AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This was a pinch-hit for the Hawthorn & Vine's Reverse Challenge Fest 2014 (dramione . org).

The fest is over and reveals are long since out, so I can post this for you here. This fanfic is only a single chapter, so here it is in its complete glory.

Here was the prompt I worked from:

Image prompt: Moment of Inertia by hey_am (to see the image, go here: dramione viewstory . php?sid=2382&chapter=1)

Thank you to the Mods of H&V for putting on another fest this year to celebrate the Dramione!

Please review!

DISCLAIMER: "Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. This fanfiction was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

TIMELINE: Sometime in the early 2000's (no explicit date)

MAIN CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): Hermione Granger x Draco Malfoy

SECONDARY CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name): Sirius Black, Percy Weasley, Blaise Zabini

SUMMARY: Draco Malfoy is a body-double for hire on film. His newest co-star, called in to act out a steamy bedroom scene with him, turns out to be the last woman on earth he'd ever expected to be lying naked on top of... and it's not as bad as he'd expected, actually.

RATING: R (almost NC-17, but not quite)

WARNINGS: Simulated het sex scene on film, explicit profanity, ALTERNATE UNIVERSE FIC (a completely Muggle universe - no magic at all, never has been)

NOTES: To address a concern by my beta: in Europe full-frontal nudity is allowable in films, especially art house films. Going fully nude in a film does not carry the same negative stigma in Europe as it does in other places in the world. Body doubles are still, often used in such scenes, though. Unsimulated sex acts can also occur in such films here without being labelled as 'pornography' (they are, of course, rated appropriately for such content).

SHE DRIVES ME CRAZY (LIKE NO ONE ELSE)

By: RZZMG

"I can't believe I'm doing this, and with you of all people."

Draco raised an eyebrow at that and scowled at Granger, who lay snugly underneath him in all her naked glory. He'd been trying his utmost for the last half-hour not to pay attention to the way her breasts felt pressed against his bare chest, but every time she spoke, she inhaled – and rubbed against him in all the right ways.

"Yeah, well, feeling's… uh… mutual. Kind-of."

Granger stared at him like he was some kind of village idiot.

"Could you just quit poking me with your nipples?" he growled, embarrassed. "It's distracting! And for the record, I didn't want this either - not with you, anyway."

His co-worker gave him a disbelieving look, which included a really hot smirk coloured in Russian Red lipstick. "Really? Because the rather sizable thing poking into my pelvis right now declares otherwise. In fact, it tells me quite clearly what you're so fascinated with at the moment, and precisely how you feel about it."

Unable to formulate a good come-back –the fault of those maddening nipples of hers!– Draco settled for sneering at Granger instead, secretly embarrassed that he seemed to have no control whatsoever over his reaction to her. Hell, it wasn't his fault his body was acting like a teenager's in heat! It was basic Biology and Math at work: see a nice pair, spring a boner – the size of which was directly proportional to the number of months one had gone without sex (and it had been a couple of months since his last shag). It wasn't rocket science, for fuck's sake!

He wished he'd never answered the phone this morning, or given in to Zabini's nagging about 'career opportunities' and 'opening doors'. If he'd stayed in bed and ignored his agent's call, he'd only now be crawling out of bed, maybe enjoying a cuppa while relaxing in front of the telly and watching the mid-morning news. He'd have lazily headed for the shower after getting his fill of the daily terror and worked off any lingering anxiety with a good wank. He wouldn't be lying here now, on top of a woman he hadn't seen in ten years, with an erection the size of an elephant's leg.

Pushing up onto his elbows, he glared down at his childhood academic rival. "It tells you nothing more than I'm a guy with a solid pulse, Granger, so don't go making any assumpt-"

"Stop, stop, stop!" the movie director (Draco's mother's second cousin, once removed... or something like that – a.k.a. the reason Draco had this job at all) called from his chair across the room. "It's too fucking dark in the corners! That white-blond head of his looks like some kind of bloody volleyball bobbing around at night! Lighting check."

Draco went stock still as the technicians ran around the staged bed and flashed hand-held, specialized lights on him and Granger from all different angles, trying to find the shadows and to compensate.

He cursed under his breath. This was far from the most convenient place –or position– in which to engage in a battle of wits with his co-worker. It also wouldn't be very professional of him to do so. He needed this gig to move on to bigger and better things... and to pay the rent. If he could just get through the scenes he and Granger were required to enact for today's shoot, this week's pay alone would net him enough for two months of space on his London flat. Not to mention working with this particular director would look great on his resume.

Eye on the sparkly prize, Mister Dragon, he chanted Blaise's favourite mantra for him (his agent was always full of motivational bullshite that was both condescending and wise).

Still, it was almost comical –in a sick, karmic sort of way– that Hermione Granger, the bane of his A-Level classes, who he used to torture by wadding up gum and tossing it into her wild, frizzy hair, had been cast opposite him as the female lead's body double in the same art house film where he'd been cast as the lead man's body double. What were the chances? Not in his wildest dreams could he have anticipated such an ironic thing (or the fact that… wow, had she always been this stacked?), much less that today's bedroom scene would have required the two of them to go completely au natural ('for the realism of the shot').

The whole deal was raw, but he had to make the most of it, didn't he? He needed today's work to pay the bills and earn him some screen cred.

Looking to broker the peace so they could get through the day's shoot without murdering each other, he turned back to Granger– "What's your problem?" he asked, taken aback by the furious glint in her eye.

"You. This situation. My bloody agent!" she snarled, and looked off to the side. Her creamy-gold cheeks suddenly flushed with a healthy flow of blood. "She didn't disclose the fact that today was going to be a… a couple's performance."

In a flash, Granger's meaning clicked: she'd never done a nude shot with a male co-star before. "You've never sim'd 8mm sex before, have you?" he asked, somewhat surprised. At her confused expression, he explained. "Industry slang. It means–"

"I get it," she interrupted him with an eye-roll and a noise of disgust. "No, okay? I've never done this before. On camera, I mean. Being filmed naked in a shower behind wavy glass while you're alone is one thing. The open showers in the girl's dormitories back in school were a vastly more embarrassing experience, honestly. This, though, is something you only do with someone you actually like."

"You're a prude," he accused with a smirk. "Why am I not surprised?"

Her glare became positively hostile.

Well, this was a perversely amusing discussion.

"Clearly, you've some experience with sim-ing 8mm sex," she stated, sounding put-out by that fact.

He tilted his head slightly to the side. "Sure, I've done my fair share of appearing starkers in front of a camera. It's a job, nothing more. My co-workers are just that. There are no attachments. You compartmentalize."

A skill, it seemed, she'd yet to learn. In this industry, that was a bad thing. Calling 'virgin' anything in front of the camera was like throwing chum into shark infested waters. And once the directors and producers had popped your film cherry, they'd chew you up and spit you out if you couldn't fake like it was no big thing. You had to develop thick skin in this job.

Speaking of skin... he found it incredibly ironic that Granger was the one who'd once claimed rather loudly in the lunch room during their fourth year that she wouldn't touch anyone named 'Malfoy' - not even to bury him if he were the last dead ape on Earth and she a devout follower of Saint Francis of Assisi who believed in preserving the funerary dignity of animals. Yet, here she was, doing a whole lot of rubbing skin with him.

He had to admit that the sadist within him found his co-star's discomfort with the situation ridiculously comforting.

"Quit it," she snarled.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence.

Her glare was positively venomous. "I can tell what you're thinking by that depraved, puerile grin on your face, Draco Malfoy. If not for economic factors outside my control, I wouldn't be touching you at all."

The sudden, overwhelming need to get under Granger's skin was entirely too enticing a lure to resist. Draco's devilish side poked its head out and took a swipe. "That's not what I recall from sixth year when we were stuck in that supply closet together." He clicked his tongue, and tossed her a wink and a grin. "I remember a whole lot of touching going on then."

She gave him a flat stare. "Most of it unwilling, I assure you. That closet was too cramped for two people to share, and there was only so much space to move one's limbs around. And that situation was entirely your fault, anyway. I wouldn't have even been there if you and Zabini hadn't pranked me."

True, but completely irrelevant. She may have ended up in the closet against her will, but he clearly recalled that she hadn't tried too hard to escape. There had been no screaming for help, no hysterical crying, and no attempts to jimmy the door's hinges or bust the lock with force. She'd jiggled the handle, found it locked, kicked the door, and then settled in to wait until someone came by to help them out. In the meanwhile, they'd spent a good hour in there trading jibes and feeling each other up (while trying to make their wandering touches seem accidental).

Overall, it had been a rather fun experience and was one of his favourite school-boy memories. "Riiiight. I remember a slightly different version – one where you checked out my bum." Her little, ink-stained fingers had definitely felt him up; there had been no mistaking her investigation of his backside. Experienced with girls even then, he'd known the difference between accidental touching and exploration. "Admit it: you couldn't keep your hands off me then."

"You should really see someone about those delusions you're suffering," she dryly countered. "Un-medicated, they'll only get worse with age, I've heard."

"You're saying you didn't cop a feel on my arse back then? I call 'liar, liar, pants on fire'!"

Granger's jaw clenched. She looked about ready to pop him in the nose. "Okay. Fine. I touched you – willingly. That was purely out of scientific curiosity, though. Lavender Brown observed you had the nicest backside out of the all the boys our age, and being in such close proximity gave me the perfect opportunity to invalidate her claim. That's all there was to it."

"Oh, really?" He wasn't buying that lie for a hot minute, especially since she was adamantly staring at his chin, refusing to meet his eye.

"Yes, really," she stubbornly contended. "And everyone knows Blaise Zabini had the nicest set of gluteal muscles in our class."

Draco curled his lip in disgust. What was it with all the chicks digging on Blaise? "Zabini, huh? A nice, firm set of buns, were they?"

She had the nerve to smugly nod in agreement.

"I take it you tested this theory yourself – with your own hand?"

Her smile widened, and she suddenly reminded him of the cat that got the canary.

"So, aside from an annoying predilection for regurgitating the most impractical facts the world has ever known, you're admitting to being an unapologetic pervert, too?" he accused.

Granger opened her mouth to give him what would undoubtedly been a mean riposte, but was cut off by their current boss demanding their attention. "Less with the mouths, people, more with the eyes and ears, please," the director called across the floor, addressing everyone.

As was always the case when there were stop checks, movie crews broke down and took small breaks. Some went outside for a smoke, while others lingered around the catering tables to pick at food and chat. Thankfully, their nattering had covered Draco and Granger's conversation to that point. Now, though, the set went quiet, with people speaking in low murmurs. Eventually, the sound level would rise again, he knew, but for the moment, the group was sufficiently chastised.

Forced to pause their conversation for several minutes, Draco traded silent, mental daggers with his co-worker instead… all the time aware of how warm and soft her skin was against his. She really did have a nice body – not too thin, but far from being deemed 'lush' or even 'plump'. Her breasts were a nice handful each, her hips had a bit of meat on them to grab, longish legs, and she had dainty wrists and ankles. Proportionally, she was very symmetrical. Her looks had matured as well, the years melting away the baby fat and taming her mad hair. She was quite a stunning woman, he had to admit.

And therein lay the crux of the problem. Hermione Granger wasn't allowed to be pretty or sexy. She was the swotty know-it-all from his teenage years, who'd walked around with her nose in a book and her hand perpetually waving in the air. That was how he wanted to remember her – at least, for as long as he was lying naked atop her.

"Why'd you get into acting?" he asked her, trying to derail his impure, icky thoughts. "I'd expected you to be the first woman to walk on the moon or a fascist dictator masquerading as a defender of justice of a small country in South America by now, but this?" He glanced around without turning his head. "This doesn't seem like something you'd get caught up in."

Granger sniffed, obviously offended by his personality assessment. "I was scouted at a café my first year at Cambridge. It was a good way to make some extra money while I worked on my degree, and it fit around my schedule."

"Cambridge, huh? Why am I not surprised?"

She gave a small shrug.

As predicted, the volume on the set began to gradually increase, especially when the caterer brought around cappuccinos for the cast and crew to enjoy. Draco took the opportunity to probe further into the strange life of his former classroom adversary. "So, what did you study at such a prestigious educational academy, anyway?" he asked, interested to see if his predictions where she was concerned were even marginally accurate.

"Human, Social and Political Sciences… and Law."

Yes, he'd nailed it! Well, at least the Law part. "You went for a dual program?" He gave a low whistle in amazement. "That's insane!"

She sighed. "It is not. Not really. I mean, yes, it did take me longer than anticipated to complete a double program, but it isn't an impossible task. Really, all one needs do is apply themselves."

He could just picture her back then, sitting on her dormitory bed cross-legged, study notes in lap, revision time-table pinned to the wall behind her (along with the same inspirational bullcrike that Zabini liked to spew – 'Work hard, dream big,' 'Every accomplishment starts with the decision to try', 'In this room, we don't do easy – we make easy happen through hard work,' ad nauseam). She'd be dressed in plaid flannel pyjamas, her hair up and out of her face in a practical pony tail, and her ears would be plugged with cotton, as she'd try to study on a Friday night. Outside her door, people would be running by laughing, drinking, screeching, and fornicating, but that would be no distraction for someone with her massive levels of self-control...

Yeah, that seemed like something she'd do – letting life pass her by while she studied until her brains melted.

"You're too much," he countered, shaking his head in a bit of awe for anyone who could focus that intently on anything. He only did that kind of hardcore concentrating and strategizing when he intended on manipulating someone. "A barrister-in-training, a social scientist who is no doubt hell-bent on becoming the PM someday, an actor who enjoys performing nudie scenes, and a master of the art of stealthy, perverted feels on unsuspecting derrieres. Wow, for a girl, you're a real 'Renaissance Man', Granger." He chuckled. "Is there anything you can't do?"

She smiled at him through thin lips. "Sadly, kicking you in the gonads right now isn't an option, but I can always accommodate you later. Rain check?"

He couldn't help but laugh. Hermione really was quite funny without meaning to be.

"Please hold still," he was reminded by the lighting technician as she flashed a strobe over his head.

Draco waited until the girl moved to the opposite side of the stage, checking the lighting in the corners of the room, before he felt it safe to resume the discussion. "I think my gonads and I will pass on the opportunity, but thanks." Careful not to move too much, he gently pushed aside a stray hair from her cheek. "You know, you seem awfully fixated on my more manly parts. Interested much?"

She didn't miss a beat on the return serve.

"Beau-ti-ful drea-mer, wake unto me..."

Even her singing voice was pretty good!

Draco had a hard time keeping it together. This girl was a riot! "You did say you thought me 'sizeable'," he teased, and tensed all the muscles in his cock, causing it to go rigid and twitch against her lower abdomen. "I take it you're a fan of not just a nice arse, but what's packing in front, too."

Granger's amusement disappeared in an instant. Her eyelids flew wide in surprise, and the blush painting her cheeks darkened. "Stop that," she hissed in a low whisper. "You're being crude."

He did it again, grinning wider, enjoying knocking her off-kilter. "Intimidated?"

She quickly collected her nerve once more and gave a disdainful sniff. "Pffttt. I barely felt that mouse twitch, actually. I'm just trying to spare you the humiliation is all."

"You're saying you've had bigger?"

"Yes… and undoubtedly better."

"Willing to test that theory after we're done here?"

It was a bad joke – his attempt to get her to back down by challenging her mettle. He steadied himself for some sarcastic return quip about the size of his exaggerated ego making up for the uninspiring 'thing' in his pants. To his shock, however, Granger didn't respond at all as he'd expected. Instead, she paused, seeming to mull over the offer.

His whole body went tense as a strange thrill went through him.

No. No, absolutely not, he told himself. There was no way he could become aroused thinking about...

"You did it again," she murmured, arching an eyebrow at him this time.

Draco felt himself blink, confused by her statement. "Did what?"

"You… spasmed."

Just the way she said the word had his balls pulsing. His breath hitched in his chest.

Holy shit, he really wanted her, didn't he? Like, really wanted her.

Shit, this wasn't pretend, and it wasn't at all expected, but fuck him sideways, he wanted to pound Hermione Granger into the sheets. He wanted to erase from her mind any thoughts she might have about Blaise Zabini's glutes or, for that matter, any other bloke's jacksy. He wanted his to be the only bum she thought about… and touched… and maybe even swatted a little on occasion...

A deep, sexual growl rumbled through Draco's chest, and he wasn't aware until the hovering sound technician took his massive headphones off and turned to give him a queer look that the noise had come from his own lips.

"Bloody hell," he swore under his breath. This wasn't at all what he'd anticipated today when he'd gotten the call to come in for the job.

Under him, Granger had gone still and quiet, watching him with a wary eye. He knew she was feeling his massive, iron-hard erection against her lower abdomen now, and had gotten the gist of that jealous-eager sounding animal noise he'd just made.

This would make things epically awkward now.

Calm down, he counselled, trying to get his penis to go back to sleep. Think about icebergs and Ring worm and how old people smell…

"Quiet on set," the assistant director called out. The sound in the room died down to the hum of the big lights and the camera equipment. The various techs and assistants were ready to roll on with this project, it seemed.

"Take it from the top," the director instructed. "I want some wide-angle shots from camera two, and-" He focussed on Draco. "-this time, I want you to move your lips like a lion's, and your hands and mouth like a snake's. Can you do that for me? Make me believe you're really making love to this-" He gave a flashy wave of his hand towards Granger. "-gorgeous, sexy woman. Got that, tiger?"

Draco nearly went into cardiac arrest right there.

Hands and mouth like a snake's, hips like a lion's. Right. He could do this.

"Yeah, I got it," he replied, ignoring how his heart pounded in his veins, making his dick throb and his brain hurt.

As he took a deep breath, trying to get his head back into the game, he unintentionally grazed Granger's nipples with his own. Her tiny, red buds were so bloody hard she could cut diamonds with them! He glanced down to note how they pouted against his pale flesh... and how they were perfectly angled for his mouth.

"Fuck me," he hissed.

"Just don't fuck me," Granger answered in nervous whisper, well-aware that unsimulated sex between them would probably not be frowned upon by this particular director.

Hell, she might as well ask the Mona Lisa not to smile.

Well, since his soul was probably heading in a general southernly direction after his death anyway...

A second before Draco dropped his mouth onto Hermione's, giving into the lust banging around in his chest, he could have sworn he heard the amendment to her previous statement, "just not yet" slip past her lips, teasing his.

In the aftermath of the shooting, while getting redressed, Draco took a moment to pause and catch his breath. His head was still buzzing from the afternoon's high.

He'd performed adequately enough in front of the camera to merit the day's full wages – and he'd managed not to fuck Granger in front of an audience, as she'd asked, nor to embarrass himself by spilling his seed all over her like some sort of juvenile tragedy. In fact, everyone on the crew had been rather pleased with his performance, congratulating him on a job well-done. "Very believable," was the repeated commendation from the director, who gave him a sly grin.

If only the old man knew the truth: none of it had been an act. Draco had taken advantage of the moment to touch and taste Granger as he'd secretly wanted to since that afternoon they'd been locked in the closet together at the age of sixteen. And she'd responded with a matching enthusiasm that couldn't have been feigned (his sticky thigh could attest to that much). In fact, the only thing that had stood in the way of them taking that final step and getting the grind on had been the sharp bite of her fingernails in his skin every time he nudged too close to her 'heavenly gate'. If not for that, he'd have had a basket-full of worries now to cart home.

He'd been right to assume Granger's honed discipline was a powerful tool in her arsenal. She'd certainly employed it today to keep him focussed and out of her–

"The director, Mister Black, wanted to extend his compliments once more on a gratifying shoot, and wanted to assure you received this," the director's assistant (not to be confused with the assistant director) suddenly appeared before him, interrupting his thoughts. 'The pompous shit', as he was unaffectionately called behind his back by most of the rest of the crew, carried with him an air of self-importance that tended to grate... and an unfortunate shock of wiry red hair that, ironically, resembled the head of a toilet brush. In his pale, freckled hand was extended a business card. "He said to call him if you're interested in... expanding your acting talent. He owns several other successful film enterprises aside from this one."

"Percy, isn't it?" Draco asked, vaguely remembering the fellow as an upperclassman during his school days. The director's assistant nodded his head once, seeming pleased to be remembered by someone. "Let me guess, Mister Black wants me to audition for Black Moon Productions?"

Percy gave a non-committal shrug. "As I said, Mister Black owns several film enterprises. Black Moon Productions is just one opportunity." He indicated that Draco should take the card in his hand once more. "Perhaps you'll consider it."

Draco took the card, knowing full-well what sort of naughty subject matter that particular company dabbled in, and mentally made a note-to-self not to call the number in red on it. He'd done enough almost-sex in front of the camera to last a lifetime. "Perhaps I'll do that," was all he offered in false promise to the director's assistant, giving the other man his most polite, charming smile. "Please give my thanks to Mister Black for extending the invitation."

Percy left him alone after that, and Draco finished dressing, continuing his private contemplation of the day's events.

Bollocks and brains, for the first time in his life, he was actually thankful to have been turned down (in a manner of speaking) by a woman. He was all for sexual exhibitionism for fun's sake, but mixing work with pleasure was always a bad idea (hence the no-no for Black Moon Prods). Besides, the last thing he'd have wanted was for his 'work' with Granger to appear on some free internet porn site.

Not that he wouldn't mind making a little private porn with her at his home...

He grabbed his coat and headed for the door, determined to further explore these strange, new feelings he was having for the sexy bookworm by tracking her down and asking her to join him in the nearest closet... and maybe for coffee afterwards.

As he exited the men's private dressing room, he noted that the communal women's dressing room door across the hallway was open – which meant his co-star had hurriedly dressed and was probably half-way home by now. After the director had called a cut and wrap, she had pushed Draco off of her and escaped, her face a flaming red to match her smudged mouth.

Seeing that he'd chased her off didn't set well with him. He needed to go apologise for going above-and-beyond the call of duty and humping her silly. He needed to explain that over the course of several hours' worth of talking and kissing and touching, their bizarre, antagonistic relationship had revealed a completely different angle that knocked him for a six – a legitimate attraction between them that he wanted to try on. He wanted to see if the potential he'd tasted today with Granger could go further and burn hotter.

It took some serious flirting with the head of make-up, some bint named Lavender (a chum of Granger's from her childhood days, which is how Hermione got the call to join this film to start), to get Granger's address.

Draco took a cab to her flat, unconcerned with the cost.

Granger's make-up had been removed, and her hair put up into a sensible pony tail, just as he'd imagined. She looked plainer without the gobs of mascara and the coloured mouth, but definitely still pretty. He could actually see the light dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose now.

"Are you actually stalking me?" she demanded when she opened the door to find him standing on her stoop.

Draco jerked back, glancing about. He hoped no one passing on the street would think he was some freak harassing her. "No. Yes. No." He shook his befuddled head and tried again. "I mean, not in the way you think."

"So, you are stalking me, just not pestering me in the traditional sense of the word – whatever that means."

He sighed. "Maybe I can explain it to you over a cup of coffee?"

She frowned, continuing to block the entrance to her home. Leaning one hand up high on the door jam, she squared her shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. "Look, if you came to apologise for letting things get a little too unprofessional today, then I accept."

Now Draco frowned. "If memory serves, you were equally as 'unprofessional', as you deem it. The welts on my arms and back will probably take a week to go away. So, where's my apology?"

She glowered at him. "Chivalrous to the last, I see."

"You're hardly being polite." He thrust his hands in his coat pockets, warming them against the winter chill. "Will you invite me in, or shall I just freeze out here and become an interesting statue for decorating your front door?"

She seriously seemed to consider it. "Well, I could deck you out in lights, and add some sprigs of holly around your ears..."

He gave her a flat-eyed glare. "Do you want to hear me say, 'I'm sorry' or not?"

The corner of her lip twitched up in suppressed amusement. "As long as it included an apology for pranking me into that closet, too."

He rolled his eyes. This woman was going to try his patience to the last nerve. Was it really worth it?

She stepped back from behind the safety of the door, indicating he should come into her terraced-styled home. The moment her full body came into view, Draco's spine stiffened and he began to sweat.

She was dressed in plaid flannel pyjamas and thick, warm socks.

His boner sprang back into life in a micro-second. He went as hard as the Man of Steel. Behind his ribs, his heart gave a violent tug, too.

Granger frowned at him, clearly vexed by his sudden hesitation after pushing to be invited in earlier. "Coming in or staying out? Decide, Malfoy. You're letting all the heat out."

An uncontrollable smile tugged at the corner of his lips, daring to come out and play again.

Yeah, she drove him crazy, like no one else, but she was definitely worth it.

"Sure, Granger. Thanks."

He kicked the snow off the bottom of his shoes before entering, and on the way in, he noted the hallway closet was just big enough to comfortably hold two.

~FIN~

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

No sequel planned. I like it as a one-shot. Hope you did, too! Please let me know by... clicking that little button that allows you to REVIEW! :)