Reckless

"God Damn it!" Ron cursed as his things fell straight from his hands onto the hallway floor. There were many students about, but none helped him. The most he got was a sympathetic glance.

Upon gathering his books, he stood, and once he looked up to see where he was going, he found himself staring into a pair of beautiful blue eyes. He was no more than maybe two feet away from her, if even that. He could smell her perfume, feel it drift past him.

The distinctness of taking joy in life passed over him like he hadn't felt since he wasn't the third wheel in Harry and Hermione's overwhelming relationship. Only, this had nothing to do with friends. In fact, he was sure the surges he was feeling all over that concentrated in his second brain had nothing to do with wanting to be this girl's friend.

"Hi," he breathed, cursing himself for his lack of control over that infernal blushing.

"Hello," she answered, for lack of anything better to say, her lungs just as stolen of air as his.

If he didn't touch her or something soon, he was going to go mad, so he touched the first thing he came in contact with; her collarbone.

Gently stroking his thumb where he could feel and see the sharpness of bones, he finally allowed his eyes to let hers go. He started on one side, concentrated on the hollow of her neck at the center and then went to the other side, working his way back over. Her creamy skin was flushed with the slightest tinge of pink.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, licking dry lips and not pulling his massaging hands away.

"Don't be," she answered breathily, senses on overload. Pansy didn't think she'd ever gotten so excited by the simple, hesitant touch of a calloused roughened hand on the boundary between being completely lost and being able to control the situation.

Ron's thumb stopped moving and he put his other hand on the other side, pushing her backwards until she was pressed between the wall and his long, lean body.

He looked deep into her eyes, noticing that they held the same longing confusion he felt. It spurred him on; gave him courage.

He'd kissed Hermione once, two years ago, but he certainly didn't remember wanting to kiss her as badly as he wanted to kiss this girl he didn't know the name of.

And he didn't care. He was going to kiss this girl, if he could stop trembling for just one second. Finally, it happened, he was leaning in, and then-

"Weasley! Parkinson!" Snape snapped. "Disentangle yourselves from that disrespectful position and get to class! Detention for the both of you."

"Parkinson? Pansy Parkinson?"

"Weasley....Potter's best friend Weasley?"

They mirrored each other's confusion, disappointment and absolute loathing. They hated each other on a normal basis, and without thinking, they'd give into an unreasonable attraction. They definitely couldn't carry on this way...it was raging hormones that made them think how they had for those scant few minutes...nothing more.

She didn't need him. The contrast of his rough but gentle hands on her smooth skin was nothing and easily forgotten.

That's what she told herself when she muttered his name as she climaxed in silence between her sheets at night.

He didn't need her. The look in her eyes as she'd mentally begged him not to stop touching her was nothing, and easily purged from his system.

That's what he told himself when he woke up in twisted, damp sheets and a most painful throbbing between his legs.