entanglements | d.m.

14.fuss

October '98 | H E R

Devyn sits glaring at Malfoy.

He glares right back, his knees too close to offer personal space.

"Answer already. I promise it won't hurt."

Prick. "I'm good."

"Stop being stubborn and play by the rules."

"Still good."

"I know it was. Now tell me which one exactly."

Her glare magnifies. Him and his innuendos and twisting her words will cost him his balls one day.

"Are you thinking about my balls? How badly you want to cut them off?" His grin is heartstealingly gorgeous and fullforce infuriating. "Shift that thought just for the sake of getting on with this assignment."

"I don't have to answer you," she states calmly.

"You quite literally have to."

"From the list," she points out. "Ask me a question from the list."

"The list is a bore," he swipes it from the table before she can. A list professor Sparks has curated that the class can choose from. 21 Questions is the game for the week.

Devyn doesn't know what she expected of this cursed course but it surely wasn't being one on one with Malfoy. It's brainwash is what this is.

"Your favourite season?" he reads with an eye roll before answering, "Spring and fall. Who in your family are you closest to? Your mother. Favourite thing about yourself? Brains and tits—the order varies. I still don't know on what factors. Favourite type of dessert? None. You rarely consume anything with added sugar, but you will eat your mother's apple cobbler whenever she makes it because she means a lot to you." He puts the list down with a flourish. "I know all of these, Wood."

Holy shit.

"Now answer my productive question."

Absolutely not. "Your question won't get us any farther in... this."

"You're making quite sure of it."

Don't kick him. Don't kick him. "Can you tell me why you're such a fucking dick today?"

"Answer."

"No," she balks, about to claw his fucking eyes out.

"I'll call professor Sparks."

Her eyes narrow to slits. "You won't."

"Watch me." His arm raises and Devyn shoots off her chair to hold it down. Immediatly, she knows that this is the danger zone, that too much touching is happening and personal space is a gone friend, but he can't get the professor and let him tell on her. She needs the grade.

Devyn has tried to talk herself out of trying to be perfect in every subject she takes, but it's a losing game.

Nose to nose, she tells him through bared teeth, "Take another question."

"What is your favourite sexual experience," he insists.

And he can only mean an experience between them, because it hasn't happened with anyone else, as far as he knows. Well aware of Emrys sitting a row before them, enganged in a rather dry conversation with Padma, Devyn keeps her voice low when she grumbles, "The pond."

Malfoy's brows rise. "Really? Hm. My personal favourite is the first."

Now his answer deserves a really? The first had been lovely—as much shit as Devyn likes to give him, he had been a dream then, considerate and patient and kind—but it was not even close to what kinds of things they discovered the times after it.