You hit me once. I hit you back.
You gave a kick. I gave a slap.

We've been screaming at each other for the past several minutes. His most recent claim is that I'm a spoiled little bitch who would be nothing without him. I retort, easily enough, with the truth: that he'd be nothing without me.

He raises his hand and then there's a sharp pain on my face. I need a few seconds to make the connection: he hit me. I touch a hand to my stinging cheek and stare at him speechlessly.

I'm impressed, but I'm not going to let it happen again. I hit back, letting my fingernails scrape his cheek in the process.

He mockingly raises an eyebrow, "Oh, really?"

Before I have a chance to retort, his hand connects with the side of my face again. I prepare another strike, using a fist this time. But he catches my arm, pins it behind my back and twists hard.

You smashed a plate over my head.
Then I set fire to our bed.

I mentally thank whoever invented stiletto heels and stamp my foot down on his. He cries out in pain but still doesn't release me. Instead, he twists my arm further.

When I let out a scream, he stops, then forces me to spin and face him. "Enough?" He asks playfully. Without waiting for response, he brings his face closer to mine and proceeds to kiss me forcefully.

I bite his tongue when he slides it into my mouth. He pulls my hair in retaliation. My teeth come down on his lower lip next and him pulling my hair out only makes me bite harder. I don't let go until we both taste blood.

Your slaps don't stick. Your kicks don't hit.
So we remain the same. Love sticks. Sweat drips.

He shoves me away from him. "Fuck, Black!" He pants, pausing to magically heal his cut while I just lick the blood off my own lips. "You know, you're the first woman who's ever-"

"Yeah," I nod. "No one's ever hit me before either."

"Well, it's about time somebody did."

"My thoughts exactly."

It's irritating- infuriating... but also so exciting, so refreshing, to find someone who doesn't just put up with me, someone who...

I broke your jaw once before.
I spilled your blood upon the floor.

"Come here," he demands.

I put on an exaggerated pout, "Make me."

He waves his wand like it should scare me. I roll my eyes and draw my own. When I look up again, there's less than a foot of space between us and his wand is pointed at my head. I giggle and hold mine against his chest. We stare into each other's eyes defiantly.

You broke my leg in return.
So sit back and watch the bed burn.

As if completing a silent countdown, we shout "CRUCIO!" at the same time.

We both scream but refuse to retract our curses until the other person does. His free hand fists in my hair and my lips are crushed against his. I kiss back, deeper. I'm excited by his agony, and distracting myself from my own.

"Bella," he groans against my mouth.

Suddenly, I don't feel any more pain. It takes me a moment to realize I won the game. I smirk triumphantly before stopping my curse and pocketing my wand.

"I think I just fell in love with you."

A kick in the teeth is good for some.
A kiss with a fist is better than none.