AN: When CrystalSapphireGirl/PoisonLadyAnissina (one of them, can no longer remember who) asked me to write an M-rated oneshot ages ago, I honestly tried but just kept blushing and deleting everything I wrote. Here's Take Two:

Rose wakes up in hell.

At least, that's what it feels like. Scorpius' arms are wound so tightly around her, in a warm embrace, that it feels like her own personal cage. Welcome to Pit 13, Lot #666, she thinks, where Scorpius Malfoy's body heat will combine with the hot midday sun streaming in from your open window to spread a languorous warmth deep within you so that you don't even feel like reaching across the bed, picking up your wand from where it's lying near his pillow and closing the curtains that you accidently left open.

It was a rookie move, really, leaving them open. Not just because this is the Burrow and each one of it's red-headed residents hates pale blondes (one of them with a special passion). Not just because none of the said residents have ever heard of concepts like 'privacy' and 'keep your nose out of my business if you don't want bats and bogeys circling it'. Not just because she isn't quite ready to let her family know about Scorpius and her yet, not until she's ordered things properly in that big brain of hers and figured out exactly what they are ('booty buddies' does have a nice ring to it, she muses).

But because it's evidence. It's evidence of the embarrassing enthusiasm with which she greeted the sight of her worst enemy, standing next to her window with that smile of his when she came up to her room after dinner last night. That smile – half shy schoolboy, half smirking fiend – which drove her mad. Mad enough to press him up against the curtain, to let his eager hands skim over her body. Mad enough to utter no noise except badly suppressed moans of pleasure and joy as he kissed her, tongue driving into her mouth with more eagerness than force.

The reminder is enough to wake her up fully. With a mischievous look (he really is a terrible influence on her), she skims her hand across his lips. His breath hitches and his eyes open, amused yet questioning. Rose had never realised how expressive gray eyes could be before she met him. She moves forward, pressing her lips to his in a feather-light kiss, teasing. Her hand moves lower down, pausing to circle one nipple, to rub the other gently. Scorpius' lips (oh, those lips) curve upwards and he drawls, "If that's all you've got..."

Rose was never one to refuse a challenge. The air between them solidifies with tension so thick it crackles and all the rules change. She shuts his mouth by settling hers on it firmly and her hand moves lower still, making him gasp against her as it closes around him.

But a Malfoy has his pride too. In a dirty little manoeuvre that would have made his ancestors proud, he flips her over so that he's on top and trails kisses down her neck. Rose is a quivering mass of challenger and challenged, rival as well as his partner-in-crime. She turns slightly, offering him better access and he nips lightly near her collar bone. The game evolves one step further.

His hair tickles against her bare skin as he lowers his head to capture one of her swollen nipples. His hand cups her other breast gently, teasing and taunting with its light touches.

Not to be outdone, Rose uses her own hands. She strokes and massages, following a maddeningly slow pace and refusing to alter to it, even as he grows hard and desperate underneath her touch.

Finally, something happens, magic so powerful that it shocks even a witch and wizard. He kisses her just right, she touches him at the perfect spot and the delight they discover is so intense that they forget all about their games and lose themselves under the blanket with an enthusiasm that makes the Holyhead Harpies printed on it grin.

Finally, they emerge. Scorpius' hair is tousled by more than sleep and Rose's cheeks are flushed. They're both breathing heavily. A trickle of sweat runs down his chest and Rose runs her finger along its trail, making his muscles tense.

"You know what, Scorp?" she says, propping herself up on her elbow.

He's too distracted by the sight of her red curls cascading downwards to reply with anything more than a perfunctory, "What?"

She gives him a look that makes his heart race: naughty yet affectionate, leaving him dry-mouthed in anticipation of what is to follow.

"Summer is going to be bloody hot this year."