Another quite loose use of the prompt. It started off reasonably well, then I digressed somewhat and got a little ... carried away.

This rather pushes the boundaries of the 'T' rating. Enjoy. ;)

Cider:

"Here, Nikki, try this."

Nikki places down her book and looks up as Harry enters the room carrying two mugs.

"What is it, and why do I want to try it?" she asks shrewdly. Usually, in Harry's case, the words 'try this' end up giving her a stomach ache.

"Mulled cider," he tells her, his eyes on the rather full mugs as he slowly walks towards her. "It's a warm, spiced, festive drink."

She pulls a face. "After Friday night, I don't want to see alcohol ever again. Particularly of the festive kind." She briefly wonders if it's possible to still have a hangover two days after the consumption of the offending liquor.

A smirk creeps across his face as he places the mugs on the coffee table. "I made it, you have to try it," he argues. "Besides, the alcohol content is very low. I wasn't going to get hammered at ten a.m. on a Sunday. Now try some. Please."

She picks up a mug and blows gently on the hot surface. Harry's eyes are somewhat unhelpfully fixed on her, as if he's waiting for a reaction. She sips the hot liquid, but immediately dislikes the taste. Wincing, she pushes it back at him. "I don't like cider warm. I don't even like it cold that much."

Harry pouts with the air of a petulant child. "Well I like it."

"Good for you," she smiles, returning, once again, to her novel.

After ten minutes of silence, in which Nikki reads and Harry fidgets, occasionally drinking his cider (she suspects he doesn't like it either, he just doesn't want to admit it), he sighs pointedly. At first she ignores him, but when he shifts closer and does it again she snaps her book closed, smiles at him sweetly, and says, "Yes?"

"I'm bored."

She tuts. "You're such a child. Why don't you clean the kitchen? Or do some of that paperwork that you've got building up? Or start writing that research paper you were thinking of doing?"

He thinks for a moment then pulls a face. "Boring. I could think of something we could do..." Lightly, he drags his fingers up her jeans-covered leg.

An irrepressible shiver tickles her spine, but she buries her nose further in her book and says, "I'm trying to read."

He snatches the book from her hands, tossing it into the coffee table. She tries to look outraged, but fails miserably when he grins and pushes his mouth against hers. As his tongue trails over her bottom lip, she makes a contented noise in the back of her throat.

Her fingers glide up his body until they come to rest in his hair and she tugs him closer to her until they're essentially horizontal on the sofa. He moans as she hooks a leg around his waist, pulling him down on top of her. Kissing ferociously, her hands start working on the buttons on his shirt, just as his slip under her top.

Their legs become tangled and together they roll off the sofa and fall with a thump to the carpet. "Ow," he utters when he bangs his head on the leg of the table, causing her to laugh throatily.

She trails kisses across his jaw, down his neck, and along his collarbone until she extracts a soft groan from him. He pushes himself into a sitting position so that she's straddling his lap, and, his hands splayed across her bare back, somehow managed to get to his feet. She squeals in surprise, her legs wrapping tightly around his hips, but his strong arms steadily hold her in place.

He staggers forwards and it's obvious that he's trying to see where he's going, but she's having too much fun and refuses to let him, instead deciding to tease his bottom lip with her teeth. She drags her mouth across his cheek and to his ear, where she whispers, "Do you love me?"

"No, I just like you a lot," he murmurs, his hot breath tickling her neck.

"That's a shame. I was going to make you show me," she breathes, her finger tracing the muscles in his back.

Through gritted teeth he asks, "Show you what?"

"How much you love me. Will you?"

And then everything changes. There's a shift in his demeanour, his expression. Momentarily abandoning his failing attempt to make it into the bedroom, he slams her into the nearest wall. She gasps, a shiver of pleasure crawling up her spine.

He locks eyes with her, his gaze fierce. "That all depends," he whispers. "Do you love me?"

She wants to say something meaningful, something to tell him how much she really does love him. However, whether it's due to his ministrations on her burning skin or that look in his eyes, all she manages is a strangled, "Yes."

But he seems satisfied by this answer. Kissing her hard and hot and fast, he pulls her away from the wall and into the bedroom, until they eventually collapse onto the bed.

They come together in a desperate wild passion. He isn't gentle and she doesn't want him to be. She knows she's going to have bruises from where his fingers are digging into her soft warm flesh, and she knows she's going to be sore later because he isn't exactly holding back. But she leaves her mark on him too; her fingers drag up his back as she desperately attempts to hold on to her sanity.

Did she not trust him so completely, did she not care for him so deeply, she would be scared by the hunger and desire and need she sees in his eyes and feels in his touch. But the hot words he whispers in her ear only serve to feed her own passion, her own need for him.

She falls apart beneath his rippling body, stars bursting on her eyelids as a pleasure so intense it almost inflicts physical phantom pain rips through her. He forces her to meet his eyes at this point, his expression raw and honest and intense. It both shocks her and sends a shiver of something infinitely sweeter than lust throughout her body.

A while later, when they're sated and exhausted and sore and tangled up in the sheets and have finally regained their breath, she rolls onto her side and looks at him. He's staring at the ceiling, a little dazed. "That was..."

She giggles. "The best yet."

"The best ever," he amends, turning his head to grin at her. His eyes travel down her arms and land on the small red marks at her wrist. His grin turns into a small smile of puzzlement and then a frown of crashing realisation. She knows what's coming next and when he speaks she's proved right. "I did that to you, didn't I? Dammit, I was so rough and I didn't even stop to... Did I hurt you?"

"Believe me when I tell you that you did not hurt me," she smiles.

"But your arms..."

"Have you seen your back?" she counters. "Look, I'm not made of glass, Harry. I'm not going to break at your touch. That was good, okay? That was so damn good." She shifts closer to him and gently captures his lips in her own.

"Are you sure?"

She sighs. "Yes. Ask me again and I'll hit you."

"Kinky." His grin returns and he gently tugs her down. She giggles softly and collapses onto him, every muscle in her body feeling shaky and abused. He exhales contentedly. They settle into an easy silence for a few minutes, before he adds, "Want some cider?"

Next chapter: Peppermint