Isolation

10. Taste

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It was nothing.

Barely an anything.

But it was a beautiful nothing.

Just a small clash of breaths and closed eyes as Draco's upper lip fell between both of Hermione's, and his tongue ghosted across her lower lip. Just a little connection of flesh and taste that lasted all of two clicks of the clock's quickest hand, before reality and cruelty shattered it.

Wild, grey eyes snapped open, and Draco lunged away; ripping his face out of her hands like he'd been scolded; scrambling away from her with frantic movements. His chest was heaving with confusion and shock that burned his bones and pounded in his skull. He could hear her panting too, and his eyes went to the exposed skin of her stomach as that fucking lusty twitch by his groin hit him again.

Everything was slowly coming back to him; sights, sounds, just everything beyond her. He glanced down and scowled at the empty allergy shot in his grip, and he hadn't even realised he'd tugged it out of her as he'd pulled back. He chucked it away with disgust, blaming it for dragging him into this situation. This vile and revolting situation.

How could he have allowed this to happen?

How could Granger have allowed this to happen?

And why the HELL wasn't she moving or talking?

All that sliced the silence between them was their volatile and bewildered breathing. He could still taste her in his mouth; his top lip damp by her barely-there suck. He hastily dragged the back of his arm against his mouth, repeating it several times until the friction started to burn.

With a final horrified look at Granger, who was still frozen on the floor, he pulled himself up and stumbled into his room, only leaving the shrill slam of his door for her to remember him by.

He would have happily sacrificed the entirety of the Malfoy fortune to put more than one wall between them, but it would have to do. At least he couldn't see her now, but his tongue and nose still buzzed with her essence and scent, and he didn't know if her wanted to melt in the bliss of it or block his nostrils and tear out his own tongue to be rid of her.

He was vibrating with anger and mortification; his face covered by his palms as stubborn flashes of her yielding lips and bare skin pulsed at the back of his lids. A growl rumbled from the front of his throat and teased his tonsils as he tried to shove the images to the back of his brain, but they wouldn't shift; wouldn't leave him be. Merlin, he hated her. Hated himself. Hated every sodding detail of the events that had led to this humiliating and degrading incident.

Draco knew then that he'd gone mad. Funny though; he'd never felt more real.

And she'd tasted dangerously delicious.

Fuck...

.

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Hermione flinched by the bang of the door and dragged in a shaky breath. She wanted to fade away into the floorboards, or beg McGonagall for a spin of the Time Turner to erase the incident from existence. The worst thing was she had no idea who had initiated their... thing; their semi-kiss.

Oh God...

She couldn't help but her lick her lips and savour the leftovers of his taste; something close to citrus and masculinity, with a dash of peppermint. She could feel the warm remains of his palm-print against her abdomen, and she was certain she could still sense his weight leaning over her. Malfoy had returned to his healthier shape since she'd started cooking him meals, and he'd felt safe and sinful that close.