𝘿𝙐𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙎 ; 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮

eight,

viii. | EIGHT
❦
18 august, 1998
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

The stadium completely emptied. The spectators left wrappers to prank candies, chocolate frog cards, licorice wands, pumpkin pasties, and other novelties in their wake.

I traipsed through the muck, arms knitted across my chest. A I felt a hot flush bloom across my cheeks in anticipation for what was to come.

When I reached the bend between locker rooms, I made the traitorous detour to the Slytherin locker room. The final wave of Slytherin players came out — they all bitterly yanked their jumpers over their torsos, brows furrowed in exasperation. Some even shot me harsh glares.

I rapped on the door. "Scorpius? Are you in there?"

The lack of reply granted me access. It was dead silent in the locker room, almost as if a Muffliato had been casted. Warily tiptoeing, I repeated. "Scorpius? Where are you?"

Turning between a bay of lockers, I saw him. Perspiration dripped from his temples — his hair also subject to the dampness. His Quidditch robes were discarded on the floor of the shack — as he stood there only in his plaid briefs. A cold and cunning expression was painted across his face. His muscles jutted from his milky skin.

"Knees." He said vacantly, tone laced with demand. "Now."

My breath caught in my throat. I was taken aback by his ardency. Obediently, I strode towards him and spilled to my knees. I gaped up at him, returning his penetrating glare with a look of innocence.

His hand abruptly latched to my jaw, forcing my head back — immediately ebbing away the teasing look on my face.

His lip curled, displaying his straight and white teeth. "Yeah—" He growled, "that's what I fucking thought. Back on your knees like the slut you are for me."

I couldn't deny that the degrading words gave me butterflies in places they shouldn't have been.

His muscles strained before he thrusted my head to the side by my jaw. I cringed at the impact, staring up at him through my lashes.

Surrendering to him, I grabbed the waistband of his boxers — allowing the briefs to skin down his legs. His length is rock hard, erect and pleading for attention. My gaze flickered upward to him as he held my hair back aggressively.

"Go on, suck."

My damp tongue skimmed the underside of his dick, folding and coiling, but never sucking.

His abdomen tensed — lines of fitness pining across it. "Don't you DARE tease."

Obeying him, I clothed his tip with my lips — applying a gentle suction. A groan of lust tumbled from his lips, which were agape. His fair lashes fluttered shut as his arms darted to either side of him, palms flush to the lockers.

Instantly, I took his length further — soon brushing the roof of my mouth. I sucked him like that for awhile, fist jerking base of his dick. I whimpered when his tip struck my uvula as I began bobbing slightly rougher.

My hands gripped his thighs — as I was now ready for the worst part of a blow job. He better finish quick. With one extension of my neck and a pitiful gag, I took him past my uvula — shallow in my throat.