The attempt at changing the subject almost makes her roll her eyes, would probably have done just that if he wasnât so close to her. Thump. Thump. Fuck him for making her heart beat like this, for making the logical side of her brain that HATES him stop thinking for even just a  m o m e n t.  Because this morning wasnât enough and she hates HATES him for it, because it would be  e a s i e r  if it wasnât good, if she wasnât having some fun with it, if she didnât want more. She wets her lips before answering, giving herself one more moment, as if that would be enough to make her whisper not too low, as if that would be enough to disguise the whirring whirlwind inside her head telling her her brother is gonna kill her and Arya would need only pay attention to find something amiss. Fortunately, her sister hates anything thatâs not happening outside the castle.
     â I am not holding your tie hostage. â  Her head moves closer, cheek brushing against cheek, so her lips are close to his ear,  because who cares for being too close unless itâs truly too close.  â But what if I were? â  She wants to kiss his neck, bite him, fuck him. The fact that theyâre in an empty library shouldnât be turning her on, shouldnât be appealing. Damn it, itâs his own fault for coming between her and what was supposed to be study time.
   the chaste touch of her cheek against his cold skin elicited a slight grunting voice, his grasp on the backrest of her chair tightened. there is something intoxicating in the cadence of her voice -- something alluring.he wants to touch her -- run his fingers through her hair, and pull her into a kiss -- rip her clothes, hear her scream -- her nails against his skin -- AND -- damn it, he hates losing control, and these thoughts are not helping him to cope with it. ( fuck, he wants to scream -- and that in itself is very unbecoming of him ; he rarely swears -- he rarely screams, but fuck-- Sansa Stark, he hates her so much for making him feel things he should not even be feeling in the first place ). maybe, he should have just let it go -- should have not looked for his stupid tie and not allowed Montague to tease him over such a petty thing. but DAMN HIM, he is here -- something drove him to look for her again ( fuck, maybe it is her -- maybe he craves for her presence -- her eyes -- her hair -- her lips -- just HER ).
   he is perturbed as evident by his lack of immediate response to her question. he is still reeling -- what would he do, if she does have it ? ( fuck her -- ? ) his breath becomes ragged at the thought ; the rational part of him is nagging him -- DONâT -- itâs risky ; dangerous ; forbidden -- but, it is also that forbidden aspect that draws him into this circumstance -- â well, â he begins, swallowing, breathing into her scent ; his hand now rests on her shoulder, fingers tracing the lining of her shirt -- then up to her neck ( thumb gently caressing her throat -- he likes her neck so much -- he wants to leave a trace -- SOON, not now -- damn it, he is screwed -- ). he moves her closer to him, his lips barely touching hers, â you must be punished, â he mutters, smirking to himself as his other hand undoes the knot of her tie before biting her lower lip ; then, he pulls away, leaning back to his seat ; he rests her Gryffindor tie around his neck, lips suppressing a grin.Â
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