigh, looking like a cheap tart, as you were still in your short little slip. Goodness, what had possessed you to wear that thing? You should have burned it when you got it.
"I have the stuff," announced Harry as he traipsed over to your yoga mat. He had already taken the lid off the tube, and was spreading some over his hands. But when he kneeled down to actually apply the paste, his eyes widened. Perhaps he just realized where exactly he had to put his hands…
"Do you want me to do this?" he asked, his eyes firmly trained on yours. It made you blush.
"Hmm…sure. It's no big deal, right?" you replied with a fake smile. It was a very big deal.
He placed his hands on your thigh, and you could feel yourself shiver. That warming sensation…that wasn't normal. You had used the bruise remover many a time, and it had never felt hot…it had never made you feel hot.
He was using his thumbs…he tentatively placed one hand on the inside of your thigh. Why? You weren't bruised there? But you didn't want him to move that hand…he was so close to you. You could smell his sweat, so masculine…it took you back to all those Quidditch games where he'd fall off his broom and end up rolling around on the grass…sweat and grass, and triumph…
It was unconscious, but you were inching toward him, like a flower to sunlight, and he didn't seem to mind; he wasn't pulling away. He slid his hand up a bit, all pretense of bruises and yellow paste gone. There wasn't enough oxygen in the room it appeared, or why else was it so difficult for you to breathe?
Your foreheads touched…then you felt his breath in your ear, and your teeth on his shoulders…what was happening? This wasn't supposed to be happening! His hand on yours, his fingers toying with your "engagement" ring…what was he doing? You weren't drunk! You had a bruise! You needed oxygen! You needed to get dressed…
"We can't…" you whispered in his ear.
"I'm sorry the weight hit you," he said quietly, ignoring you. His hand was sliding dangerously up your inner thigh now. "It was only an accident…it won't happen again…"
"Right," you agreed, nodding your head slightly to the side. His lips were on your neck. "Just an accident. The bruise will heal."
He paused, and looked up at you, eyes questioning. He was about to kiss you, soberly, and you silently acquiesced, soberly. This wasn't supposed to be happening in the first place, but there was nothing that could stop it now…
"Oi, Harry!" came a yell from the living room.
You both groaned.
Apparently, yes, something could stop it.
*~*~*~*~*
A/N: Yes, I know. I hate myself too. DIE AUTHOR, DIE! Et tu, Brute?
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English translationsfor Soap Opera:
Dangerous Love
"But darling, don't you understand that I love you?"
"Valentino! You don't know how I've longed to hear these words! But it is too late…too late…"
"Maria! Please understand! I've always loved you! But I never understood it until now…we were children before, please understand! Now we're adults, it's the opportune time…"
"Valentino, listen! Please…I'm afraid of falling in love with you. I'm afraid that this love will destroy our friendship..."
"Maria, nothing could destroy our friendship. Nothing…"
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See, I didn't add the soap opera in there for nothing. There was a reason. There is a reason for everything. I have a master plan… *cackles*