Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3341909.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Ron_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Slash
  Collections:
      Ron/Draco_Fest_-_Better_Together
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-02 Words: 6142
****** Just Lust ******
by my_thestral
Summary
     Draco's hopes for a moment of much needed relaxation are shattered by
     the one person who threw him into chaos and disarray to begin with…
     and not for the first time either.
Notes
     Warnings or Content: Underage sexual activity (15-ish, perhaps more)
     Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to the
     wonderful mind of JK Rowling, we make no profit from playing within
     it.
     Notes: I'd like to thank my beta, the one of a kind P., for coming
     through for me yet again with a beta job of epic proportions and for
     all her - even more epic - patience and encouragement this basket
     case needed. If there's anything left in here that needs fixing, it's
     all me, I blew it! ;)
See the end of the work for more notes
Draco Malfoy sank deep into the steaming water of the luxurious, wonderfully
scented bath of the Prefects' Bathroom and exhaled in pleasure. This… this was
what he had been craving the whole bloody endless week filled with stress and
awkwardness like none other. He loved the Prefects' bathroom; none of the
privileges granted to Hogwarts' Prefects ever came close to the importance of
this intimate island of peace and comfort amidst the overcrowded, windy old
school.
Here he could find much needed privacy, here he could at least hope to relax,
close his eyes and let go of the haunting memories of his embarrassing...
carnal pursuits. Perhaps. It would certainly help if he could stop thinking
about them! It wasn't like anyone else knew – well, it certainly wasn’t public
knowledge or he would surely have noticed – and if bloody Weasel never spoke...
Oh, blast... Now he’d done it. He‘d let the one stray thought he had wander
towards him and now it was all ruined! The very hint of his name – and the
illusion of peace was gone and his mind flooded with the images of silken
strands of fiery hair and stormy blue eyes watching him from up close, full of
anger, hatred and something else... something entirely different, something he
had been trying so hard to forget about...
He couldn’t, he shouldn’t have been thinking of it, not anymore, if ever – but
his stupid, hormone-dazzled thoughts were scandalously out of control when the
sorely despised blood traitor was concerned. He should be enjoying the precious
moments of serenity, clearing his mind and finding his crumbling composure, but
all he could see behind the closed eyelids was a close-up of that fresh, red,
insanely soft mouth moments before it sunk onto his neck... Oh, fuck this
treacherous piece of shit he had for a body! That’s no reaction to be having
for a proper Malfoy, what kind of an intolerable disobedience was that!? Oh,
for Merlin’s sake... but it couldn’t be helped. Perhaps getting naked in soapy
warm water, smooth against his skin, wasn’t such a splendid idea for a hormone-
pumped teenager after all.
And just because this was his life and the gods were mean bastards who were
always going to be against him, there was suddenly a loud bang of an opening
door that simply flew into the wall and almost made him jump out of his skin.
Not only did it startle his eyes open, it instantly made him spring up to hiss
at the impostor with an obvious death wish who dared violate his precious
privacy and rest so crudely.
But the words died on his lips when there was a flash of red hair and blue
eyes, and that tall, muscled body that seemed to have stepped right out of his
dreams into his steamy refuge – and there was Ron Weasley, flesh and bone,
already pulling his robes over his head and mumbling something about a "bloody
jammed door, someone alert the authorities, this whole shack of a school is
falling apart".
Sweet Merlin on a bicycle, any time now those robes would land at his feet and
that obnoxiously... manly body Draco couldn’t chase out of his mind no matter
how many emergency wanks he’d been degraded to, would be revealed and he would
be doomed and permanently fucked in the head, thank you very much. He felt
acute panic rise inside of him along with an indiscernible muddle of other
feelings and he knew had to stop the looming disaster at all costs!
"Just what the actual fuck do you think you’re doing, Weasel?!"
The outer robes already at his feet, Ron almost gave himself a whiplash with a
quick turn of his head towards the hissing voice and his eyes got impossibly
big and blue at the sight of a livid-looking Slytherin fuming at him from
behind a cloud of foam, hastily piled in front of him in a futile attempt to
cover up all the embarrassing bits. It was clear that the redhead had not
expected to see him – or anyone else for that matter – but it didn’t take him
long to gather his wits about and the blue eyes narrowed into mere slits.
"What am I doing!? You’re in my bath, in my time slot, reserved for me, you
skinny twat! It says so on the schedule and I wasn’t aware that the Malfoys
couldn’t bloody read! Hanging around Crabbe and Goyle all the time must be
rubbing off on you, snake!"
Well, yeah... there was that... Draco had been in such dire need of some peace
of mind and privacy that he hadn't actually bothered to check the bloody
pointless schedule, had he... but just because the fire-headed git might be
right, that fairly irrelevant fact didn’t give him the right to continue
undressing as if Draco was not even there!
"You stop this!" the blond told him in a strangely choked voice, trying to
insert as much of the proverbial Malfoyian iciness in it as humanly possible,
but as more of the... oh, fuck it... gorgeous body got revealed, he was very
possibly failing miserably. "Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, you
ginger idiot!? I‘m already in, it's mine now, so get lost, beggar boy!"
But Ron merely threw him a look full of angry spite, and as the long fingers
began working on the rumpled shirt, undoing one tiny button after another, he
said quietly, but with cold determination in his voice: "My time slot, my bath,
for two more hours. I've been waiting for this the whole bloody week, so I
suggest you slither out, you slimy bastard, because I'm coming in, like it or
not!"
Cufflinks undone, the shirt slipped to his feet, muscles rippling under the
faded Chudley Cannons T-shirt as he went on to remove his socks and the worn-
out fabric was suddenly the only thing between Draco and the utter loss of
sanity.
"You can't do that..." the blond choked, his voice nothing short of panicky,
because if bloody Weasel made one step, just one more towards what he was so
desperately trying to conceal with all that foam, he might as well kiss his
self-control goodbye. Draco could smell him already; that unique blend of warm
skin, a spice of broom polish and that incredibly luxurious scent of silken
rich hair, so addictive, so intimate, so... Ron, he just couldn't get it out of
his nostrils ever since he'd buried his face right into it for the first
time... a smell he still wanked to furiously, the most undoing smell in the
world for him.
"You can't..." he blurted out in a last attempt to save his dignity and what
was left of his fast-spilling marbles. "I forbid it... you smell..."
He bit his lip not to tell him how insanely delicious he smelled, that he was
just bloody sex-on-two feet, wasn't he, that he couldn't help himself around
that intoxicating scent and that he would be reduced to begging – again – if
the redhead only came too close...
But as if in miracle Ron stopped as though someone had nailed him to the
ground.
"I smell..." he repeated in a warm, rumbling voice filled with incredulity as
if the words made no sense and Draco figured out a second too late that he’d
taken it completely the wrong way... the right way, of course, the right way,
this is what he had meant, right, the bloody Weasel smelled terrifically...!
"You smell..." he repeated in a deadpan voice as if that was the only defence
he had left from total annihilation of his pride and it was either going to
work and save him – or not, and Draco Malfoy as the world knew him was doomed.
"... terrible," he added for good measure, but the flush that crept up the
redhead's face told him that this might, very possibly, have been the worst
idea he had since... well, ever. His wand tucked somewhere inside of his robes,
impossibly out of reach, he was staring up into the sapphire-blue eyes of Ron
Weasley and the anger rolling off him in waves was so real, it was almost
corporeal.
"Oh, so I smell..." the redhead said in a quiet voice, filled with lethal
danger that somehow managed to be incredibly sexy and gave Draco goose bumps in
spite of the hot water covering him up to his neck. Or maybe it was the right
predatory look in those brilliant blue eyes staring down at him, filled with
aggression, white hot anger and... something else. Something quiet, sinister
and melting hot, crawling towards him across a blue-grey bridge made of their
eyes and it made Draco's nipples go hard in unfulfilled anticipation... right
before Weasley turned away and took three determined steps with those endless
legs to the opposite wall of the bathroom where a couple of showerheads stood
screwed onto the wall.
He threw one last glance towards the blond, who was all jittery nerves and
trembling in the feeling of looming disaster more present than ever – and
stretched his long arm to turn on the water.
"Of course... your majesty can't have that..." he said quietly and the acid
sarcasm just oozed out of the heavy words. "His Lordship can't have the company
of smelly Weasley desecrating the holy water around him... so allow me to get
clean for you, my king... before I join you."
And Draco almost consumed a mouthful of bubbles when the crazy Weasel stepped
under the spray of water, still wearing the worn-out T-shirt and soft, denim
pants he'd never gotten around to removing and turned around to face him. The
water soaked him instantly, the little rivulets running down the soft locks of
hair, turning their shade from fiery red to a richer, more auburn colour of
dried blood, and his large palms moved to slick it back, revealing the pretty
face completely unobscured for the first time. Droplets of water slid past the
brilliant blue eyes and down the milky, freckled cheeks, pooling at the soft,
fresh mouth straight out of Draco’s most decadent dreams, painting them with a
glossy liquid polish.
And when the gentle tongue flickered out to pick a few of the watery pearls
from the bottom lip, again and again... he might as well have been licking the
last thin layer of the blond’s self-restraint away, leaving nothing but raw,
hungry need in its wake. Entranced, Draco watched its slow travel across the
tender landscape of that red, tempting flesh, his body flushed by a sense-
memory of its velvet-like texture, so hot and slick against his own... painting
the inside of his mouth with slow, silken strokes, drawing all those
undignified wild sounds out of him... Before he knew it, a whispered, pleading
"Shit... don't..." escaped him, and he knew he just lost the game
spectacularly.
And he didn’t even care. At that moment he’d kill for that generous, greedy
mouth on top of his, dominating, suffocating, stealing his every breath and
breathing desire with hot moist puffs of air against his own eager mouth,
taking it all, eating and feeding on those small, broken whispers of filth and
admiration that could melt and fuel him like nothing else could. The blond
watched those large hands disappear under the wet, clingy T-shirt, glued to the
every contour of that impossibly masculine torso; he saw the long fingers
slowly travel up the enticing lines of Quidditch-made muscles and finally brush
against the taut erect nubs, and he might have let out an embarrassing mewl
when Ron finally removed the offensive fabric and had it land at his feet with
a squelching sound.
Draco forgot how gorgeous he was every bloody time. He didn't dream it right;
he didn't imagine it nearly perfect enough... His blurred brain had taken out
all the little details it couldn’t register in the urgency and heat of those
moments that had burned through his sanity every time he foolishly came close
enough to the redhead to breathe in his intoxicating warmth. He had forgotten
how elegant was the curve of that long, strong neck; the little streams of
water sliding down its length and past that tender point of pulse, pooling at
the clavicles and just begging to be licked.
He still remembered holding on to those wide, squared shoulders, the smooth
muscles moving under his touch like a symphony as the large hands slid around
his waist and pulled him underneath, that beautiful naked torso suddenly tight
against his flushed skin... He whimpered quietly at the mere memory of the
insane and ungodly dance of need and desire he had been pulled into when the
hot body, slick with perspiration, slid against him time and time again. Right
now it seemed an eternity ago. Too fucking long.
He watched him enchanted when the long fingers reached for soap and began their
travel across the milky white skin, sprayed with most adorable freckles, down
the endless muscled arms and up again, only to slide across that perfect
chest... oh, mother of … He saw dark nipples instantly standing to attention
under the adept soapy fingers and he wanted to do that, he wanted to be the one
to toy with them, make him throw his head backwards and moan most heavenly.
"Ron..."
Oh, dammit... it was always Ron, not Weasley, when he played with him behind
the closed eyelids and this... this unreal image of a beautiful boy he was
hard-wired to despise and still couldn't help but obsess about, came too close
to everything his forbidden, filthy imagination was fuelled with, when it was
just him and his hand. His voice was filled with pleading, embarrassing amounts
of pleading, but then the blue eyes caught up with his and he could no longer
look away. Hypnotized, like a prey in front of a snake, he watched those
teasing fingers from hell open the button of the jeans and then the large hand
slipped inside, on top of that wonderful hard bulge the soaked fabric did
nothing to obscure, and it only took two strokes to break him.
"Get in here..."
There was urgency in his voice as he'd been rock hard ever since the first
droplets touched Ron's skin and he needed him in, right now, this second,
because he couldn't do without him, not a moment longer, when he looked like
this, like sin personified, like every forbidden desire Draco had ever had.
But Ron wouldn't. The blue eyes wouldn't leave his face as his hand moved in
slow, sensual strokes and he was just a bit out of breath when he said quietly
in a hard, challenging voice:
"Can't... I'm busy.... getting ready for your majesty... it's all for you, you
see.... for your own good... Only when I'm good enough..."
There it was, that face that haunted the blond day and night, his "god, this is
so good, I can't help myself" face, the half lidded blue eyes, the tension
around the lovely mouth, the lower lip caught between his teeth to stop him
from moaning, and Draco’s stupid, mindless mouth must have decided to conspire
with his raging cock and did what he wouldn't – it blurted out the unspeakable:
"Please... get in here... Weasley... Ron... please...."
"If you think I'm good enough..."
"God, don't... you're good... enough... Merlin... please..."
The last words had already drowned in his mouth when the redhead sunk into the
water with unfathomable speed and suddenly the blond found himself pressed
against the edge of the bathtub and all that hot naked skin was upon him. One
after another of those treacherous needy yelps dissolved inside of that soft,
unforgiving mouth; it was as if all of his mounting tension and piles of lies
melted under the needy, filthy touch and he was finally allowed to give in,
give in to his guilty desire and all that cursed, helpless yearning.
"You bastard... you wouldn't look at me... this whole bloody time... and I
thought... oh, gods, please don't stop... I thought we'd never do this again...
and it was driving me up the fucking wall... I need this... need... been
dreaming of this... every bloody night... oh, god, you need to let me have
it... don't let go..."
"You need to shut up, Malfoy... " the redhead hissed through his clenched
teeth, and it was a strange consolation to know that his anger had in no way
diminished, that it seemed as if his loathing fuelled the whole insane
encounter. "Shut up... As if I could stop... as if I could... you hexed me, you
decadent, mean tosser... and now you're all I think about."
Ron's mouth pressed there, right into that little spot of heaven and raw life
drumming wildly on the blond's slender neck and as his teeth sunk into the
tender skin around his lover's pulse, just under the edge on pain, and then
proceeded to brush it away with the broad, slow sweeps of the tender moist
tongue travelling up his neck, Draco lost himself with a sensational moan of
surrender.
"More..." he gasped as the greedy, unrelenting lips discovered the sensitive
flesh under his ear and the hot puffs of Ron's sweet breath made his every hair
stand on end. "Please... more... need..."
"You don't get to tell me what you need, snake..." Ron hissed angrily and the
way he sank his fingers into the blond hair and sought out his mouth again, was
nothing short of brutal and exactly what Draco craved somewhere deep down in
his depraved soul, ready to be mastered.
"I'll tell you what you need..." he told him between two hard kisses, so
intense that they left Draco completely breathless and with a blurred brain,
stammering for more. "I'll show you... what you need. I've been thinking about
little else... this whole... bloody... miserable time in between. We play by my
rules, prince... and I want... this."
Suddenly Draco's head was the only thing still touching solid surface and his
arms automatically flew to grip the edge of the bath for support. He found
himself staring at the ceiling when his whole body was lifted up and there was
not enough foam in England to hide the embarrassing consequences of Ron
Weasley's hot skin on his. With his head still leaning on the edge of the
bathtub, the rest of his body was floating amidst the clouds of bubbles
covering the surface, supported by one large hand right under his arse cheek,
while the other hand went to spread his legs rather brutishly, with no effort,
just the way he loved it. His tense balls suddenly brushed against the massive
warm torso and he whimpered in exotic sensation and strained expectation.
He felt those adept fingers move under his buttocks, on both sides now,
securing and massaging him gently, just enticingly enough to build impossible
anticipation, while he stared down into those blue, blue eyes that watched,
dazzled and saw him, like no one's ever seen Draco before, to the very depth of
his lonely, hungry soul, and Ron didn't pity him and he didn't judge. Instead,
he gave him this.
Without another word he leaned down on him, the side of his cheek brushing
against his erect, swollen cock, making him gasp, and then the redhead closed
his eyes as that beautiful mouth began its sensual travel up his body. He took
it slow as if he was enjoying every millimetre of the exposed skin, flushed
pink, barely touching him with his cheek, rubbing against him with his pretty
face, sowing an odd warm kiss here and a wanton playful lick there, all the
while breathing him in. The redhead seemed to love inhaling his lover's very
scent and warmth and he only stopped to nibble gently on his hard pebble-like
nubs, a provoking action that drew a helpless plea out of his blond prey:
"Please... Ron... please..."
Draco didn't even know what he was begging for, only... he didn't want this to
stop and dissolve into another empty dream or hollow daylight fantasy that
would leave him yearning for... something, he didn't even have a name for it,
but Ron Weasley gave it to him. And he was no fantasy. He was way better than
that. Finally that stunning face was on top of his, just an inch above it, that
soft mouth he'd been dreaming about with his eyes open and shut, was so close
he felt the hot, moist air caress his lips. Those blue eyes he surrendered to
were staring right at him and from up close he could see his own tense, awed
face in the stormy blue irises.
The redhead suddenly leaned over him and buried his face into his neck just
under his ear and the whispered words sent shivers down Draco's spine:
"So.... so... beautiful... and so vile. It shouldn't be... it's not fair... How
does someone as vicious as you end up so breathtakingly, painfully beautiful?
Up close you're to die for... and yet your marble beauty is nothing but pure...
white... poison. I wish I could take it... and not die of it... but your venom
just destroys everything it comes across, doesn't it? You were my first...
first one I kissed... first one I touched... like that. You took my innocence
from me... my sleep... all my dreams and fantasies... they lie with you... and
it's killing me.
But if I die of it... of this thing between us... burning me to the bone... if
I die, I'm taking you with me, Malfoy. I know how to wipe that arrogant smirk
off those cruel, sweet lips, I know... I've done it before. I know how to make
you say my name... not the filth you call me, not even my family name, but my
name, the name only people who care about me call me. You know I can make you
say it the way you can't help it... like it's the only thing that matters in
the whole world and nothing compares... even though you still hate me. Well, I
hate you, too. So let me share some of that hatred with you... so you can hate
yourself as well."
And when a heartbeat later his painfully strained, leaking cock sunk slowly,
deep into the hot wet cavity of Ron Weasley's mouth, the sound that came
somewhere from the very depths of Draco's chest couldn't have come from him; he
was not capable of such yearning and such raw need, it could not have been him
who yelped his name with such possessiveness and want as if he was indeed the
only thing, the only one he ever wanted.
"Ron!!... Gods... oh, please... ohmyfuckingGod, Ron... Merlin.... beautiful...
this... I never... don't stop... please... only you..."
He was babbling, he could hear himself and he didn't care and he couldn't stop.
He didn't have a single coherent thought left in him when that soft slick flesh
slid down his most sensitive, most needy parts that made his blood surge and
crush against the edge of his skin in brutal pleasure bordering on pain. Yet he
had to tell him, he had to spill some of that terrific need and tension he was
flooded with or his fucking soul would burst and shred him to pieces. This was
more than sex. This was a fucking rebellion, an uprising against everything he
was reined in to believe and wish for, and it was just one man, Ron Weasley,
against his entire world – and the magnificent redhead was winning.
He couldn't remember his hands giving up their support at the edge of the bath,
but suddenly they were there, delving into the luscious treasure of the heavy
red hair and he could do that because he knew he wasn't going to sink, because
his trust in Ron Weasley and what bound them together was absolute. He loved
that hair... and these were the only few moments in the whole, long stretch of
eternity when he could admit it to himself. Even water-soaked and not as
lustrous as the last time he got to dig his fingers in, it was strangely warm
and welcoming and so much a part of Ron that he could have loved it just for
that.
He had no words for Ron's mouth. He'd been dreaming of those soft, generous
lips, always so fresh, always so tempting, before he even realized that it was
Ron Weasley that usurped his dreams and haunted his fantasies. He still
remembered the horror and the strange foreboding dizziness at the recognition
of whose name he woke up to flushed and panting, lying in a mess of his own
juices. And he had been loud, too, he‘d had to lie to Vince afterwards that it
was a nightmare... only it wasn't a lie, not really; it was a nightmare and a
far scarier one than the mere illusion the morning sun could chase away. Ron
Weasley and his gorgeous mouth stretched into a soft smile was his very own,
very private curse and now he let him come too close to ever break its spell.
And that supple mouth, made of sin, could milk every delusion of grandeur and
superiority out of him, with ease. Just watching it wrapped around his cock,
stretched and beautifully tight, connected to some depraved fantasy in his
brain that made him whimper and stutter one humiliating praise after another;
worshipping, broken words of pleading and decadent secret desires the lovely
mouth had the power to fulfil. And, oh, boy, he didn't know where the redhead
had learned his trade; or maybe he was merely a prodigy in cock-sucking, but as
his mouth was moving in his own Ron-rhythm, Draco's world was moving and
shattering with it and his body followed the entrancing pace like a slave.
One more, gods, please, he just needed one more lingering, teasing touch of
that slick, soft flesh sliding against the throbbing spot under the spongy
head, just one more... and another and his brush with Heaven would be
complete... But they never came as the hot, wet, ungodly tongue danced all
around that raw spot, itching for friction, until it drove him crazy with need
and he was left to the mercy of the dirty flood of his words begging and
cursing for relief. But in the end it wasn't Ron's hungry, insane mouth that
broke him, it was his eyes.
They had been closed for the better part of their surrealistic encounter, the
long, wet eyelashes collecting the odd droplets of water like pearls. They had
closed when Ron first let him down his throat with a slow, maddening pace and
then sucked him the only way he knew how, the way he wanted to be sucked
himself – listening to his wishes, whispered in an urgent, heated voice and
following them with deceptive obedience; learning his deepest secrets stammered
through the broken debris of his pride and making them come to life with
unfathomable ease; playing with his likes and needs until he was nothing but a
mess of garbled words and breathless pleading whimpers... and only when he had
him where there was nowhere else to go, cornered and boiling against the
confines of his body, bursting for release, the mesmerising eyes finally
opened.
Slowly, like those of a predator, the deepest, most brilliant blue he would
ever see in his life, they set onto Draco's grey orbs, capturing him, taking
over the shredded thing he had become, connecting with him somewhere at the
deepest pit of his raw, torn soul until they were one and he knew he would
never look at another person like this. He saw his own desire mirrored, he saw
the unspeakable bond between them recognised, he saw himself in his eyes and he
knew Ron was seeing his own face in the silver surface as well. The swollen red
lips opened like a soft shell and he let him slide out of his mouth, left him
throbbing with desperate tension, waiting to explode, and without ever breaking
the priceless bond between them, Ron let the single moist hot breath wash over
him:
"Come for me, Draco..."
And when the decadent, swollen red mouth opened to taste his come, his hips
bucked violently as his whole body arched towards him like a divine offering,
and Draco Malfoy came at Ron Weasley's command. With an aching shout, ending in
a sob, and a magnificent flood of pearly come that just wouldn't stop coming.
And Ron Weasley just watched him and held him through it, his eyes dark and
wild, his chest heaving as if he was desperate to take part in this, to sink
head first into this piece of beauty and wrong and all his, shivering in his
large hands... but he wouldn't. Because next to undeniable hunger in his eyes
there was also fear; because this was a road with no return; because this was
not their first time and Ron feverishly hoped he could make it their last... If
only he could hold on to his crumbling self for a few precious moments longer;
let his eyes have their feast of beauty and want and impossible yearning – and
then he would retreat to the safety of his bedroom and let the madness that
came over him dissolve under the strokes of his own furious hand.
Because he could no longer deny that Draco Malfoy made him hard and aching.
He‘d tried to, he had god-honest tried for the better part of the eternity lost
between their last time and now, and perhaps he would have stood a chance
somewhere far, far away from him, but Ron doubted it. As different as they
were, as hateful as they’d started out, the force that pulled them together was
so tremendous it was beyond denial. And after last time... he had been very
confused forever and it was hard enough to recognise that he... liked boys the
same way he liked girls, but thinking of Draco bloody Malfoy... that way, was a
whole new cosmos. He wasn't ready for that, he would never be ready for that –
and if he had to sacrifice one glorious erection pressing painfully at the
fabric of his jeans to avoid that, Ron figured that was a fair price.
Only... those slender thighs unexpectedly slipped around his waist and too late
he realized in panic he must have recklessly loosened his grip under those
gorgeous round buns he got to hold and Malfoy had seen his chance and used it
like the snake he was. He rose from the water as if he was part of it, his
alabaster skin shimmering under the droplets, and his arms wrapped around Ron's
neck like a vicious grip of a serpent. The redhead only just registered the
insane glow in those crazy silver eyes before the soft mouth was at his ear and
the sinister whisper made him shiver:
"You forgot something...."
The heavenly mouth sought him out, the pale, surprisingly warm lips pressed
onto his red soft ones with Slytherin determination, and Ron's mouth knew what
to do. The sense memory dissolved the very air between them and he found
himself kissing Draco Malfoy with violent, shameless passion, with an
unforgivable urgency that recognised none of his denial, with something made of
years of hatred and brutal frustration and a hint of something that was just a
warm breath and a shy moan above the scary, yet familiar domain of lust and...
He couldn't think of it, he couldn't think of anything beyond Draco Malfoy
wanting to kiss him and that was the last sane, incredulous thought he had
before he drowned in the mind-boggling, cock-bursting sensation of Draco's
mouth drinking him in and wreaking havoc with breathless whisper – "Kiss me...
kiss me, Ron..." and "God...yes... this..." and "Oh, Merlin, you're making me
hard again" and "I want no one but you... please..."
And somehow those stupid, brainless hands of his didn't know how to push the
blond incubus away, but they found their way onto that pert tight arse instead,
following some ancient, primal orders of his unstoppable, roaring need. The
redhead only needed to press the lithe, slick body against his half-trapped
bursting erection and feel it melt willingly against his hardness and his hips
began thrusting... once, twice, and a breathless "Draco..." later, he was
coming helplessly into the warm shelter of Draco's body and against the hot,
wet silk of his ungodly mouth, whispering: "Yeah... that's it... let go,
baby... god, you're beautiful... your coming face is to die for... I couldn't
let you leave me without... I need to remember you like this..."
Out of breath and coordination and limp with release, Ron made a few faltering
steps backwards towards the edge of the bath; yet somehow still clutching the
warm, nearly weightless treasure in his hands. And Draco really had nowhere
else to be.
The blond knew how narrow was the window of their quiet, unfathomable unity and
spotless serenity, before all that shame mixed with regret kicked in yet again.
He knew what was coming; knew how impossibly torn and wretched and abandoned he
would feel when Ron would finally come to his senses and push him away; his
body remembered the sensation acutely and with acid bitterness that bordered on
despair. But the little stretch of time before the sharp jaws of reality chewed
through their illusion was priceless, and in a hopeless attempt to make the
best of the few precious moments he still had him to himself unspoilt, he
buried his face into the crook of his neck and closed his eyes.
Just... he needed to breathe him in and remember the scent of warm skin, that
singular possessive feeling of strong hands and that indescribable closeness
that was forbidden between them. Draco never let anyone hold him; he could
barely tolerate anyone's touch – yet... this... He needed this; needed it for
those abandoned, solitary moments between dreams and awake when he got to
listen to his heartbeat echo inside him and the world held yet no burden of
expectations and his future mistakes. In those moments there was just one image
behind his closed eyelids and no one else was allowed access. It inexplicably
made his heart ache and it blessedly made him hard so he could pretend this...
lust was all this was about... and he fiercely denied any truth beyond this
one. And it was easy to persuade himself afterwards he didn't remember it, that
it had only been an unwelcome dream.
He could already feel the muscles move under his touch and felt a wave of
despair wash over him at the expectation of what was coming. But his body
tensed for nothing, the blow never came. Instead, the hands holding him up just
slowly dissolved as if the tall Gryffindor was afraid he would somehow hurt him
and he was let down gently, almost as if he was fragile. When his feet touched
the bottom of the bathtub he inexplicably felt his chest expand and contract
viciously, dangerously alike a sob, almost as if Ron's tenderness was more
brutal than the manhandling he‘d expected. But something stubborn and hopeful
inside of him wouldn't let the arms around his neck go loose, so he just held
on and waited some more; waited with his eyes shut tight and a resigned, heavy
heart to be the one to be pushed away, because he couldn't bear to be the one
to let go. Just like last time.
But then the long fingers crawled into his hair, and they were wonderfully
strong and a bit wrinkled from water and the thumb gently slipped into a
circular motion around his ear, caressing his cheek and making him shiver.
"What is this, Malfoy?" he felt the hot, moist breath of air touch the shell of
his ear, and Draco pressed deeper into the warm shelter of his lover's skin,
hanging on for dear life to the last moments in heaven before he was going to
be cast away. "What is this... thing... between us?"
"Lust," he answered after a long moment of silence and even to himself his
voice sounded hollow and unsure. "Lust," he repeated, not able to disguise the
treacherous trembling, but giving him the only answer he was capable of, the
only one that was going to hold them both together and keep them safely apart.
"Teenage hormones, you know... Just... lust."
"Lust... " repeated Ron in a quiet, uneven voice, as if he was testing an
unknown beverage, and then Draco felt the warm fingers slowly disappear from
his hair along with all the warmth of this world. Again.
===============================================================================
End Notes
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