Written for the Strictly Lumione Visual Prompt Drabble Game.

Rating: M

Warnings: Slightly dark Hermione

. . .

Sometimes, Hermione wanted to taste the familiar electricity of danger so badly she nearly screamed.

That copper-tinged cinder dancing at the back of her tongue. The prickle racing up the vertebrae of her neck. Every cell alive. Filled with purpose.

It wasn't a feeling she could voice out loud. She knew this. Would be considered mad. In need of treatment.

Not even Harry and Ron understood.

They blatantly treasured the smothering post-war comforts. They didn't miss walking the edge of their own mortalities. Waking up every day knowing that every choice you made had consequences. Meaning.

Friendly death, winking from the curtains like an admiring accomplice to each continued second of survival.

If she had to sit through one more board meeting. Pay one more bill. Go to one more baby-shower or pub night and plaster an appeasing smile on her face at the endless prosaic domesticity of it all, she would take a torch to the world herself just to have something to watch burn.

He understood.

He winked from the curtains too, death-like in his own way. Inevitable.

And her addiction fed his own.

It was always different, the elaborate scene they'd play. He kept her guessing. Imaginative bastard, she'd give him that.

They never spoke of it, and wherever he led her, she followed.

In fact, they'd never once spoken of the arrangement. Merely fallen into it wordlessly, somehow - smelling the need on each other like animals in heat.

This time his portkey had brought her to an alley. Near Knockturn, no doubt. "Midnight" - the elegant script had read.

The shadows themselves lit an immediate ache down to her very marrow.

He'd trained her this way. Crafted scenes that he somehow knew would elicit vulgar, pornographic cravings in her.

First in duels. Testing her talents and reflexes. The very sight of a wand began to make her thirst for him.

Then the mind-games. Pursuits through treacherous Labyrinths. Elaborate trials of her strategy and instinct.

But then, it began to go further.

He'd made the simplest things masters of her.

The click of a door locking. The scrape of rope against her flesh. The cutting breath of a whip through the air.

Till even the portkeys themselves, delivered always in an unmarked black box, sent a slicing heat of desire straight through her.

And here she was, desperate for him at only the threatening mystery of a shadow.

Wand gripped tight and ready, (for he always expected her very best,) she set off down the narrow walkway. Her steps as quiet as possible over the uneven cobblestone.

When she felt her back slam violently into the alley wall, she reveled in the return of his intoxicating scent. It was the very meaning of hunger.

It had been weeks. Endless, torturous weeks.

In a heartbeat her wrists were pinned high above her head in a punishing grip.

She'd savor those bruises for days.

His lips at her ear. "Slipping, pet…"

The low teasing of his whisper made her ache all the more. "Disarmed in minutes. Are you even trying this evening?"

She could hear the grin, tugging at his perfect mouth, as he pressed himself against her - urged his straining erection against her with a slow grind of his hips.

She bit back a moan, ashamed for a moment by her glaringly obvious need.

What had this game become?

A distant street lamp caught the grey in his eyes and Hermione saw thrill and supreme amusement. "Has all that fight and fire suddenly left you?" he asked, searching her face. "Or perhaps you're simply eager to lose, mm?"

Hermione pulled helplessly at his binding hold, just to see the lust flare in his eyes.

"I'll fight you all night if you like, Lucius. So long as you punish me when I let you win."

He grinned, a quick flash of devilish joy, before his expression suddenly turned to dark promising threat.

He stared at her as the seconds ticked by in silence, gaze cold and penetrating.

Just when she'd started to seriously fear the repercussions of her brash words, he lifted his other hand and tipped her chin gently up to him. "Oh you'll let me will you?"

"That's right," Hermione breathed.

Lucius nodded slowly. "I see."

Suddenly his fingers at her jaw were dragging down. Over her throat. Between her heaving breasts. Over the vulnerable flesh of her stomach. Finally curving to cup between her trembling legs.

"Funny," he said, rubbing a slow, teasing torture over her jeans. "Here I thought I'd already won…" Forward and back. Again and again. Just enough pressure to work her to a frenzy.

Hermione pulled hard against his grip once more. He forced her back into place with a low growl.

She held his eye, tilting her chin slightly up to him with a seeking arch of her neck. Silently asking him to bring his face close to hers, as though she had any sway over his actions in that moment.

A curve twitched at the corner of his mouth. No doubt pleased by her gall, as he always was.

She felt delight and shock when gave her what she wanted, slowly leaning down till their faces were mere inches apart. His brow rose, waiting.

Hermione held his steely gaze, giving into a smile. "And you thought I hadn't let you?"

Her lips crashed over his.