Draconia pulled the heavy oak door shut behind her, leaving the roar of the Slytherin cheers to echo down the stone corridor. The changing room was relatively empty, save for the damp, heavy scent of exertion and the sight of discarded robes hanging from the pegs. Her lungs still burned from the high-altitude dives, and her muscles ached from the final, frantic sprint to the hoop. She walked toward the long wooden bench near the centre of the room, her boots clicking against the stone floor. The adrenaline was beginning to ebb, leaving her feeling hollow and strangely fragile despite the victory.
Harry was already there, leaning against one of the wooden benches with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked wrecked, his hair a matted mess of dark-tipped curls, his chest heaving under his damp shirt. He had been watching her from the stands, a fact that made her skin prickle with a heat that had nothing to do with the game. He did not look like a man who had spent the afternoon rooting for the wrong house; he looked like a man who had spent the afternoon losing his breath.
"You were brilliant," Harry said, his voice raspy and uneven. He stood up from the bench, his movements stiff as he tried to shake off the tension of the match.
Draconia did not answer him immediately because she was too busy trying to find her breath. She reached for the fastening of her robes, her fingers trembling slightly as she worked the silk. The air in the room felt stagnant, held in place by the stone walls and the lingering humidity of the steam. She caught him watching her, his eyes tracing the line of her throat as she swallowed.
"I was winning," she corrected him, her voice steady despite the way her heart thudded against her ribs.
He stepped closer, the space between them vanishing until she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He smelled of grass and rain and the heavy, salt scent of sweat. Harry reached out, his hand hovering near her waist before his fingers gripped the fabric of her shirt. He pulled her toward him, and the contact was electric, a sharp jolt that made her gasp.
He pushed her back until her spine hit the edge of the wooden bench. The wood was hard against her arse, a blunt-force reminder of the physical world. Harry’s hands moved to her thighs, pulling them apart to settle himself between her legs. He was still wearing his trousers, the heavy fabric rubbing against her damp skin. He leaned forward, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that tasted of desperation and salt.
"Fuck," Harry groaned into her mouth, his hands sliding up to grasp her hips. He began to tug at his own trousers, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. He wanted her, and she wanted him with a hunger that felt as jagged as a broken broomstick.
Draconia reached down, her fingers fumbling with the fly of his trousers until she felt the heat of him. His cock was thick and hot in her hand, already hard and pulsing with a life of its quite. She wrapped her fingers around the length of him, sliding her palm up and down the shaft. He let out a low, guttural sound, his head falling back as she squeezed the base of his cock.
"Harder," he commanded, his voice a low growl. He pulled his trousers down to his knees, and his cock sprang free, red-veined and heavy. He gripped her wrists, pulling her hands back to the centre of his heat.
Draconia leaned back, sliding herself onto the edge of the bench so her legs were spread wide. She was still wearing her knickers, but the fabric was soaked and transparent against her skin. She reached down to pull the silk aside, exposing her pussy to the cool air of the room. Her cunt was aching, a dull, heavy throb that demanded to be eased. She watched him as he knelt before her, his eyes dark and focused.
He did not wait for her to finish. He lunged forward, his face pressing into the crook of her thighs as he used his tongue to lap at her wetness. He licked her clitoris with long, sweeping strokes, his tongue a blunt instrument of pleasure. Draconia arched her back, her fingers digging into the wood of the bench as he sucked her cunt into his mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, a sharp, stinging heat that radiated through her entire abdomen.
"Harry, please," she gasped, her head tossing back.
He stood up, his breathing ragged, and guided his cock to the entrance of her pussy. He pushed the head of his cock against her wetness, teasing the opening before driving himself inside her with one heavy thrust. Draconia cried out, the sound swallowed by the high-vaulted ceiling. He was too big, his cock stretching her until she felt she might break, but the fullness was exactly what she needed.
He began to fuck her, his hips striking against her pelvis with a rhythmic, heavy sound. Each thrust was deep, driving his cock high into her womb. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her thighs clamping tight around his waist to pull him deeper. She could feel the friction of his skin against hers, the way his sweat-slicked chest rubbed against her breasts.
"God, you're so tight," Harry muttered, his voice thick with lust. He grabbed her hips, his fingers bruising the skin as he accelerated the pace. He fucked her with a brutal intensity, his cock sliding in and out of her cunt with a wet, squelching sound. Draconia felt the tension building in her lower belly, a coil of tension that threatened to snap.
He pulled out almost entirely before slamming back in, his cock hitting her cervix with a dull thud. She felt the ache turn into a sharp, white-hot climax. Her pussy muscles clamped around him, milking him as she began to shake. He saw the change in her, the way her eyes rolled back, and he drove himself into her one last time, his cock twitching as he reached his limit.
"I'm coming," he choked out, his face contorted with effort. He thrust one last time, burying his cock deep inside her as he erupted. She felt the hot, thick jets of his cum hitting the back of her cunt, filling her with a warm, heavy sensation. He stayed inside her, his weight pressing her down into the bench as he shuddered through his orgasm.
The room fell silent again, save for the sound of their ragged breathing. The heat of the session lingered, a heavy, physical presence in the air. Harry pulled away slowly, his cock sliding out of her with a soft pop. A small amount of his cum leaked out of her, running down the curve of her thigh. He reached for a discarded towel to wipe himself, his hands still shaking from the exertion.
Draconia sat up, her hair a wild mess around her face. She felt exhausted, the high of the victory and the sex settling into a heavy, satisfied numbness. She watched him as he stood there, looking unraverse and slightly disheveled. She did not feel the need to be soft or vulnerable. She felt powerful.
She reached out, her hand brushing the edge of the bench as she sat up straight, her eyes fixing on his. She looked at him with a gaze that was entirely unreadable, a mask of cool composure.
"It is the grip and the thighs," she said, her voice a flat, deadpan statement of fact. She did not smile once.