Literally pointless smut. Of the Dramione variety. Post-war. Enjoy.

It wasn't often that they did this.

At least that's how they tried to justify it - for different reasons of course.

His were because she was dirty. Filthy. A mudblood.

Hers were because he was foul. A bastard. Her enemy.

It didn't matter though. They could try to spin their words any way that they wanted. It didn't change anything.

Not. A. God. Damn. Thing.

"I hate you."

"I know." he said, grunting as her nails dug into his shoulders, drawing blood.

"You're vile." she said, her breath catching as he found that perfect spot.

He always did.

"I know." he groaned against the smooth column of her throat. He'd heard all this before, from the first time to just last week. None of this was new to either of them.

His rhythm was steady. It always was, and it never failed to throw her over the edge multiple times - though she was loath to admit it.

She also hated to admit how much she liked hearing his soft groans in her ear or his muttered 'fucks' under his breath. Or the way he gripped her hips so hard that he left fingerprints. And of course the perfect way he filled her, stretched her - every single time.

Every. Single. Time.

"Oh gods." she moaned, her hips rising to meet his thrusts.

He knew this part of their little dance well. When the insults stopped she was close, too caught up in the feeling to worry about making sure he knew how much she couldn't stand him.

"Give it to me, Granger." he murmured against her ear, speeding up so he was repeatedly slamming into her.

Everything was on fire, the slow delicious burn that had been building was about to explode, threatening to consume her completely.

And even though it was always like this, she never seemed to get used to the feeling. She could never prepare herself for being completely thrown over the edge and into blissfully blinding light.

Malfoy hadn't been her first, but he'd definitely been her best - and he certainly never let her forget it.

"No one else can make you feel like this. No one else knows your body like I do."

And it was true. He played her body like an instrument, and she allowed it.

"I know." she panted, her legs tightening around his waist.

A few thrusts later and she was lost, just for this moment, giving herself completely to him.

He clenched his teeth, forcing himself not to join her. Instead he slowed his thrusts and focused on her face.

He wouldn't ever admit it to her - or to anyone - but she wasn't the same bushy haired child from First Year. He wouldn't say it - he wouldn't even think it - but she wasn't ugly. That much she must have known as well, because Malfoy's had standards. He'd told her that a few times.

Looking at her now, he almost thought the word again - but stopped himself. He could evaluate. It wasn't the same thing as appreciating.

He took in her curly mess of chestnut brown hair, her toffee colored eyes, her pink, pouty, kiss swollen lips - even the way she arched her back, pushing her breasts against his chest.

After a moment he pulled out of her completely, causing her eyes to widen.

"What are you -"

"Turn around." he said, sitting back on his knees to look down at her. "On all fours."

She wasn't used to this. They didn't usually go more than once or twice. By this point he'd fucked her against the wall, ate her out on the bed, and then fucked her on it as well. She wasn't too sure if she could handle a fourth orgasm. She was already exhausted.

But one look at Malfoy - with his blonde hair that fell across his forehead in messy strands, his piercing grey eyes, his strong yet lean physique - and she was a goner. There was no way she could say no to him.

She shifted, moving so she was on all fours in front of him, her body tense as she waited for what he was going to do. They were exploring new territory and she didn't know how to react.

But it was good, too. They did have their reasons for doing this, both of them simple.

She did it to be controlled. Day in and day out she was in charge of one thing or another. The mother hen. The one people came to for advice. An integral part to treating the depression the war caused - but with him she didn't have to worry about doing anything, because he handled it. For once she finally got to relinquish control to someone else, someone who wouldn't judge her for not having the answers to everything.

He did it to be in control. His entire existence had been one person or another telling him what to do. His mother. His father. Snape. Bellatrix. Voldemort. He'd never been able to make his own decisions, never been able to take charge of something - anything. But she gave that to him. With her he finally felt some semblance of control over his life, over his choices, even ones as insignificant as sex.

She jumped slightly as his hands moved over her ass, causing him to let out a deep chuckle.

"Relax, Granger."

"Easy for you to say." she muttered, attempting to relax as his hands continued to slide over her soft skin.

He smacked her ass once, the sharp sound startling her more than the sting as he said, "You're doing this to not be in control, so re-lax."

She bit her lip, wiggling her ass slightly. She wouldn't admit she'd liked that. She wouldn't.

Not that she had to. He knew.

Sometimes she thought he knew her better than she knew herself - at least where her body was concerned.

His hand came down again, and this time she couldn't hold in her moan.

"Such a dirty girl." he said, leaning forward. He slid an arm around her to stroke her clit in soft circles, earning an even louder moan from the witch in front of him.

"Tell me, Granger, do you want me to fuck you again?"

He loved having her like this, completely trapped by him, completely overwhelmed.

"Answer me." he said sharply, his hand smacking her ass again - harder this time.

She pushed her hips back, brushing against his solid length and causing him to groan and speed up his fingers.

"Yes."

By this point her moans were constant, her breathing short and quick, and her legs were beginning to shake.

"Oh gods," her hands fisted in the sheets as he trailed kisses down her spine, all the while his fingers kept up their pace.

"I can't, Malfoy."

Her tone was on the verge of begging, and he couldn't help the smirk that crossed his face.

"Yes you can."

And just like he said, she could - and she did.

Hard.

He slid into her still spasming pussy, setting off another series of shocks as he began thrusting inside her. His hands were gripping her hips so hard that it just almost hurt, and the sound of his hips slapping against her ass only added to the onslaught of feelings.

From the position they were in now he was repeatedly hitting that perfect spot inside her, insuring that she'd definitely be coming undone another time before he was done with her.

He leaned forward, pressing his chest against her back as one hand snaked around her front to pinch and tease her nipples, all the while she heard his low groans against her ear.

He pressed a few kisses to her shoulder before asking, "Are you going to come again?"

She moaned, shaking her head, "No, I can't."

"We just talked about this." he said, moving his hand down to her clit, "You'd be surprised how many times I can make you come."

"I'm already surprised." she panted, a white-knuckle grip on the sheets as she felt herself getting closer and closer to her orgasm.

"Let go." he grunted, his fingers moving over her clit as he maintained his quick, deep thrusts.

Not long after his words did she do exactly that, squeezing around him - and he didn't stand a chance. He slammed into her again, burying himself as deep as he could before exploding inside her with a deep groan.

They were both panting, the only sound in the room their uneven breathing.

He slowly pulled out of her, falling onto the bed beside her. He'd be leaving in the morning, as was their usual routine, but for now he was here.

She turned around so she was on her back, looking up at the ceiling. They were silent for a while, he knew what was coming. The same words that were always said.

"I hate you."

"I know." he said softly.

She closed her eyes, turning back up to face the ceiling as she took a deep breath. She hated this part. It was the part where it was hard to keep straight what was and wasn't true.

Not that he was too much better.

He'd stopped calling her mudblood almost immediately after they'd started sleeping together. He'd stopped calling her names a few weeks ago. And he'd stopped telling her he hated her a few days ago.

He'd known for a while that he didn't hate her anymore - if he ever did in the first place.

He also knew she didn't hate him, but he wouldn't call her on it. He knew she needed to cling to the words to justify her behavior to herself. He couldn't blame her for that. It was hard. What they were doing was stupid and completely unnecessary - but they did it anyway.

"We can't keep doing this." she said, all the while knowing she didn't mean it.

"I know."

She released a long breath, trying to clear her head before turning to look at him again.

"Why do we do this to each other?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Because we enjoy it."

She stood up, grabbing an oversized shirt off the floor and pulling it on while saying, "No. This is torture. We're only making things worse."

He clenched his teeth, willing himself not to say anything stupid as he slid into a pair of pants and followed her out of her bedroom.

"We're not making anything worse."

"Yes we are." she said, shaking her head, "It was a horrible idea from the very beginning and -"

"Shut the fuck up." he said, pushing her against the wall, trapping her between it and his body.

Her eyes were wide and she kept her mouth shut, surprised by the sudden intensity in his eyes.

He was pissed.

"It's not torture. It's not making things worse. It's not horrible. It's not a fucking mistake. Out of everything don't you dare say it's a mistake."

She closed her eyes, fighting for some sense of control against her warring emotions, but failing miserably.

"We're not happy."

"No," he agreed, "But who is these days? We found something that takes our minds off the complete and utter shitstorm life's been."

"If it's not wrong then why don't you tell Blaise? Or Pansy? Why don't I tell Harry and Ron? Because deep down we know this -"

"Does it feel wrong when I touch you?" he asked, his eyes blazing. "Does it feel wrong when I kiss you? What about when I'm stretching you over and over again?"

She closed her eyes against his words, not wanting to hear them. Not wanting to admit that he was right.

"Fucking look at me."

She opened her eyes, but didn't say anything. She knew he wasn't done.

"You look at me and tell me it's a mistake. Tell me you don't want to do this anymore. Fucking say it, Granger."

She shook her head, "No."

If she was a stronger person she would've said it. She would've told him they were wrong and that they had no business doing what they were doing. She would've told him to leave. She would've said that she didn't need him.

But she didn't. She couldn't.

He pulled her forward roughly, claiming her lips in a kiss. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't a kiss that two people in love shared. It wasn't a kiss that said anything of forevers, or happily ever afters, or anything of the sort.

It was a desperate kiss. It was hard and rough and unforgiving and unrelenting and it just was.

It was a lifeline that two lost people were clinging to, because when dealing with the aftereffects of the war, everyone needed someone.

Nothing serious, just a one shot because the idea was stuck in my head, and I knew it wouldn't go away until I wrote it down.