This was nothing like last time. Previously tentative caresses turned into hands that grappled on each other heedlessly, almost like they were fighting, which maybe in a way they still were. Fear that clouded Cassian’s ability to confront what happened before gave way to crystalline clarity and attention to detail now. Drawn in by every hushed and muffled sound Vince made into his mouth or neck, entranced by the fingers that raked against his back and built up tension in the pit of his stomach. The vivid image of Vince when he sucked on his lower lip, something Cass could never dream to forget. At least he agreed, this is the last time, a distant part of his mind decided. Foolishly. This thought would occur again to him, not even a week later. When they’re sitting separately at the Great Hall and their eyes meet across banquet tables. Cassian would know in his bones that this was not the last time.

For now, his blue eyes screwed shut, choosing every other sense to inventory this exact moment he felt hands at his waistband, tugging needily, dragging out excruciating friction between their hips. The blonde muffled his groan with Vince’s mouth, tasting metallic again (and making a mental note that he should check on that later).

When Vince broke away Cassian finally dared to open his eyes again, finding one hand clutching the grassy bank directly behind the Slytherin’s shoulder, the other tightened around his hip. His eyes gravitated down, where he shuddered from just the anticipation of the sight, and again when cool hands around his most sensitive spot felt like whitehot fire. What the hell are you planning, he wanted to ask, but the shock of the sensation swallowed any ability he had to articulate this. It’s not as though Cass had any intention of stopping him, anyway. Even when a part of him recoiled at the idea that they were going too fast, too much, too exposed. He felt too intoxicated to stop himself.

It was the moment Vincent didn’t come back to meet his lips, which left Cass to bury his face in strawberry blonde hair, that he felt a new current of energy rock them. “We… should be quick,” he managed to say, voice husky in Vince’s ear. He was just as much an accomplice now, the reason for this situation equally his fault. As though to acknowledge as much, his hand gravitated from Vince’s hip to his front, a bit too bashful to explore further, but just as insistent on the utterly unnecessary buttons and barriers to touch. It gave him something to focus on. Because even as an accomplice, he felt completely underwater. The blonde could only curse softly as Vince found his destination, and he tore out any grass under his fingers. He took a sharp intake of breath. God, if he didn’t concentrate on something else this could be over in an instant with that icecold hand.

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