"Mm, you know this is wrong."

They're in the dark, and he's playing with her hair. Her dark eyes flash as she turns. "You think I don't know that?" she snarls, reaching behind her for his neck. He places his hands on her shoulders and rolls his eyes.

"No one's ever done this in the arena, Clover," he murmurs, his hands tracing her curves and settling on her waist.

"You think that bitch from twelve and her blond-haired lover aren't getting it on in their cave right now?" she retorts, ruffling his blonde hair.

He sighs, rolling his eyes. "They're far more composed than-"

She turns, pulling his lips to hers. "But we aren't," she whispers, pulling at the zipper of his jacket.

For Estoma, the Aussie that needs to be assaulted with melty snowballs. Merry Christmas!