The pitch was a dark expanse of green, broken only by the three golden hoops that remained illuminated against the night sky. Draconia landed her broom with a dull thud on the grass, her boots sinking slightly into the damp turf. The air was cool against her skin, but her blood felt hot. She looked up at the empty spectator stands, where the shadows of the benches loomed like silent giants. The light from the hoops cast long, distorted shapes across the grass, creating a bright arena in the centre of the darkness.
Harry descended from the sky, his broom cutting through the air with a soft whistle. He landed a few paces away from her, his movements still possessing that frantic, uncoordinated energy she had seen during the tryouts. He looked tired, his hair messy from the wind, but his eyes were bright in the artificial light.
"You're late," Draconia said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
"I didn't think you'd actually come back down," Harry replied, stepping closer to her. "Most people leave once the sun goes down."
"Most people aren't me," she answered, her voice steady.
He watched her for a moment, his gaze travelling down to where she stood near the middle of the pitch. The light caught the curves of her body, highlighting the way her robes clung to her waist. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.
"The hoops look different at night," he remarked, nodding toward the golden circles.
"They look the same," she countered, though she knew he was right. "Everything looks different when you're not looking at it from the air."
Harry moved toward her, the grass crunching softly under his feet. He stopped just inside her personal space, the scent of the damp earth rising around them.
"You're always so intense, Draconia," he said, a small smirk playing on his lips.
"It's called focus, Harry. You should try it sometime."
"I'm focused enough to know you're staring," he teased, stepping even closer.
She didn't back away. Instead, she reached for her broom, the long wooden shaft feeling smooth and solid in her hands. The tension between them was a physical thing, a cord stretched tight in the centre of the pitch. She felt a sudden, sharp ache in her lower belly, a craving that had nothing to do with Quidditch.
"I'm not just staring," she whispered, her eyes locking onto his.
Harry reached out, his hand hovering near her waist before he finally let his fingers graze the fabric of her robes. The contact was electric. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, and suddenly the distance between them vanished. He pulled her against him, his hands sliding down to grip the curve of her arse. Draconia gasped, her head falling back as he kissed her with a desperate, hungry energy.
"The grass is wet," she murmured against his lips, though she didn't care about the moisture.
"I don't care," Harry groaned, his mouth moving to the sensitive skin of her neck.
He moved her toward the centre of the pitch, where the light from the hoops was brightest. He pushed her down onto the grass, her back arching as she felt the cool dampness of the earth against her skin. He knelt between her legs, his hands working at the fastenings of her robes.
"Hold my broom," she commanded, her voice thick with want.
He took the broom from her, laying it across the grass so the long, wooden shaft lay ready. He stripped her quickly, his fingers trembling as he pushed her knickers aside. Her cunt was already wet, the slickness coating her thighs as he leaned down to taste her.
"You're so fucking wet," Harry muttered, his tongue lashing against her clitoris.
Draconia let out a loud, uninhibited moan, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Don't just talk, Harry. Do something."
He lifted her hips, guiding the thick, hard length of his cock toward her opening. He didn't use his fingers to prep her; he simply pushed, the blunt head of his cock stretching her tight pussy as he slid inside. The sensation of him filling her was overwhelming, a heavy, stretching fullness that made her vision blur.
"Fuck," he breathed, his voice a ragged growl. "You're so tight."
He began to fuck her with long, rhythmic thrusts, his hips slamming against hers. The sound of their bodies meeting was a wet, rhythmic slap against the silence of the pitch. Draconia wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into her. She loved the way he felt, the hard, pulsing length of his cock sliding in and out of her dripping cunt.
"Harder," she gasped, her head tossing from side to side. "Give it to me harder."
Harry obeyed, his pace increasing as he drove himself into her. He reached down, grabbing her hips to anchor her as he hammered into her. Her pussy was a hot, tight sheath around him, gripping his cock with every frantic stroke. The friction sent waves of pleasure through her, a mounting tension that made her want to scream.
"You like this, don't you?" he asked, his voice strained with effort.
"I love it," she cried, her body bucking under him.
He leaned down, his chest pressing against her breasts, his sweat dripping onto her skin. He moved his thumb to rub her clitoris even as he continued to fuck her deeply. The dual sensation was too much; she felt the orgasm building in her gut, a coil of tension that refused to break.
"Look at me," he commanded, his eyes dark and focused.
She opened her eyes, seeing the way the light from the hoops caught the sheen on his skin. He was moving faster now, his thrusts becoming shorter and more violent. His cock felt massive inside her, a thick, hard intrusion that seemed to touch her very soul.
"Tell me," he breathed, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Tell me what you want."
Draconia reached up, her hands finding the hard muscle of his arms. She felt the climax peaking, the tight, rhythmic pulsing of her walls around his shaft. She leaned up, her lips brushing his as she spoke the words she had rehearsed in her mind for weeks.
"Hold my broom while I finish," she told him, and meant it.
Harry let out a choked laugh, the sound of pure, unadulterated joy. He didn't stop the rhythm; instead, he drove himself into her one last time, his cock hitting her cervix with a blunt force that shattered her. He groaned loudly, his body stiffening as he began to come. Draconia felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pulsing inside her, filling her up until she felt heavy and satiated.
She watched him, her breathing ragged, as he finished his release inside her. The heat of his cum felt delicious against her inner walls. He slumped against her, his forehead resting on her shoulder as they both waited for their heart rates to settle. The silence of the pitch returned, but it was no longer empty; it was filled with the evidence of what they had just done.
"You're a menace," Harry whispered, a tired but happy grin spreading across his face.
"And you're still a clumsy idiot," she retorted, though she pulled him closer.
He lifted his head, looking at the broom lying on the grass. "I think you owe me a rematch on the pitch."
"Maybe," she said, her eyes dancing with mischief. "But only if you can keep up."