It was dark in the room, but not totally black. She could tell, because she was staring up at the ceiling and counting each and every crack in the stone. If she had to guess, it was two, maybe three in the morning. She had gone to bed hours ago, but sleep was ever elusive when her mind raced.

The silence of the castle only amplified the thoughts in her head. She had her own room, as they all did, and that's where the idea originated. Ideas late at night were not usually logical, especially in her case, but who listened to logic when the body screamed for release?

She furiously tried to run through the positives and negatives of acting on her predicament, wanted to labor over each of the possible consequential outcomes. The needs of the body, however, far outweighed the mechanics of logic on this night. Mind decided, she slipped from between her blankets and headed for the bedroom door. It opened smoothly, a waft of chilly corridor air hitting her as she slipped out. Her bare feet made little sound as she padded down the hall, down to the door she knew was his.

The wards weren't particularly difficult to break. Maybe he had done so on purpose, maybe not. It wasn't something she would ask him anytime soon.

He heard her enter the room despite her stealthy movements, because he too was staring at the ceiling, watching the immovable pattern of the spider web cracks. He felt the mattress depress as she climbed beside him, and she shifted until she was comfortably lying on her side, head propped up on a hand to watch him. They didn't speak at first, preferring the gentle rhythm of their tandem breathing. Speaking would make it real.

He knew it would have to be him, and he did eventually break the silence; because he was supposed to be the responsible one, and he had so much more to lose.

"Why?"

It was anything but a simple question, for it contained more queries than either of them were willing to ask. They had decided long ago that they didn't want to know the answers, and thinking too long on it hurt their heads and their hearts. She answered the only way she could.

"You know why."

Which, of course, wasn't really an answer at all. He continued to watch the ceiling. She continued to watch him.

"We shouldn't do this," he sighed.

"I know."

It was their last night out of the country. She was his apprentice, tagging along on an international academic conference to gain experience. The week had spawned looks over cauldrons that were too long, touches when passing ingredients that were more than accidental, feelings felt between them that shouldn't have existed. The tension went miraculously unnoticed by everyone else, but it was almost palpable to them.

"This wouldn't be permanent," he warned, because he felt he had to do so.

"I know that too." He could hear the slight smile in her voice, just as he could detect the undercurrent of sadness. She wasn't an idiot. She knew what waited for him when they got home. She was his apprentice, and the fact that she was lying in his bed was already grounds for dismissal of him as a Master and professor. Once they got home, there would be no hope for another connection. They both knew this.

He finally turned on his side, facing her. Now they stared at each other; his expression as conflicted as hers was blank – something of a switch for the pair. Still, they didn't feel the need to dwell on it. Tonight was not going to be ordinary anyway. It wouldn't do any good to overanalyze.

"I should send you away." Now he sounded as though he was trying to convince himself.

"Yes," she agreed quietly.

Still, neither attempted to move.

She didn't think it would be him making the first advance, but those were his calloused fingers running lightly up and down her arm, causing her hairs to stand on end. She smiled at him gently, eyes warm now, and shivered.

It wouldn't be a frantic coupling, they could tell. It was a while before he leaned in for the first kiss, but she met him halfway. He tasted of herbs and spice. She tasted of berries.

She cupped his face in her palm, thumb caressing his high cheekbones and marveling at the unexpected softness of his skin. She slowly coaxed his lips apart and he allowed her access to the depths of his mouth, but stroked her tongue with his own. It was slow and tender, almost lazy. But exquisite.

He moved his hand to the bend of her waist, molding to its contours. The fabric of her tank top felt thin beneath his fingers, and he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. Running his hand over her curves, he discovered that her skin was even hotter unhindered – on her legs, for instance, bare below the line of her boy shorts. His fingers lightly made small circles on her thighs, sweeping over the curvature of her ass.

She moaned breathlessly into his mouth, pulling back a bit to gulp the air. He kissed across her cheek and nuzzled the crook of her neck, breathing hotly onto her pulse point before nipping at the skin. She responded beautifully, gasping and running her hands up his sides, taking the tee-shirt with her, exposing his skin to the slightly cooler air.

He gently shifted, rolling her onto her back and straddling her body. The shirt was pulled over his head and tossed to the floor haphazardly, and he grinned down at her with a crooked smile. The heat shone in her eyes as she looked up at him, taking in all his masculine planes and smattered scars; she lifted a hand and ran a single finger down the center of his chest. His eyes closed briefly against the sensation, enjoying the goosebumps that rippled down his body.

They continued like so for awhile, drawing out the pleasure of removing clothing, revealing skin, and exploring the flesh. They made eye contact but didn't speak – that was important. Words would ruin whatever fragile state they had come into this night.

Soon it was flesh on flesh, and the only sound in the air was that of harsh panting and an occasional moan as hands wandered. He could smell her arousal mingled with their sweat, a heady aroma. A questing hand found her open and wet, and oh-so-hot. His breath caught. She moaned aloud, writhing against his fingers; her eyes begged him to please please do something.

He smirked, which she was startled to see – it didn't happen often, at least not without a sneer and a harsh word. He brought his fingers, coated in her essence, to his mouth and sucked them clean, watching her expression contort into agonized pleasure as she watched him. He chuckled softly and leaned down to kiss her mouth.

They watched each other as he entered her; she was unable to hold the stare as her body arched and her eyes closed in pleasure, but he studied the look on her face in that moment and committed it to memory. Just as he was memorizing the feel of her body, the sound of her sweet gasps as he gently thrust inside, the taste of her skin and the aroma of their lovemaking.

The night seemed to last forever as they moved together, taking all the time in the world. They both knew this was the only chance to get it right. The first time she came, he captured her lips and swallowed her cries. He rarely took his eyes from her face, and she met his gaze when she could. It was difficult, though, when every caress sent shockwaves through her blood and each kiss on her skin made her moan in ecstasy.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when they finally succumbed to their joint pleasure, and the feeling of completion was more intense than what either of them had expected. The sheets were damp with sweat as he held her in his arms, begging the earth to delay its rotation just a little bit longer so he could savor the moment. She snuggled against his chest contentedly, planting a small kiss on his neck before she raised her head.

They watched each other's faces, watching the sun's glow fill the room and throw every curve and ridge into relief on their skin. He watched the way the golden light illuminated her eyes so perfectly. She watched the curve of his lips soften in the morning's rays.

"I need to go."

They were the first words that had been spoken since early that morning, and they came from her mouth. Not 'I should go' but 'I need to go.' He understood. With the rising sun came the reappearance of reality, and that reality did not see them together.

He nodded and gently kissed her before she rose to collect her nightwear. She found her tank top by the door; he found her shorts draped over the chair. They didn't speak again.

She returned to her room after a last lingering look at him, sitting against the headboard, sheets bunched low at his waist. He watched her go, trying not to look at the bittersweet smile on her face.

In separate rooms, they both watched the storm clouds riding in on the horizon of a blood-red sunrise.