A/N: Changed the rating to M for smutty purposes. 😂 Idk, this is all new to me. If you're not into the smutty bits, you can just skip it, I added an A/N to the text so you can just... pretend it got faded to black? Anyway, enjoy I guess? R&R, kthxbai. ❤️

"Scorp."

A whisper.

"Scorp?"

Scorp grimaced as he blinked his eyes open and then scowled at the face of a far-too-close Rose crouching next to the couch.

"What?" he asked tartly, blinking as he tried to figure out what was happening. After a brief sidebar with his brain, he finally added, "Are you alright?"

She shook her head.

There was a pillow clasped in her arms and she had a sort of pleading look on her face.

He knew the look, it was the 'please don't be a dick' look which, as usual, had him strung by the heartstrings and tottering around to her tune. And in this particular instance, her tune sounded a lot like 'I need an inert teddy bear to cling to'.

Would the nerviness never cease?

He stole an inquiring glance in the general direction of her room, the obvious question as to why not share the much larger bed -

Oh, right. That was why. Rose's eyes followed his and her lips pressed together, an unspoken conversation having place.

Beds were real. Couches were footnotes.

One thing was cuddling on a couch. Sheet territory, however, was far too dangerous.

He sighed and grabbed the back cushions off the couch, consigning them to the floor to make room, aware that his back was going to be screaming bloody murder in the morning. He was far too old to be sleeping on couches, much less sharing them with uncertainly-platonic co-workers with the bluest damned eyes he'd ever seen.

And fine, he wasn't that old, but he'd been too old for this since he'd been born.

He split the blankets in half and handed her one. She looked at it like he was giving her something of a radioactive nature and he rolled his eyes. "Unless you want to spend the night playing tug-of-war, I suggest you take them."

Mostly because he'd win. Partly because it minimised physical contact.

"You really are a grouch," she said, pulling the blankets to her chest and taking a tentative seat next to him. "Is it really alright if...?"

Her hair was tied in that insane knot she sometimes made of it, the one that was held up by nothing but sheer willpower. Her eyes were too bright, her pyjama choices should be banned and he was going to spend the night thinking about dead kittens to keep himself from unfortunate accidents.

No, it wasn't alright. It was what he imagined torture would feel like.

"What do you think?" he grumbled, tugging his blankets closer and pointedly placing a pillow between them anyway. She snuggled up to him until there was absolutely no room between them, which pretty much immediately justified the pillow because she was warm and soft and terribly comfortable and everything in him immediately stood at attention.

Dead kittens.

"My feet are cold," she said in a quiet, slightly defensive voice. "And if my feet are cold, the rest of me is cold and I can't –"

"Schhh, darling. It's fine."

It wasn't fine.

Scorp closed his eyes and wrapped an arm around her. Insidious lightning struck and Rose's cold hand found his own, pulling herself closer.

Too close for comfort. Too warm, too herself.

Dead kittens.

"This is a terrible idea," he whispered, his nose brushing against her neck. He was rewarded with a sharp inhale and everything in him stirred.

So close. So damned close. It would be so easy to place a kiss that one freckle and then a million more on every single one on her body.

Dead. Kittens.

"You want me to go?" Her hand tightened around his own and she turned to look at him, which didn't help, because her lips were slightly parted and she visibly swallowed when their eyes met.

Dead kittens and pandas and puppies.

Expired takeout.

His Grandmother.

Yep, that one did it.

He sighed, resting his forehead against the side of her head and closing his eyes. "Stay."

Even if he was just a glorified hot water bottle. Even if it did kill him, which didn't seem too beyond the realm of possibility right about now.

And he'd die a happy (if tormented) man.

The second he'd opened his eyes, she'd realised the mistake she'd made - the look on his face had almost sent her back screaming into her room. Now, however, with his arm around her and his breathing steady against her neck, Rose wondered if the gains outweighed the obvious discomfort they were both in.

For one, her feet had never been warmer - be it because she was leeching off his body heat or because her frenzied heart was beating at a cheery allegro, she'd rather not wonder.

Except she did. The conclusion she'd reached was that the pillow between them was the only thing keeping her sane. The fact that he felt like he needed it was also a bit… flattering? Maybe?

A lot flattering.

"Scorp?"

Would it be too improper to say she wanted to tear off his clothes outright?

His breathing hitched on his throat. "Yes, dear?"

Ever the tone of sarcasm, if slightly shaky.

She rested the back of her head against his forehead and he sighed into her neck. It made every single of her hairs stand on end and her pulse hum and, unlike when the storm did it, she just wanted him to do it again.

"Are you happy?"

Probably not the best middle of the night conversation but her other option was turning around and kissing him, which could potentially turn this whole confinement thing into a very awkward situation.

Happiness it was.

"Right now," he asked, stirring against her, "or in general?"

Right now, her entire body screamed.

"Both," she shrugged. "Either."

"In general I'd say I'm –" He sighed into her neck again, sending a pleasant tingle up her spine. "–probably happy."

"Probably? That's a very cavalier attitude."

"Probably," he repeated, yawning and nuzzling closer to her. "Happiness is grossly overrated. A bit too fickle for my taste, I like my emotions a bit more consistent."

"Cynicism isn't an emotion, Scorp," she said, letting out a chuckle.

"You're right, darling, it's not." His fingers traced hers thoughtfully and he let out a quiet peel of caustic laughter into her ear. "It's a lifestyle." After a few seconds he added, "Are you? Happy, I mean?"

An excellent question with far too complicated an answer. One that included 'I'd be happier if your hands were'.

"Yes," she lied, summarizing it somewhat. "Most of the time."

"When you're not in a murderous strop, you mean." He chuckled lightly, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. "I'm surprised I've gotten this long without ticking you off."

"You tick me off plenty."

"Clearly not enough to merit a strop."

"No." His arm tightened around her and Rose smiled into her pillow. "It's not about what makes me angry, it's mostly just –"

"Just?"

"It's what makes me sad," she whispered.

The very word hurt. Sadness was the sort of thing best left hidden from view, cloaked with a smile. Even just masked with anger, it hurt less.

"Rose?"

Her heart pounded against her ribcage as his nose brushed against her neck.

"Yes, dear?" she asked, except there was nothing ironic about it.

"Nothing."

Coming out and telling her he was happy right now and that he wanted to move into her living room forever seemed like a demented stretch caused by the downwards migration of his blood.

He hadn't thought he'd ever be grateful for lightning, but the occasional jolt was doing wonders for his sanity.

Halfway through the night she'd gotten up and tiptoed her way back to her room. Instead of holding on, he'd let her, feigning sleep - sleep that, feeling spurned, had apparently decided to take the scenic route back, because it was nowhere to be seen from then on.

Not even a wink.

"Good morning, sunshine."

The look he threw her could have frozen hell over.

"Too happy," he hissed, taking the mug from her hand. "Sleep well? Feet warm enough?"

His tone made her wince. It wasn't a friendly enquiry as to her wellbeing, he was definitely salty about it.

There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked miserable and, even then, she could feel her blood calling out to him. Like the storm, it beckoned. His lips had accidentally brushed the back of her neck at one point and she thought she'd go mad from it. She'd had to move in the middle of the night again, run for dear life and bear the pain of cold feet alone.

She'd been too optimistic.

"About last night -"

Scorp shook his head and held out a dismissive hand. "The blight of cold feet isn't to be taken lightly."

She had a feeling he wasn't just talking about literal cold feet.

People were resilient buggers, Scorp thought, forearm resting pressed against the window as he watched the rainfall. The storm raged outside, feeble now as their bodies adjusted, powerless in the face of human adaptability. Where a thunder would make their skin jolt a day before, it merely tingled now.

You could get used to anything.

Scorp figured at one point he'd get over it, he'd forget how she'd felt in his arms, how it had felt so fundamentally right.

What was 'right' anyway? 'Right' was nothing but a social construct. This wasn't 'right', it was a glitch, a complete anomaly. Fake News, Stockholm Syndrome at best. Any two people thrust into close quarters would feel the same.

In the cold light of the real world, this pervasive feeling of closeness, of belonging would be nothing but a distant dream.

They'd go back to Good News, Bad News and this would be Old News, the sort that you crumpled into a ball and tossed in the trash, forgotten a few hours later as soon as something new and exciting came along.

"What's up with all the office shags?"

Scorp looked up from the book he'd been reading - Rose had recommended Agatha Christie and it was riveting - at the window, where she was staring at him from her own book - still Seventy Ways to Yell 'Argh', because she read with all the speed of a tortoise.

A tortoise with a stubbed toe.

He figured if there was something like domestic bliss, this would be it - minus the intrusive, out-of-the-blue questions and the wrist-slicing sexual tension. Or maybe with them, Scorp wasn't entirely sure.

"Where's that come from?"

"Something I read." She set the book down - one of the pastel fluff covered menaces - and curled her knees into her sweater, wrapping her arms around them. "I don't get it. You don't look like a womanizer. You don't feel like a manwhore. Are you dating these girls?"

It clearly wasn't meant to be offensive - she was actually asking. Not snapping, not judging (alright, maybe a little underlying judgement, but she couldn't help herself), actually asking about it.

"No." He sighed and sat up. "Not serious enough to report –"

"– but serious enough to shag them on your desk?"

Entering dangerous territory now.

"Rose…"

"No, really, I want to know," she said, sounding a bit too calm. "What were you thinking ?"

"I wasn't," he admitted, shaking his head. "It's not like I went in, 'today's a great day to shag someone at the office, let's rub it all over Rose Weasley's face' –"

From the looks of it, they already were in dangerous territory and he'd somehow managed to sink up to his waist before he'd noticed what was happening.

"What if it hadn't been me? What if it were someone else walking in?" Her eyes narrowed at him. "It's called gross misconduct for a reason! For the love of Merlin, it's the sort of thing that gets you sacked and you go at it not once, but twice?! Twice that I sodding know of –"

And there they were. And, as usual, Scorp had no idea how she'd gone from 0 to a 100, but they were now at a 110.

"– but no, you just have to be a degenerate wanker who can't keep it in your pants, don't you?"

Sooner all later there'd be a dagger stuck in his heart and he'd be bleeding out all over her couch.

"And don't you dare tell me it 'happened' because these things don't just happen," she yelled, pulling her legs from under her sweater, "you don't just trip and fall into someone's fanny! It's not a 'whoopsie', you're a grown man and you should know better than to –"

It wasn't about what made her angry, it was about what made her sad.

Right now, he was having a hard time discerning any sadness whatsoever.

"– Merlin, I swear, it's like you wanted to get caught! Which I guess is the point of having an office fling in the first place, isn't it, the thrill? Normal people get their kicks out of doing something else, like, I don't know, dragon-riding, but no, you had to pound into both bloody Hocus Pocus and Arts and Warts, both of whom I can never look in the eye again!"

His eyes met hers and, for the first time, he pinpointed what was happening under all that spitting anger.

Hurt.

"Not to mention the whole hassle when everyone finds out! Do you have any idea of the sort of bullshit hurdles decent people have to go through to get a relationship approved? And yet here you are, throwing buggering caution to the wind, subjecting yourself to a potential harassment claim…"

In the absence of an office door to slam, Rose stomped out of the room and Scorp heard a door banging, presumably her room. Predictably, after a minute or so, she came back.

"And another thing," she cried, "how dare you come into my house and snoot all over my spoons?"

He'd hoped it'd just be an angry spell, the sort regular people did. Unfortunately, it seemed like on top of the crawling skin and constant feeling of discomfort from the storm, he now had to deal with an "And Another Thing" day in a far too confined space.

There was a rap at the door and Rose wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Go away," she moaned, turning to bury her face in her pillow.

Every single time. Childish hissy fits that left her shaking and far too much shame to apologise after the fact. Everything coming out except what really mattered and possibly one or two things she didn't mean just for the sake of letting him have it.

Her therapist was going to have a field day with this. She always seemed so terribly pleased about it in a sort of smug, 'I Told You So' way. 'Practice saying your feelings with 'I' sentences', she'd say.

I am upset.

Why on earth was she upset? She had no right to be upset about anything.

'Avoid judgement. It's fine to feel the way you do.'

But was it?

She was the one who'd invited him over and it was expected that he'd poke fun at, if not everything, some things. Why on earth would she expect anything different? On top of it all, he hadn't even been that dickish, just… she didn't even know what the word for it was, but it was like seeing a Muggleborn walking into Hogwarts for the first time.

Awe maybe. Some judgement, but mostly… awe? Awe wasn't bad. Awe wasn't supposed to be bad and yet it was.

Like he was expecting something else and she'd somehow fallen too short or too far.

Another tap. "Rose?"

And then there was the fact that his shoulder-glance as he shagged someone else was still engraved in her mind, possibly forever.

I am upset.

Of course she was upset. Every touch reminded her of it. Every word, every laugh, every stupid far too personal conversation. He was supposed to be a co-worker, at best a friend and yet there was this ridiculous static between them that had her toes curling in situations where they definitely shouldn't.

"Are you alright?"

He sounded concerned, which was a new one. When she got one of her hissy fits, he usually just stared blankly at her with a 'you done yet, I have things to do, places to be, y'know, actually important things' look on his face.

Usually, after the fact, he just looked amused.

"I'm fine," she hissed at the door. "Now bugger off."

I am… jealous.

The word made her grimace. It was so ugly, so petty, so stupid. She would've liked to feel disgusted at the scene or outraged at the cheek or even concerned for his job - all of those would have been reasonable reactions.

Instead, she was jealous.

"Next thing you'll be telling me you feel 'fab'." There was another tap at the door and Rose felt her misery simmering. "Can I come in?"

Yes.

"No."

It was a few hours before the door opened and Rose finally came out. She'd apparently decided to skip the snapping stage altogether and had instead jumped straight to pointedly pretending nothing had happened.

"How's the book?" she asked softly, handing him a mug of steaming coffee. "Is that Murder on the Links? How are you already done with Styles? Do you eat books instead of reading them?"

There it was again, the comfortable happiness covering unknown depths of something else.

"You're the one who reads like you're limping your way to the end."

"I like to enjoy my books, thank you very much."

Scorp was tempted to let it go, to sink into pretence headfirst, to follow along and ignore it.

It would've been so easy.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, sitting upright on his seat and scowling at her. "Care to tell me what that was all about?" Her smile faltered and she shook her head and Scorp continued with a bitter laugh, "No, of course you don't."

He'd never actually gotten a chance to have at her after one of her little outbursts. There was always a thin veneer of civility back at the Prophet.

That veneer was all but shattered now and he refused to go back to it.

"I'm sorry."

That was him, not her. Rose never actually apologised for anything she said when she was in the throes of her anger, not with words anyway. Words made her defensive, which was ridiculous because they made their living with words.

Words should've been easy.

"What for?" she asked, letting out an uncomfortable little laughter, and sitting at the window - as far from his as was possible without there being something obviously wrong, he gathered. "Did you put Styles back whence it came from?"

She seemed to have suddenly developed a case of very selective deafness.

"Darling, this really is unbecoming." Scorp sighed and got up to his feet. She stared back at him blankly, lower lip shaking slightly and Scorp had to put his heart on ice so he wouldn't get dragged into indulging this bullshit façade. He took a seat next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "I am sorry."

She stiffened and asked blithely, "What are you sorry for?"

Scorp let out a mirthless laugh: what was he sorry for? Was he sorry that he'd laughed at her mismatched spoons? Was he sorry he'd shagged Whoever and Whatever?

The answer was 'obviously not'.

Perhaps 'obviously' was a little hyperbolic, but he wasn't sorry.

Fine, he definitely was sorry.

"I just am." He brushed the hair away from her face and she leaned into him. "You could just tell me when I'm being a git. I get that it's more efficient to go at it in batches but –"

"I'm sorry."

He must've misheard her, he thought, because there was no way –

"I'm so sorry."

There it was again. His delusions were becoming more vivid.

Scorp looked down at her to confirm he wasn't, in fact, mental and found Rose Weasley doing something that further convinced him he was in need of psychiatric assistance - there was a single tear rolling down her cheek.

She was crying.

At the sight of it, his heart - which up until now had been happily frozen on ice - was dunked into a tin of boiling water.

That is to say, it cracked.

She wasn't entirely sure which of them had started it. What she did know was that one moment she'd been struggling to get a stupid 'I' sentence out and the next his mouth was on hers and her heart was just about ready to go off on her.

The reason she wasn't sure who had started it was that, at present, her fingers were crumpled into a fist at his shirt dragging him closer. Then again, both of his hands were cupping her cheeks pulling her to him, so she was guessing they both had plausible deniability.

As far as first kisses went, this one was simply terrible. It wasn't in the realm of sweet first kisses, of soft brushes and tender touches, oh no, this one was smack dab in foreplay land, their hands and mouths moving with downright desperation.

Lips kissed, teeth dragged over exposed skin. Hands touched, pulled and demanded until she was pressed against the wall of her window nook and had somehow dragged Scorp on top of her.

No gentle rain, more like a storm.

He let out a sardonic chuckle and Rose's eyes widened as she threw him a questioning 'what the hell, mate?' look.

"I was just reminding myself that when I inevitably muck this up," he said, tilting his head toward the rain still hammering outside, "I'll get kicked out into that."

Rose blinked. "When what?"

His fingers were gently tracing the back of her neck and his eyes were soft… but the smile he was giving her was as caustic as ever. "That or when you finally come to your senses."

He brushed his lips against hers again and again and again and Rose's heart hummed as a thumb brushed the skin under the edge of her shirt. He sniggered and pulled away, leaving her gasping for breath.

"In the interest of honesty," he continued, his breath ragged against her ear, "I'd rather you did it sooner than later."

Pessimistic wanker.

Rose sighed and pulled the fistful of shirt away from her (yet another one that fit him far too well) to give him a hard look - except she was feeling far too happy, so the resulting scowl was a disgrace to the rest of its species.

"You really do feel the need to ruin everything good in this world," she scolded, shaking her head with amazement. He opened his mouth, irony clearly at the tip of his tongue and Rose pressed an admonishing kiss to it. "And don't you dare give me that 'can't break what's already broken' rubbish, you're not a vase."

He pulled himself up and raked a hand through his hair, eyes slightly pained. "How are you not more torn up about this?"

The answer was simple: she was far too happy to give a buggering tosh about anything else.

Cuddling baby dragons and kneazles had nothing on this.

Rose frowned slightly. "Should I be more torn up about it?"

She didn't feel particularly repressed as of right now, but that didn't mean a thing. Just because her lady bits kept cheering 'get on with it', that didn't mean they were right - it had been a while and she was going a bit spare from the lack of human warmth.

He let out another bitter laugh. "Not an hour ago you were telling me off for sleeping with a co-worker."

Rose's heart sank at the word 'sleeping'.

"Sleeping? I assumed it was just sex," she said quietly, slowly backing away from under him.

'Sleeping' wasn't the same as 'shagging'. 'Sleeping' was intimate. 'Sleeping' implied possession of some sort.

She didn't even want to look at him, her unseeing eyes moving to take in her formerly warm living room. It now felt like it was oozing misery. She'd have to move, find somewhere else with a perfect window seat –

"Rose…"

"Were you sleeping with them?" Alright, clearly there was some repression at work here. "Better yet, are you sleeping with them?"

Silence.

Rose shook her head and bit her lip, twisting up the bun that had come undone in his hands, bracing herself for the worst.

"No...?"

"Oh, thank Merlin," she said, tilting her chin up at him, her face immediately falling at his scowl. "Then why –"

Except she didn't finish her sentence because his mouth was on hers again.

Her lips brushed against his again and again and Scorp scowled: as far as decisions went, this was by far the stupidest.

No, wait, this was.

He pressed her against the wall, burying his face in her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, untwisting the knot she'd just put together, revelling in the chaos of it. She smelled like sunshine but more , like she'd gone swimming in it.

While he was busy weaving inane considerations about her hair, Rose was proving to be of a more enterprising nature, her fingers giving his belt a meaningful tug.

Merlin.

His inside hiss must've shown on the outside because she peeked at him, a sunny smile on her face that made everything inside of him melt into a mushy pile. A single question in her eyes, 'Yes?'.

"Yes," he whispered, cupping her face between his hands until the back of her head bumped against the wall, and his mouth was on hers again, "all the 'yes'."

A trail of clothes followed them to the couch as they stumbled and fumbled and, all the while, she was looking at him like… well, it might be a little presumptuous of him, but she looked happy to see him.

Like he was a sodding baby panda.

Scorp didn't care - so long as she kept on looking.

And she did, blue eyes laughing as they toppled over and onto that terribly comfortable couch, dislodging the copy of Seventy Ways to Yell 'Argh' as she fell over him at first, pinning him down with a self-satisfied laugh and then a whimper as he flipped her around and all but pounced her.

For some reason he still couldn't fathom, she still hadn't stopped him, hadn't put a hand to his chest and told him to 'bugger off'.

For some reason, she was still in his arms and he hadn't woken up from this.

Not yet anyway.

She was there, alive and warm and happy and, just for the time being, his.

Scorp had no idea what to make of it, he just kept following her lead as she tugged his shirt off, as she struggled with his buttons, as she kicked his pants away. As she wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled into the kiss, as her eyes crinkled and her hands buried themselves in his hair almost lovingly.

Merlin.

He just kept waiting for every kiss to be the last, every touch, every -

She stopped suddenly, eyes wide with horror, the flimsiest of remaining layers between them and Scorp hovered motionless over her for a hair-raising second, all the blood freezing in his veins.

There it was. This was it. The proverbial shoe dropping.

"The magic's down," was what she said instead, her voice a strained hiss. "Bugger."

Not 'bugger off', 'bugger'.

Scorp shook his head uncomprehendingly for a second, wincing motionlessly as she sat back up, a crease between her eyebrows. Her eyes softened and she planted a peck on his lips - a hopeful band-aid on a gaping wound - before slipping out from under him and standing, hand buried in her red hair and pacing aimlessly around - which felt like Bad News.

He clearly wasn't getting the gravity of the situation - men never did. The very concept eluded them entirely. While Muggle men were practically doling out condoms at the thought, the merest whiff of sex, wizarding blokes didn't want a wand anywhere near their… well, wand.

But it was obviously fine for women to enchant their fannies.

"Magic's down," she enunciated slowly, giving her nethers a meaningful look that seemed to fly completely over his head. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

He kept staring blankly back at her, sitting back on the couch in nothing but a - very promising - tent in his briefs and was still giving her that daft, shell-shocked look.

"Unless you want to risk a small bundle of joy calling you 'Da-Da' in a nearby future-"

It was like his brain had snapped itself back together at the words. "You're talking about birth control?" He blinked once and then got up to his feet, arm coiling around her waist and practically sweeping her off her feet. "That's it?"

He sounded relieved and Rose scoffed. "Much as I love you I don't fancy being a mum just now."

Much as I love you.

Her eyes widened just as the words came out, hanging heavy in the air. Far too massive for this particular moment and her horrified face met Scorp's scowl.

"You what?"

A disaster if Rose had ever seen one. His eyebrows shot upwards and his arm tightened around her, free hand gently pushing her hair aside. His eyes were pleading and Rose didn't have the smallest idea if he wanted her to say she didn't or if he wanted her to repeat it.

In the end, she went with her gut, optimism pushing her forward, making her braver than she felt. "Apparently. I mean, I know I like you, who the hell knows, I might love -"

Happiness did breed happiness, apparently, because his mouth was back on hers and he was smiling, really, really smiling, none of that smirky, bitter, cynical rubbish.

Just for her. Just the one.

(A/N: skip the smuttier bit here)

The words died as his fingers moved south, gently brushing her soft skin, tracing circles on her legs, digging into her inner thighs in a way that made her whimper. Lightly grazing the wet spot centre stage in her knickers, his eyebrows shooting upwards first with surprise before his face melted back into the ironic, familiar smile.

His hands resumed their exploration and his mouth met hers again, soft lips tugging, teeth biting, nipping everywhere, moving to her chest, tongue flicking a sensitive nipple.

"Scorp" she whispered, shuddering as his fingers grazed the exact spot that was aching for him. "Fuck."

"Little Miss Sunshine swearing," he said against her mouth, shaking his head and letting out one of his laughs as her senseless fingers tugged at his hair. Impatient. Demanding. "Will the wonders never cease?"

"Do you need to be so -"

The words drowned in her throat and she croaked out some sort of nonsense as he gave her nipple a cheeky pinch.

"Yes," he whispered in her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive shell of her ear. "And since you 'apparently' love me, I'm thinking about doing it some more."

She pulled back to look at him, to give him a smile of her own in exchange for his, to kiss, to touch the matching part of him that felt hard against her thigh, rallying out a groan of his own.

A purposeful palm dragged a moan from her and her legs almost gave out.

"Fuck," she repeated when a finger slowly hooked around the flimsy, wet piece of fabric and pulled it aside, slowly, deliberately slowly until her fingers were tearing at his hair. "What about you?"

"What about me?" he asked with a grin, hand stopping in its tracks and keeping her teetering on the knife-edge between wretched frustration and delightful relief.

Her own hand rubbed him through the fabric of his underpants, slowly tracing him and she smiled as he unconsciously thrust into her hand. She smiled as his eyes closed to inhale sharply when her fingers brushed across the taut stomach, the patch of silky blonde hair before launching an ambitious campaign into his briefs.

She gave him a daring stroke, two, three, ten as their hands moved together, bodies tugging and pushing and pulling… and then all hell broke loose. His mouth was on hers again, tongue brushing against hers, hands pinning hers to the sides of her head, far away from the straining in his pants.

"Scorp…"

"Hush, darling," he said with a little sardonic little smile. "At this rate, I'll be embarrassing myself forever."

A knee moved between her legs, spreading them apart and she was everything but begging him to move, her hips rolling in hopes of finding some relief, any relief... and all the while he pressed kisses on her mouth, on her face, on her everything until she thought she was going to go mad.

"Scorp -"

His slick fingers outlined an exploratory and painfully stingy first draft on her wetness, before going back for some serious editing that tore out a choked "yes" from her.

There was no fucking around, no fumbling, no hesitation, no original 'changing it up' like stupid Ethan had insisted on doing - Scorp had somehow figured what worked and was just deliberately and consistently rubbing the soul out of her, like a bloody exorcism.

He just kept building her up and tearing her down, dragging moan after moan, 'yes' after glorious 'yes' until she was a gasping, shuddering, panting and profoundly happy mess.

His arm wove itself around her waist and Scorp held her up, feet floating off the ground for a second before he set her down again.

"Now," he said quietly, breath ragged on her neck, "you were saying about birth control?"

A/N: Well, first forays into smutty territory are what they are, so I'm terribly self-conscious about it but, what you gonna do, que sera sera, et cetera. Thanks to everyone who showed this some love on the last chapter, namely ArcoIris (thank you my elusive Guest!), youveforgotten (your review was like hot chocolate!), nobodysperfect2133, Fangalicious and, as ever, fearinourminds, who keeps putting up with my rubbish and has the patience of a saint for hearing out and reading all the weird coming out of my mouth (fingers?).

If you're reading and enjoying this, please do leave a note! Tell me what you love, what you hate, what made you laugh or what tore at your little heart!

(Next chapter coming soonish, because this got a little out of hand and it's clearly a 4 chapter, not 3.)

Stay safe everyone and wishes of a great weekend! Love, Maria ❤️