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"fuck off potter"
~ ✧ ~ *1 week later*
The Quidditch match was brutal, and Fallon was livid. The deafening cheers of Gryffindor's victory echo through her ears. She didn't need to look around to see the angry glares her team gave the Gryffindor players. Fallon could see it all on their damn smug faces, and she let out a hiss as James Potter and Fred Weasley circled the hoops arrogantly after the game. Fuckers. Fallon stormed through the hallways into the Slytherin locker rooms, her team grumbling and dragging their feet behind them. As one of their best players, a part of her wanted to scream. Fallon wanted to pull her wand out and slam them against the lockers, demanding to know what the hell happened on the field today. But she wasnt going to stoop down onto a Gryffindor's level and blame it on her team. She knew what went wrong; Gryffindor's plays were impeccable. It was her fault.
"Practice tomorrow after breakfast," Seth ordered as the team collapses on the benches. "Higgs, try to find a way to sneak into a Gryffindor practice. Potter's plays are killing us," Seth directed at his second-in-command Chaser, "and for fuck's sake, Flint, it's like you've never hit a Bludger before. Fix that." The team says nothing, before each of them begin to pack up and hit the showers. She doesn't remember how long she took staring at the board in the locker rooms, her wand scribbling plays and erasing them almost instantly. Different formations came and went. She growled in frustration and head into the showers.
Hot water drenched her skin and her hair, and she tugged at it angrily and let out an aggravated sigh. The heat wasn't doing anything to calm Fallons nerves; she was pissed. She was disappointed. After all these years learning plays, flying, and doing drills that led her to becoming one of the top players in the school, it felt like she couldn't do absolutely anything to beat the stupid Gryffindor team. She slipped her fingers through her hair and try to massage the tension out of her muscles. No matter how hard she tried, she can't shake off the feeling of failure weighing heavily on her shoulders. She emerged from the shower somehow more exhausted than before, and she slipped her school robes casually over her tank top and workout shorts. She looked at the board one last time, and shook her head. No. She needed time away from this.
"Good game," a voice says dryly. Gods. "Off to celebrate with Nott, i suppose.." She doesn't turn her head. "Fuck off, Potter." "Now, now," says James, and from the corner of her eye, she watched him cross his arms as he leans against the doorway of the locker rooms, "is that the way you talk to the winner of the match?" "Your team won. Not you." They both knew she was lying. James Sirius Potter is undoubtedly one of the biggest assets he had on his team; his Seeker skills make Zabini look like a mannequin on a broom. She should know, after all - he taught her how to fly when you were children. Fallons jaw tightens at the thought. "What do you want? I'm in no mood for your gloating today."
"Funny. Always thought you liked my bloated ego, if you know what I mean." James tone is smooth, and she's annoyed at the way your skin crawls with heat that warms her up more than her shower ever did. "I really have no time for this," she mumbled through gritted teeth, her fingers tightening and pulling her robe closer to her frame. James presence is starting to get to her, and she could feel herself start to crack. She inhaled sharply. No. She's not going to bloody cry in front of James Potter. She's failed enough today. She was unsure if James senses the difference in her demeanor, but he moves closer, tentatively. "It was a close match," he offers. "In fact, I was quite proud of you."
She scoffed. "I don't need your pity, Potter." "What do you need from me, then?" he challenges. He's close enough that she could feel his breath against her skin, and his hands gently rest on her hips. She involuntarily shudder, and she turned to glare up at him. Her glare only darkens as she examined his face. Out of all the Potter-Weasleys she knew (and she happen to know the families of Potters-Weasleys quite well), James definitely has the perfect blend of sharp and soft features. His naturally fair skin is tanned from the sun, and his messy hair pulled back accentuates the angles of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips. It was so fucking stupid, how good he looked.
Without thinking, she pulled him closer and pressed her lips against his. Fallons not one to act on impulse, but she needed to feel something. James immediately responds, his hands slipping from her hips to wrap around her waist. Heat spreads down Fallons body down to the pit of her stomach as her fingers tug the tie keeping his hair back. Deep Auburn brown hair falls against her cheek. She shuddered as she felt James tongue gently flick against her lower lip, almost asking for entrance into her mouth. Her tongue meets his urgently, fighting for dominance that she knew James won't give up easily. The Gryffindor hisses in pleasure against her mouth. He pulls her closer, his hands moving underneath her Slytherin robe and her tank top to slip along her skin. His hands are cold, but Fallons skin is hot with lust, or maybe even something more than that.
The originally cold locker room begins to steam from the heat. She isnt sure of where this is going, but all she knew is that she wanted - no, needed more. The mere essence of James - the feeling of his tongue battling her mouth, the way he presses her against the cold cobblestone of the wall, nails scraping against her back as he pushes her robe off and tugs her tank top upwards - drives Fallon insane. The feeling of shame and disappointment inside her needs to go away; she needed to control something. She needs to feel like she won something - like she won him. She twisted around and pushed James against the wall, pressing against him and kissing him even deeper. James growls against her mouth, and she gently bites his lower lip and slip her hands along the curves of his ass and press his growing erection against her. Almost instinctively, he begins to thrust his hips against hers. His fingers tangle in her hair and tug her head backwards, his lips sliding down to her exposed neck and collarbone. God. His tongue against her skin overwhelms Fallon; the way it moves along her neck down to her breasts makes her tighten her legs in lust. She squirmed and whimpered against him, breathy whispers mingling with moans filled with want.
God, she wanted him. And Fallons not going to waste any time. Almost as if he knows, he looks into her eyes intensely and murmurs, "Are you sure?" It was almost endearing and reminiscent of days when they both got along, like he was still looking out for her like he always did when they were younger. Something deep in her core stirs. "Yes," she breathes, "just fucking do it, James, please -"
He doesn't waste any time; she tugged his pants off as his fingers hook around her panties, and he slips his shirt off in an instant. He lifts Fallon up and presses her against the wall, and in seconds, the feeling of James fills her up to the point that she let out a low guttural moan. Her hips thrust into his instinctively, finding a rhythm that hits her sensitive spot with ease. James breath is hot against Fallons neck as he moans her name, "you are brilliant," he gasps between groans and thrusts -
His lips are warm and soft on her skin - her fingers tangled tightly in his hair - there eyes meet, mixed with intensity and understanding - there both the same, yet there completely different - and god, she didn't want him to stop - hips grinding into hers, his erection making Fallon feel so alive - so close - She cried out in pleasure as she reached her orgasm; James lets out a low guttural moan that drives Fallon mad as he instantly follows. The tension in the air dissipates as they both tried to catch there breaths, and he gently lowers her onto the ground and leans against the girl. She doesn't say anything for a moment, and for some reason, it's comfortable - like they've both gone back to a moment when they weren't fighting, her family didn't hate him, and there childhood remains a blissful reality that the damages of an old war or her overly high expectations didn't ruin. "You," James breathes quietly as he pulls away to put his clothes on, "are a great Chaser. Don't forget that." She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and said nothing. All she knew is that today, in that moment - she believed the boy she hated James Sirius Potter, just for a bit.
