Disclaimer: I don't own the brilliantness that is The Gemma Doyle Trilogy. That belongs to the genius that is Libba Bray.

She can't feel anything now but the sudden burning that is running through her veins. The fire that is slowly filling every bit of her body. There's no time for thinking, no time for feeling anything else. It's just this, and it's all she needs.

She runs her fingers through his soft, black hair. Mussing it up, her fingertips brushing lightly over the sides of his face.

"Fel…" He attempts to growl her name. She silences him with a kiss. She doesn't want to get into this. She doesn't want names and conversations. No, it's just him and her and that's the only think that is keeping her here right now.

She's losing herself, bit by bit. Forgetting.

She slips her tongue in his mouth, exploring, her curiosity, as always, getting the better of her. His hands tighten their grip around her waist, pulling her in closer to him. She feels him loosen her corset, the air flows through her lungs, and she feels free. Free like she hasn't in a long time.

He tugs his fingers through her hair, roughly. She likes that. No gentleness. It's just them in the moment, and nothing more. It's uncomplicated and perfect. It couldn't be better.

Suddenly he stops, he looks at her, longing in his eyes, and she gets that sinking feeling in her stomach. Her heart drops to her knees. She's not sure she likes the look in his eyes. There's too much emotion in there, and she knows that emotions will just tangle every thing up.

Once more, she grabs him, slipping her hands around his neck and bringing her lips to his. At first he tries to protest, but soon gives up once he knows she will not let him. If there's one thing she is, it's stubborn.

He threads his hands through her long hair again, but this time much too gentle. She urges him to pull harder. No niceties, she has enough of that at Spence. This is her time to escape, and escape is always better when made wild and unpredictable.

His dark skin is smooth. He shivers as she places her hands all over his body. He places a trail of kisses from her neck down to her collarbone before gradually working his way back up to her mouth again.

She smiles. That's better.

She doesn't love him. She never will. She glides her fingers back up to his face again.

He doesn't love her. And she finds that she doesn't care. Who needs love when you can just get what she's feeling now.

Because really, plain and simple, what she feels for him is lust. Lust that makes her hungry for more. So she keeps coming back, no attachments, no trouble.

Just a regular dose of what she needs.

A/N: I can't say I particularly like this piece. But I'm sort of fascinated with the relationship between Ithal and Felicity, and this spawned from that fascination. As usual, this was a late night piece, done in one sitting. And I'm on holiday as well, so I decided I felt like writing something. Hope you enjoy it.