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Draco pushed Potter down into the grass, palms flat against Potter’s shoulders. Surrounded by the whirl of brooms whizzing past, Draco heard both of their teammates dive, some already dismounting and racing towards the centre of the pitch. It wouldn’t be long until he was dragged away. Time for one swift punch.
Hopefully it would make Potter bleed.
But Potter’s eyes gleamed. In one swift move he spread his legs and trapped Draco’s hips with his thighs. The sight of his tongue sweeping over his lower lip made Draco’s insides twist.
Potter bucked up; he was hard.
“Fuck,” Draco breathed.
“Maybe we should finish this later,” Potter said. “In private?”
His team reached them first; countless hands yanked on his Draco’s shoulders and arms, ripping him free. But at the last moment, he nodded quickly, and Potter’s mouth curled into a smile before Draco was dragged away.