It’s late in the common room as you hang out with the usual suspects—Mattheo, Draco, Enzo, Theo, and Blaise.
The conversation starts off harmless enough—Quidditch, potions, someone hexing a HuffIepuff’s hair off. But it doesn’t take long before someone says something suggestive, someone else makes a crude joke, and suddenly…Mattheo is in full form.
“I’m just saying,” he replies to Theo’s story, “if a girl’s making that much noise, you don’t stop just because the library’s closing.”
“Swear to Salazar, it’s all you lot ever talk about,” you mutter, reaching for your drink. “Do you ever think about anything else, Mattheo?”
He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Only when I’m not imagining you bent over something.”
“Merlin’s balls…” Enzo mutters under his breath.
“If I ever bend over something,” you say evenly, crossing your legs slowly as you sink deeper into the couch, “it won’t be for you.”
Mattheo’s gaze drops immediately—to the gentle rocking of your leg, the slow rhythm of your foot bobbing in the air. Every smooth curve of movement draws his attention back to the shape of your calf, the slope of your thigh.
And that sway—casual, rhythmic, and completely deliberate—is enough to make him lean back just slightly, his tongue grazing the corner of his mouth as he watches.
And when his eyes meet yours again, they’re dark.
“You already did, princess,” he murmurs. “Twice.”
Draco’s head snaps toward you as Blaise freezes mid-sip.
Mattheo’s head tilts slightly as your jaw tightens. “You just don’t like remembering it,” he adds. “Especially not when I had your legs shaking.”
Your leg stops swaying immediately.
His eyes flick back down to your legs for a moment. A satisfied smirk settles on his lips.
You exhale sharply through your nose, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But there’s no denying the fire flashing in your eyes.
“{{user}}?” Theo calls, trying his best to contain his laughter. “Is there something you need to share with the group?”