She cuddles up into my side, skin sweaty but eyes glowing. We’re both panting heavily, a side affect from our previous activities. She calls it lovemaking, I just say sex. Why dress it up, trying to hide what it is? It doesn’t matter what you call it, it’s just for pleasure. Well, I do my best to convince myself it’s just for pleasure.

But I let her think what she needs to. I’ll call her stupid nicknames like Sweets, or my little Lioness, if it keeps her coming back. Keeping up with the lie is easier than trying to woo a new girl every time I want a quick fuck. I can pretend to be good, pretend to be honest. It’s not difficult; she trusts me. I don’t know why, if I’m being honest.

I’m rude, abrasive, cold. I’m not the kind of girl you fall in love with, or write to your parents about. I do my best work in the dark, when it’s jut two bodies and no expectations. I don’t know why she keeps coming back, either. I’m nothing special, and she could have her pick of men. But instead here she is, naked in my sheets. Because I’m a Prefect, I get my own room within the Slytherin Girls’ dormitory.

It comes in handy, because I don’t have to try and get her off in a cramped closet, we get the luxury of a bed. She’s a Prefect for Gryffindor, but it’s harder to sneak me into her room. At least that’s what I say. In reality, I don’t know if I would have the willpower to leave if I were in her bed. I think I would just want to stay and never go back.

I pull her up so she’s sitting on my lap again, and I rub her flanks with my hands. I’m a Chaser on my Quidditch team, and my fingers have calloused that catch softly on her skin. Her hands rub over my shoulders, and I press against her lower back to bring her down, so I can kiss her. She leaves me with a soft press of her lips, before sitting back up and stretching.

She’s so beautiful, really. She’s a Chaser for the Gryffindor team, and although softer than mine, her body is corded with muscle. She smiles down at me as she cracks her knuckles, and I steal one of her hands. I kiss from her fingertips up to her temple, and she giggles. She catches my face as I kiss up her neck, and presses her lips to mine.

I make a faux-indignant noise, and I nip at her fingers playfully. She smiles so hard her dimples show, and I catch myself smiling. Embarrassed but trying to remain calm and cool, I lay down and go back to rubbing her sides. Sometimes, I think about the first kiss we shared and how I’d like to re-do that moment.

It was clumsy, a heated makeout session in the Equipment shed. Part of me regrets it because she romanticizes that moment so much more than she should, and it makes me feel guilty that it wasn’t really romance at all. But I tamp that part of me down, because she’s just a fling. Nothing more, nothing less.