The wind whistled through the high arches of the pitch, lashing against their faces with a cold, sharp intensity. Draconia gripped the handle of her broom, her knuckles white against the dark wood. Above them, the highest hoops loomed like skeletal remains against the grey sky, far above the reach of any ordinary player. She felt the familiar pull of adrenaline, the way her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs as she looked at Harry. He was hovering just a few feet away, his eyes bright with the same reckless hunger that drove her.
"Ready to lose?" Draconia shouted, her voice barely carrying over the gusting wind.
Harry grinned, a sharp, defiant expression that made her want to both kiss him and hex him. He kicked his broom, gaining a few inches of height. "You talk too much, Draconia. You're losing your edge."
"Watch me," she snapped, and she leaned forward into the wind.
The race began with a sudden, violent burst of speed. They climbed, the ground falling away until the grass was nothing more than a blurred emerald smear far below. There was no ground contact for them now, only the thin, vibrating wood of the broom shafts and the sheer verticality of the ascent. She pushed herself, her muscles aching as she forced her broom higher, aiming for the uppermost ring. The wind buffeted her, trying to unseat her, but she leaned into the turbulence, her body a part of the flight.
Harry was close, a constant, pulsing presence in her periphery. He was faster than he had been a month ago, his movements fluid and precise. She could feel the competition in her blood, a hot, stinging sensation that made her want to scream. They shot past the middle hoops, the wind roaring in her ears, the sensation of flight so intense it felt like she might shatter.
"Higher!" she commanded herself, her fingers cramping around the wood.
She saw the final hoop, the highest point of the pitch, a shimmering circle of gold in the grey light. She put every ounce of her strength into the final surge. The air felt thin, cold, and electric. She felt the victory in her bones before she even reached the ring. She veered sharply, her broom skimming the edge of the gold, and she felt the rush of triumph as she cleared the mark first. She levelled out, hovering in the high altitude, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
Harry came up behind her a second later, his broom wobbling slightly before he stabilised. He was panting, his hair a mess of dark tangles, his face flushed from the exertion. He looked up at her, and for a moment, the competition vanished, replaced by something far more visceral.
"You won," he said, his voice low and heavy.
"I always win," she replied, her eyes fixed on his.
She descended a few feet, her broom dipping in a controlled arc. She didn't want to land. The idea of the grass, the solid earth, felt wrong. They were meant to be here, suspended in the nothingness. She felt the hunger again, the one that had been growing since the first night on the grass.
"Hold it," she said, a command and a plea.
She reached out, her fingers brushing his as she handed him her broom. He took it, his hands steady, and then he moved his own broom closer to her. He didn't land. Instead, he positioned himself, his broom wedged beneath her thighs as she sat back against the shaft of his broom, her legs wrapping around his waist. The wood was hard and unyielding beneath her, a solid lynchpin in the swirling wind.
"Hold it. I'm not done," she said, her voice a jagged edge of desire.
Harry gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her closer. He was hard, a thick, pulsing length of heat pressing against her through her thin trousers. She felt the friction of his movement, the way his broom swayed under the weight of their joined bodies. He began to fuck her, his hips thrusting upward with a brutal, rhythmic force.
"Fuck," she gasped, the sound lost to the wind. "Fuck me, Harry."
He drove himself into her, his cock sliding into her pussy with a blunt, heavy thud. She felt the stretch of him, the sheer, massive width of his cock filling her up. She arched her back, her head falling back as she felt the sensation of him hitting her cervix. He was deep, so deep, and the friction of his skin against hers sent jolts of electricity through her entire body.
"You like that, don't you?" Harry grunted, his face contorted with a mix of pleasure and exertion. "You like being filled up like this."
"Shut up and keep fucking me," she commanded, her voice a low growl.
He obliged, his thrusts becoming faster and more violent. The sound of his cock slapping against her pussy was a rhythmic, wet thud that competed with the whistling wind. She felt the heat building in her gut, a heavy, pulsing weight that demanded release. She gripped his shoulders, her fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt, as he drove himself into her again and again.
"Your cunt is so tight," he groaned, his breath hot against her neck. "God, Draconia, you're so fucking tight."
"Don't stop," she pleaded, her eyes squeezed shut. "Don't you dare stop."
He increased the pace, his movements becoming frantic. He was fucking her with a desperate, driving force, his cock sliding in and out of her pussy with a wet, squelching sound. She felt the build-up, the sensation of her orgasm clawing at her insides. She felt the way her walls constricted around him, gripping his cock with every thrust.
"I'm going to cum," she screamed, the words torn from her throat. "Harry, I'm fucking cumming!"
She felt the first wave of her orgasm hit her, a violent, pulsing contraction that sent her into a frenzy of sensation. Her pussy clamped down on him, her muscles spas inward, and she felt the intense, sharp pleasure of her own climax. She felt the way he reacted to her, his thrusts becoming even more desperate, his body tensing as he approached his own peak.
"Fuck, yes!" he roared, his voice a ragged, primal sound.
He shoved himself into her one last time, a deep, bruising thrust that seemed to reach the very back of her. She felt the hot, thick spurt of his cum hitting her womb, the sensation of his ejaculation filling her up. He shuddered against her, his body trembling with the force of his release, and she felt the warmth of his cum spreading inside her.
She collapsed against him, her breath coming in long, shaky exhales. The wind continued to howl around them, but she didn't care. She was anchored to him, to the sensation of being full of him. She felt the slow, rhythmic pulsing of his cock inside her, the way his heat seemed to melt her very bones.
"That was..." she started, but the words failed her.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and hooded with pleasure. He looked at her, a slow, triumphant grin spreading across his face. He was still holding her broom, the wood a steady, unmoving thing between them in the vast, empty sky.
"You're a beast," he said, his voice a low, satisfied rumble.
"And you're not half bad," she replied, her voice a tired whisper.
She felt the weight of the moment, the way the air felt different now that the tension had broken. She was still high above the world, suspended in the grey light, held aloft by him and the broom he