The pitch was damp from a morning drizzle, the grass a bruised green under the heavy grey sky. Draconia watched the Slytherin team pull their gear from the storage room, her eyes tracking the way Harry moved. He was not looking at her, but he was aware of her presence as she stood by the edge of the pitch with her arms crossed. The wind pulled at the loose strands of her hair, but she kept her expression neutral. She had spent the entire week being unbearable, and the tension in the common room had been a jagged thing that she refused to soften.
"You're supposed to be heading to the Great Hall for lunch," Harry said, stepping toward her once the rest of the team had drifted toward the castle. He wiped a smudge of dirt from his cheek with the back of his hand. "Unless you've decided to stay here and watch the grass grow."
"I am observing the tactics of a losing team," Draconia replied, her voice cool and level. "There is a difference between watching and observing, Potter."
"We aren't losing, we are just adjusting," Harry said, a small, infuriating grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looked tired, his eyes dark under the shadow of his fringe, but he looked entirely too comfortable in his own skin.
"The way you fly is reckless," she said, stepping closer so the distance between them felt smaller than it actually was. "You chase the snitch like a dog chasing a bone, forgetting that the rest of us have to actually score points."
"You're just annoyed because the Gryffindor Seeker nearly had the advantage," he countered, his voice dropping an octave.
"I am annoyed because you are unpredictable," she said. She reached out and grabbed the front of his robes, pulling him toward the heavy wooden door of the storage room. It was a small, cramped space filled with the scent of broom wax and old leather. "And you need discipline."
"Discipline?" he asked, his breath hitching as she pulled him into the dim, cramped interior of the room. "Since when do you care about my discipline?"
"Since I decided it was necessary," she said, her voice a low rasp against the quiet of the room. She pushed him back against a stack of crates, her hands moving to the fasten of his trousers. She worked quickly, her fingers deft and certain. She wanted to see how much of his composure she could strip away before he broke.
She knelt before him, her knees hitting the hard floor, and unzipped his fly to reveal his cock. It was already thick and pulsing, a deep, angry red. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft, feeling the heat of him against her skin. She leaned forward and took the head of his cock into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the slit to draw out the pre-cum. She sucked him deep, her throat stretching to accommodate the length of him, pulling the muscle of his shaft into the warmth of her mouth. Harry groaned, his hands reaching down to grip her hair, his knuckles white. She sucked harder, the friction of her tongue against his sensitive skin driving him upward.
Just as he reached the peak, his hips jerking forward to thrust into her mouth, she pulled away. She sat back on her heels, watching the way his breath came in ragged, shallow gasps. He looked undone, his eyes glazed and unfocused.
"Stop," she commanded, her voice steady despite the heat in her own chest. "Stay there. That is discipline."
"Draconia," he breathed, his voice a strained whisper. "Don't do that. Just... let me finish."
"You haven't earned it yet," she said, standing up and smoothing her robes. She walked a slow circle around him, watching the way he struggled to keep his balance. She waited until the initial rush of his arousal had plateaued, until the frantic tension in his thighs had subsided into a dull ache.
"Once more," she said, her voice a command. She knelt again, but this time she was more deliberate. She took him into her mouth, licking the length of his cock from base to tip, her saliva making a wet, sliding sound in the quiet room. She used her hands to massage the underside of his shaft, her thumbs rubbing over his frenulum. She increased the pressure, sucking with a fierce, rhythmic intensity that forced a guttural sound from his throat. He was close again, his body tensing, his fingers digging into the wood of the crates behind him.
"There," she whispered, pulling back just as his hips bucked in a desperate attempt to drive himself into her mouth. "Stop."
He slumped against the crates, his chest heaving, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. "You're a cruel woman, Draconia," he said, his voice trembling with the frustration of the interrupted climax.
"It is called tactical control," she replied, her eyes bright with a fierce sort of satisfaction. She reached for the hem of her own skirt, pulling it up to reveal her knickers. She wasn't finished with him, but she wanted him to suffer a little more before she gave him what he wanted.
She stepped closer, pressing her damp cunt against the heat of his thigh, letting him feel the readiness of her. She reached down and pushed his trousers aside, freeing his cock entirely so it could hang heavy and aching in the air. She guided the head of his cock to the entrance of her pussy, rubbing the tip against her clitoris before sliding him inside her. He was thick and hot, filling her completely as she sank down onto him.
"Fuck," he gasped, his hands finding her hips to steady her. "You're so tight."
"Don't talk," she commanded, beginning to move her hips in a slow, grinding circle. She watched his face, watching the way his eyes drifted shut as she worked her pussy against him. She wanted to feel every inch of him, the way his cock stretched her, the way the heat of his skin felt against her thighs.
She sped up the pace, her movements becoming more frantic and less controlled. She rode him with a vengeance, her pussy gripping his shaft with every downward thrust. The sound of their bodies hitting was loud in the small room, a rhythmic, wet slapping of skin on skin. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest, her nipples hard and sensitive.
"Draconia, please," he groaned, his hips lifting to meet her descent.
She didn't let him finish. She rode him until the sensation was almost too much to bear, until her own climax was clawing at the back of her throat, and then she stopped. She sat upright, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts, her skin flushed a deep pink. She looked down at him, seeing the way his cock was twitching in her grip, desperate for the release she was withholding.
"Why?" he asked, his voice a broken, desperate thing.
"Because I decide," she said.