The great hall of Velden Academy hummed with the sound of hundreds of students and faculty gathered for the grand graduation ceremony. Banners in deep navy and silver hung from vaulted beams, the sigil of the Academy—a serpent coiled around a sword—embroidered at their center. Light from enchanted lanterns drifted lazily through the air, casting soft flickers of color across the rows of polished wooden benches. The air smelled of parchment, polished brass, and excitement.
Jaynor slouched at the very back, where the shadows were thickest and the noise dimmed just enough to make the world feel far away. He wasn't graduating. Not this year. He was only eighteen, third year, one more to go before he'd stand where they were now, basking in applause and formality. He should have been bored, maybe a little jealous, but his mind was fixed on something else entirely. His head leaned back lazily, eyes half-lidded, mouth curving into that easy, self-satisfied smirk that always got him in trouble. To anyone glancing his way, he looked merely detached, lost in thought. But under the bench, something far less innocent was happening.
A soft motion between his legs, rhythmic, deliberate, and wet. The faintest breath escaped him—barely audible beneath the clapping and speeches. Her head bobbed slowly up and down in his lap, hidden by the long shadow cast from the benches in front. Strands of chestnut hair brushed against his thighs. The scent of her shampoo—something herbal and sharp—filled his lungs each time he breathed in. He blinked slowly, forcing his expression to remain neutral, even as his fingers twitched against the wood at his sides.
Kate Darsen. Senior. Top of her class. Strongest witch of the year. Her name was on everyone's lips today, whispered with admiration and envy alike. But right now, her name was only on Jaynor's tongue, slurred in a rough whisper as he exhaled through gritted teeth. "Kate…"
He could barely get the word out without his voice breaking. Her lips sealed tighter around him in response, as though amused by the sound. Every movement she made was practiced, confident, her tongue flicking and pressing in ways that made his heartbeat scatter out of rhythm. Jaynor's head rolled back against the wall, his throat working as he swallowed back a groan.
From the stage came another round of applause. The Headmaster was congratulating a young alchemist for breaking record scores. Jaynor heard none of it. His world had narrowed down to the heat between his legs, the sound of Kate's quiet, steady breathing, the slick motion of her mouth. He tried to speak again but only managed a hoarse laugh. "You—hah—your name's about to be called."
She didn't stop. He felt her hum, the vibration deep and knowing, like she was laughing at him. Her hand came up to rest against his stomach, pressing lightly as she took him deeper. Jaynor's jaw clenched. He glanced around, pulse pounding, but no one nearby was looking. Everyone's eyes were on the ceremony, on the shining graduates and their proud professors. No one saw the young witch kneeling in the shadows behind them.
Then, clear as a bell, the voice from the podium: "Kate Darsen!"
Jaynor froze. His breath hitched. "Kate," he hissed under his breath, his tone half warning, half plea. "That's you. Go—"
She didn't even lift her head. Instead, her pace quickened. He could feel the deliberate drag of her tongue, the way she swallowed him down again and again, faster now, more insistent. His back arched despite himself, hands gripping the edge of the bench hard enough to creak. "F-fuck," he muttered, the word breaking into a gasp. "Kate, they're—calling you—"
Her only answer was another low hum, that same quiet vibration that made his vision go white at the edges. The crowd clapped again—someone else had gone before her, giving her just a sliver of time—and in that sliver she worked him mercilessly, her every movement claiming him, drawing him toward the edge he couldn't pull back from.
Jaynor's breath came ragged. His thighs trembled. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making noise, but it didn't stop the guttural sound that tore from his throat as his release hit, sudden and shuddering. His fingers tightened, his head dropping forward as Kate swallowed, her throat moving around him until every last twitch faded.
For a moment, neither of them moved. His breath came in uneven pulls, his chest heaving. She lingered just a heartbeat longer before drawing back with a faint, wet sound that made him flinch. She swallowed once more, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, composed herself, and stood. Her skirt fell perfectly into place. She adjusted her robe, tucked her hair behind her ear, and looked down at him with that same small, infuriatingly calm smile that always drove him mad.
"Now I'll go," she murmured softly, voice smooth and teasing, then turned on her heel and strode up the aisle.
Jaynor sat slouched against the bench, his body still buzzing, eyes following her as she walked toward the stage. The crowd erupted as she appeared under the lights—Kate Darsen, the prodigy witch, her expression radiant and unshaken. She bowed her head gracefully to accept her medal, the picture of poise. Only he knew the truth of what she'd been doing seconds before, and when she smiled for the crowd, he saw the faintest curve of her lips, a secret grin meant for him alone.
He leaned back again, chuckling under his breath, still tasting the electric pulse of what had just happened. "Top of your class, huh," he muttered, smirking. "Yeah, no surprise there."