Author's Note: This is a LEMON, rated M (contains explicit sexual material)! If you do not wish to read this content, skip ahead to chapter 2.

Cana Alberona doesn't do attachment.

His body presses hers back into the shadows of the guild wall, hips cradled hot and hard between hers. He's bigger than her, taller even at this angle, and his arms crush her against him like steel bands. His mouth rakes down her throat, sucks hard at her pulse point— she can feel her breath coming fast and ragged. His fingers slide into her thick brown hair, shaking it loose from its ponytail, letting the heavy tresses cascade down around them both. She throws her head back and gasps as he pulls her down against him in a slow, voluptuous glide. He just feels so good against her, so right,that it's all she can do to not moan out loud.

The wall rubs roughly against her silky, overheated skin. It reminds her that they're doing this at the guild, behind the stairs where someone could walk in on them at any second, and the thought sends a burning flush through her entire body. It's just so hot, the way his back muscles flex as he moves, the kind of breathless groan he makes as she molds herself to him. When they're like this, it's so perfect that she barely remembers that he isn't hers to keep.

She's never been the most virginal of the guild members, never been one to turn down offers of sensuality or physical pleasure. She knows her assets, uses her beauty shamelessly when she can, doesn't mind using more when it's needed. She remembers when they first discovered the heat between them, one drunken night when Lucy dared her to dance on top of the bar and she did, climbing up and arching her back and swiveling her hips for the world to see. She was numb by that point, lost in a haze of alcohol, but she felt his eyes flicking over her body as she danced. She knew she looked good, flushed and sensual, and she flaunted it on top of that bar. Once she slid off the bartop and he met her gaze with hot, searching eyes, she tugged him back behind the guild. He crowded her back into the wall and they lost themselves, together, in the darkness for the first time. They've had dozens of more times since then. She keeps waiting for the heat between them—because it's just heat— to fade. But it never does.

Her skin burns, her lips tingling and swollen as he slides his hands around her back and fits her more firmly against his front, hips locked in a glorious meld. She wraps her legs around his waist even tighter. He skims his hands under her blue bikini top, caressing the sensitive skin with just the pads of his fingers until she bites back a groan. She twines her arms around his neck, pulling herself against him, burying her hands in his soft blonde spikes.

"Cana—" he gasps raggedly, breathless from the burn of her satiny skin on his. She can feel him, hard and ready against her thigh. Her skin sears where he touches her, so hot that it hurts. Something twists in her stomach at the look in his eyes, dark and needy, making her body yearn for his touch. She knows he feels the same when she twists in his arms, grinding hard against him, and he ducks his head into the curve of her neck and groans.

"Yes—" she gasps, and he doesn't wait any longer before his hands skim her pants from her hips and her fingers make quick work of his own trousers and he's finally free and ready and—

Oh. Oh. He fills her completely and she can't breathe because of the sheer heat of it. He hisses a curse under his breath as he slides in to the hilt, the cords of his neck standing out with the strain of going slow. She tilts her head forward to nuzzle his collarbone, admiring the starkness of his black tattoo against the gold planes of his chest, then bites, hard. She wants to mark him, no matter how shallow her desire is. She wants to see a tangible sign that, only in this moment, he, Laxus Dreyar, is hers. Because she knows that this moment, this wonderful feeling of completion, is just an illusion. She knows that the spell always breaks in the end.

She feels the delicious warmth of his skin against hers, arches her back and gasps as he grinds torturously against her, nearly keens out loud from the ache of her pleasure as he decides to thrust into her as hard as he can. She trembles and comes apart in his arms as he buries his face in her throat and groans, reaching his own peak. She recognizes the very moment that he pulls away from her and lowers her gently to her feet, slipping back into his pants and pulling his unbuttoned shirt over his starkly tattooed shoulders. He flashes her a grin, dark and satisfied, filled with rising heat. "Damn, woman, you're something else. Thought I'd turn inside out."

She snorts indelicately, forcing down the thrilling warmth in favor of her normal cocky brashness. Her skin stings as she pulls on her pants. "You'll never be a romantic bastard, Dreyar, that's for certain."

He raises an eyebrow and leans forward, caging her against the wall with his forearms on either side of her head. He moves like a panther, limbs swinging with feline grace. His lips curl up at the corners and her breathing involuntarily starts to speed with anticipation. That traitorous heat burns in her cheeks as she stares at him, wide-eyed and flushed. He bends past her lips, brushes his mouth over her jaw and throat to whisper in her ear—

"I'll see you around, Alberona." And he leaves, shirt still open over his muscled chest as he strides back into the light and noise of the guild. She watches him go with thick-lashed indigo eyes, then turns away, because she knows that she'll cave to his sloe-eyed smirk just as easily the next time. She can't say no to this man, can't resist the brightness of his body or the darkness of his eyes. She can't say no, because even though Cana Alberona doesn't do attachment, dammit, her body doesn't seem to have gotten the message.

"Cana! Hey, Cana!" Lucy, innocent, pure Lucy, calls to her from the bar, catching sight of her as she walks into the main room. Lucy's sitting with Levy and Erza, sharing a plate of vanilla cookies, exchanging gossip about missions and Bisca and Alzack's non-relationship and Natsu's cleaning habits. They wave at her with bright smiles, and all Cana can do is paste a grin on her face, toss back her hair, and sashay over to their table to join in with gusto.

She doesn't look at the blonde, smirking dragonslayer once as she walks past.