Two to Tango

"Granger, care to dance?"

She regarded him and the pristine white glove he proffered in astonishment. Surely, he had gone mad.

"No," she said bluntly, sure that she had shut him down.

The air about him wavered. His eyes flashed. "I insist."

She tried again, tersely. "I insist."

The seductive rhythm of the Tango pulsed in their ears. He leaned in as closely as he dared, lips brushing the sensitive petal of her ear, growling softly, "No me negarás."

She fought the delicious tremor which ripped down her spine, glancing quickly over at her phalanx. Brilliant emerald eyes flashed dangerously at their intruder. A vivid scarlet flush raged in the face of the other.

He did not wait. Simply pressed his hand firmly upon her thigh.

She bolted upwards.

He lead her out onto the slick, darkened floor. The tender roll of snare laid its distinctive beat one-two-three-four.

She gingerly placed her left hand on his shoulder, the finely stitched material of his jacket rolling under her fingertips and bolded lifted the palm of her right hand to take his.

He slipped his cool hand just below her left shoulder blade, firmly catching her free hand. "I believe the man is supposed to lead."

"Find one. I'll let him," she retorted hotly.

He pushed his right knee between her clenched thighs, sliding his leg down the lengths of her lithe, creamy ones.

Her eyes widened.

He grinned. "Shall we dance?"

He started boldly on his left foot, took two very slow steps forward, his body leaning slightly in one quick step to the left, lightly dragging his right foot to follow.

She mirrored his steps, reluctantly impressed.

He smirked. "Impressed?"

She rolled her eyes.

"You look ravishing," he murmured, stepping backward and bringing her forward in two slow steps, a quick lean to right; then pulled her close, their bodies meeting.

She quickly turned her head away.

He stretched their arms outward, guiding them in taunt steps that they took in same direction, pivoting her on third step.

They faced each other again.

He continued. "Good enough to eat."

She retorted, coolly, "You've a voracious appetite, Malfoy." She abruptly swung away, her arm flaring slightly at her side.

He eyed her as they both suddenly turn on their heels and stepped tightly in opposite directions. He tugged on her wrist, harder than necessary, snapping her body back into his, pressing sweetly with the darkest of intentions.

"I'm a growing boy, Granger."

He fell back in a deliciously low lean, causing her fall forward in less than gracious lunge; her body catching, sliding down the length of his muscular thigh.

She snapped herself upwards, fac burning. "I suppose you think that was funny."

He rocked her gently, backwards. First left, then right.

Lazily. "I found it rather humorous."

She took a larger step back. Space.

She muttered. "I'm sure you did."

He repeated the back rock, pulling them into a smooth side lunge, suddenly slipping his thigh between the slit of her legs, kneading.

"Only because you were begging," he growled.

Her mouth dropped open. He snapped her outward like a fan, coolly looking away. She stared at him in perfect shock.

He reeled her back into his arms, sneering.

She scowled, staring determindedly over his shoulder at The Boy Who Lived.

He maneuvered them into a lulling, pivoting rock; their bodies close. The easy slow-slow-quick-quick-slow steps smoothing earlier misteps.

After some moments of silence. "What is it with you and Potter?"

She stirred from her daze, realizing she had been resting upon his shoulder, pulling back. "What?"

"You and Scarhead. I saw it when I asked you to dance. He was jealous."

She forcefully broke contact. Defiantly. "There's nothing going on between me and Harry."

He raised his brow, softly mocking. "Ah, there it is. 'Harry'."

She pulled away. "That is his name."

He sharply twisted her back to face him, tsking. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

She; smartly. "Methinks the wizard is an asshole."

They clasped hands, gliding forward.

"I'm just trying out a few theories," he chuckled, turning her towards him then away, then pulling her firmly into his chest.

Fiercely. "Don't play games, Draco."

He slid forward into a lunge, twisting his right shoulder slightly in a dip. "I'm not. Perhaps you are."

She fumed, elegantly brushing the floor.

He brought her upright, smoothly. "I've come to realize something very special about you and I, Granger. You see -- "

He suddenly snapped her into a low, deep plunge, sliding to catch her in the descent.

"You and I are the same. There are no others like us."

She pushed upwards, completely breathless. Snarling. "You know nothing about me."

He immediately pitched her into another fall. "I know enough."

She glared up at him irritably. "What exactly is it you think you know?"

His eyes twinkled. "This."

His mouth crushed powerfully onto hers, one hand slipping to cradle her neck, his tongue whipping coolly about her mouth.

She clutched his collar, her eyes sliding shut. The surrender was desperate, like the jump from the third story window of a house that has caught on fire.

He pulled her upright, pressing hungrily into her with his heat. She was slickening against his pole, her legs threatening to wrap themselves around his waist, to clutch him within her strong muscles. To slake her own thirst --

Suddenly, her hands slipped towards his shoulders, roughly pushing him away.

His eyes were dark, swimming with confusion.

Her hand snapped upwards and slapped him crisply across the face.

"Apparently, you know nothing," she spat.

She stood for a moment, trembling. Then stalked away

He glared after her for a full long moment, tormented by thoughts of revenge and murder.

And lust.