Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5084350.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Ron_Weasley
  Character:
      Draco_Malfoy, Ron_Weasley, Pansy_Parkinson, Lavender_Brown
  Series:
      Part 3 of What_else?
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-10-26 Completed: 2015-12-13 Chapters: 5/5 Words: 37198
****** What else? (Part III: Love) ******
by my_thestral
Summary
     All the hatred they have for each other cannot keep them away and...
     lust... well, what else?... keeps drawing them together. Until one of
     them has enough. Or not enough.
Notes
     Sorry, this is in several chapters. It was meant to be as one, but it
     was just taking too damn long and I decided to split it in pieces to
     give you guys something and to buy myself some time. I'm not too
     happy with it, truth be told. My life is in a general turmoil and I
     think it reflects in my writing. So sorry if I let anyone down. I'll
     try my best to make the next story a better one.
***** Sinking in... *****
It was time. Fucking finally! He didn’t think he could have taken another
minute of this god-awful tedious waiting! Draco Malfoy left his Slytherin dorm
and tried to look as casual as possible when he headed towards the Prefects’
Bathroom, quietly praying that no one saw past the snotty, disdainful
expression he put on for this occasion, and deemed fit to stop him. No one did.
Everyone knew he had been especially irritable and snappy during the last
couple of months and even his friends trod gently around him, making sure they
stayed well out of his business and far away from his acid wit. Thank fuck for
small miracles! He had been counting seconds since their last class for the day
finished, and he couldn’t bear another second of delay.
And there he was. He stopped in front of the door to the Prefects’ Bathroom
abruptly, exhaling deeply, and ran his nervous fingers through his hair. Well,
nothing for it now, he’s come this far. But when his hand reached for the
doorknob, it still trembled a little. Perhaps this time…
No. Empty. Again. Bloody Weasel! Couldn’t he be decent enough for once to show
some… dedication to what they were up to?! God, he hated the freckly bastard!
And, sadly... wanted him. Craved him, actually, as his fluttering heart and
rushing pulse insisted on reminding him. Bloody misery, that. And perhaps even…
yeah, er… no. He didn’t want his thoughts straying in that terrifying
direction. They were… drawn to each other. That should do. No need to go
deeper.
He sighed and began taking his clothes off. Bloody Weasel indeed! Some
Gryffindor! The redhead just wasn’t up to it, ever. He was too proud – or
insecure or whatever the fuck it was that stopped him from doing this part: to
arrive first and endure the quiet torment of humiliating, terrible waiting. So
it had to be him. Every. Bloody. Time. But it was either this or… no, giving
this up was simply not an option. So Draco waited. And hated it; Merlin, did he
hate the waiting!
He was never more vulnerable than in those empty moments between arriving –
first, always first, that ginger bastard! - and hearing the click of the
doorknob moving hesitantly, followed by the quiet tall figure slipping in and
lingering by the entrance some, as if Ronald Weasley wasn’t quite sure he had a
right to be there. Draco’s chest always tensed impossibly and released the
painful burden of hot air shakily when he realized that he was once again
getting what he came for, as toxic as it was, as right as it felt – but the
time in between was just killing him.
Once he was submerged in the hot, wonderfully scented water of his refuge – his
alone for a few endless, unbearable moments – he always tried really hard not
to think about it. Once he had realized that he… needed it, he had made a pact
with himself that he would never allow himself to obsess about it as long as
this… this bad habit was his to have. But there were always going to be moments
of weakness and the waiting provided for plenty of those. Naked in the water,
as exposed as one could be, in the silence and warm, steamy atmosphere of the
Prefects’ Bathroom, designed to make one unwind, his thoughts rebelled against
his resolve. The restlessness and panic that rose up inside of him just
wouldn’t be stifled.
What was he doing?! Merlin, father would shred him to pieces if he ever found
out and mother would just die of shame! How could he want this… him… them?!
What was it about the redhead that he found so bloody irresistible?! He was
just a boy… just a boy, for fuck’s sake, there was a small million of those out
there and every single one would have been a better choice than him! But it had
to be this one… it had to. It was in those moments that he had first come to
realize, with a sinking heart, that there was no one else for him and it was
this recognition that choked him and made him hate all those restless moments
of hungry anticipation. He needed someone for the first time in his life,
needed him, and he couldn’t forgive his foolish, hungry heart and greedy prick
for that!
And he made him wait! Why did the evil ginger motherfucker make him wait, when
there was no doubt he needed it just as badly as Draco did… Yes, he did, he had
to! Why else would he keep coming back? True, it was Draco who had started
it... but Merlin the merciful, it was his salvation, he had to do something; he
was practically hallucinating about him day and night after the Prefects’
bathroom incident! And yet – it wasn't just him, was it?
The way Weasley had risen to the bait – eagerly, hungrily, immediately, without
even bothering to look for excuses – made it pretty obvious that Draco's
disguised offer came as a dream come true. The redhead had never said it; they
never spoke about anything much during their desperate encounters anyway, but
it was in the way he tore his clothes off with out-of-control urgency, in the
way he always came half-hard already, in the way he sunk into the water and
launched himself at the Slytherin as if a starving man would at the mouth-
watering meal, as if he could hardly wait...
The mental image itself made the blond’s skin prickle and his cock swell, and
the thought of father and the vicious, unforgiving world outside of their
fragile shelter slowly faded into the background. He knew of nothing and no one
when they were together. They were all too perfect as one.
Merlin, this was… mad, but it was like that ever since the first time they had
clashed against each other, wasn’t it? Draco closed his eyes and couldn’t stop
a wistful, bittersweet smile blossoming on his lips when he thought of that
very first crazy, angry, inexplicable encounter between them in the hallway
after the Quidditch game debacle. Draco had foolishly instigated it, like the
conceited idiot he was; not thinking where he was headed at the time, not
knowing that this was a road leading straight to hell.
Because their first one had not been enough. No, of course not, that was his
life - why would anything be easy?! While other people got to fuck a different
person every night if they wished so, he had to get addicted to the very first,
the one and only person he had ever been with! But by god, it had been magical…
Magical and unforgettable and so sublime it still made his heart ache to think
of it; to remember how he got to surrender to another person – fully,
completely, with no reservations – and felt embraced, at peace and complete.
And the feeling it left behind was one of disastrous hunger for the boy he
could not have, should not have wanted, should not have gone near – and every
thing else had pretty much gone to the pot from that very first time on. He had
been beyond help since.
Their second time was nothing more than an incidental encounter, an unfortunate
accident really, but it had pretty much cemented their fates together as if it
was the evil gods’ way of saying: “This, here, is what we’ve got ready for you,
do not bother fighting it.” 
And yet, in spite of the same scenery of the Prefects’ bathroom and nearly the
same circumstances – a very wet, naked him and a late, gorgeous Weasel – their
second crash-and-burn experience wasn’t quite like this had become either. It
hadn’t been… deliberate in the same way this was; it hadn’t been planned so
meticulously, nor awaited so eagerly and feared so dreadfully. It was yet to
become perpetual. Because this… was a habit. A really bad, terribly
destructive, weeks-long habit, impossible to shake. A crippling addiction, if
there ever was one.
Bloody waiting. It brought honesty along as well.
But this… these meetings of theirs – it could not be different. It was all he
had and… he needed it. As ridiculous and insane as it was, he had come to need
Ron Weasley and he hated himself for it; hated him – hated and yearned and
craved it him like a madman.
The redhead had barely left after their wild, chance encounter in the Prefects’
bathroom – abandoned him, really, because that’s how it had felt back then –
when Draco felt it for the first time, as acutely and as scarily as he was ever
going to feel it: there was a void, a dark, echoing, light-absorbing emptiness
where his pride and arrogance once resided and it made him feel hollow and
restless and it made him want and pine and obsess the way he never obsessed
about anything and anyone before.
In the days that followed he barely functioned throughout the day. He was torn
between feeling miserable and downright mean to his friends, and stupidly
elated, with his heart fluttering like a nervous bird against the cage of his
chest at the first sight of red hair in the distance. And the nights were even
worse. Left to the mercy of his own thoughts, defenceless from his own desires
and tortured by the memories and alluring reveries, his rebellious hand often,
all too often, landed on his hard, desperate cock and only one fantasy worked,
only one face, only one name… Ron… RonRonRon… fuckgodRon… yeah…. always Ron in
those moments, never Weasley.
God, he was frustrated… and furious! Lying in the darkness, with the other
Slytherin room-mates snoring around him happily, he was lost in his favourite
fantasies of that hard, muscled body pressing him into the mattress and his
cock throbbed in hopeless desire to be touched and caressed and… oh, god…
manhandled… but his redheaded demon was not around and it made him livid and it
just made him want to scream!
Why, oh why was he so stupid to have started messing with him?! Why the fuck
did the redhead have to look -, smell -, feel so gorgeous? Why the hell did
every last one of Draco’s defences melt like snowflakes in the summer sun as
soon as those long fingers touched his skin and owned him? Why did that lovely
mouth fit so perfectly around his cock and where, where on Merlin’s bloody
earth did Weasel learn to suck, and lick and tease like that; the way the
Slytherin found it irresistible, the way it sparked to life a whole havoc of
uncontrollable sensations inside him that made him gasp and beg and surrender?!
Lost, angry at the whole world and incredibly turned on, the blond fucked his
fist with gritted teeth one endless night after another, telling himself
stubbornly, time and time again, that this was all fucking Weasel was good for
– bloody brilliant wanking material, if there ever was one – but that was it.
That was all. It had to be. It held… long enough. Until he saw him next. And
fell apart again. 
He tried everything to get rid of this… impossible crush, he god-honestly did,
but none of his usual arsenal of weapons-against-Weasley worked. The cruel
jibes that made Weasley’s deep blue eyes focus on him and give him that long,
livid, resentful look, only served to send Draco straight to the nearest
bathroom with a raging hard-on, where he tossed off with desperate urgency
while cursing his stupid hormone-flooded body and his terrible infatuation
copiously. Why could he no longer spit venom at Weasley without his stupid
brain translating every action into a masochistic arousal?!
The shouting matches he used to enjoy so much were, sadly, out as well. There
was always a good chance that those might end up in physical brawls and it
wasn’t hard to imagine he’d end up rubbing his perpetual hard-on against the
redhead in front of the whole school… Yeah, like that could ever have more than
one possible outcome! What if he forgot himself and kissed him?! Merlin… no.
He’d never live down the shame! Bloody Weasel just took all the joy out of his
life, didn’t he?!
The blond had even tried avoiding the Gryffindor menace, as uncharacteristic as
this was for him, but as big as Hogwarts was, it seemed to have shrunk to the
size of a matchbox when it came to meeting Ron. He was everywhere and always
there and Draco was slowly, but surely going spare with frustrated want for him
and blazing hatred for what the redhead had reduced him to.
And then that stupid bint Lavender Brown happened. She had been after Ron ever
since that bloody Quidditch match victory, the slut that she was, and it seemed
that his stupid, insecure Gryffindor had no weapons to defend himself from what
the saccharine butter-cake had plenty to give: blind admiration. Soon enough
she was all over the redhead like the plague and Draco just couldn’t bear it.
Somehow this was a million times worse than that Mudblood Granger pining after
his chosen one, because this one… this one had been entirely undeserving… a
terrible choice… dumb and ugly and argh, he hated her!!!
He literally saw black every time he caught the giggling bimbo climbing all
over the redhead; what the fuck did she think she was doing?! This, here, was
his, goddammit! Fucking Weasel, how dare he let her?! Truth be spoken, the
Gryffindor never quite looked the happy participant in the orgy of affection
the stupid girl with a death-wish was spilling all over him, but Draco still
couldn’t help but to glare murderously every time he came across her slobbering
all over the lovely bastard he couldn’t stop pining for.
But then he witnessed the fat cow put that atrocious, garish necklace with a
pierced heart pendant around Ron’s neck, leaving the flushed redhead looking
equal part appalled and embarrassed – and it just kind of broke the chain that
kept him at bay, didn’t it?! He only had to look at Weasley to see that he
hated the necklace, couldn’t stand the damn thing – yet he accepted it with a
stuttered “thank you” and a half-hearted hug that the slobbery bitch used to
snog him good and proper – and the Slytherin had finally had enough. Here he
was, obsessing like mental over this impossible, stupid boy he wouldn’t allow
himself to have and in the mean time, the redhead had no reservations of being
ridiculed by the entire school as long as he got to piss him off and make a
point! Not on Draco’s watch, nope, not anymore, this had to end here!
He wasn’t thinking, he simply acted on impulse when he grabbed Pansy’s hand and
pulled her closer, and he barely had time to register the surprise on her face
before he closed his eyes from his own folly and just kissed her. Snogged her
straight on the mouth, actually, and she, oh, yuck… oh, the supreme blegh… she
tasted like chalky wet sponge by comparison.
“Draco…!” she squealed in fake horror, looking every bit as if Christmas had
come early, but he didn’t care for her and he wouldn’t look at her, not even if
she started doing cartwheels around the room. His first and only look went to
the ginger berk and when he found those brilliant blue eyes focused on him,
simmering with ire and jealousy, he felt as if a giant load has finally fallen
off his chest. He suddenly felt so elated and happy it was almost dizzying and
staring across the room straight into those magical eyes that found a way into
his every dream, there was no longer any doubt in his mind: he wanted those
eyes gazing at him from up close, and he wanted that resentment spilled all
over his skin. His breath hitched just at the thought of it.
“So… does that mean you’re taking me to the Astronomy tower tonight?” Pansy’s
voice, laced with affectation, broke through his drooling and he forcefully
made himself tear his eyes away from the true subject of his interest.
“Huh? What?! No! Whatever the fuck gave you that idea?” he spat, livid at the
foolish bint for interrupting his gleeful, starved focus on the stormy freckled
face, but the shocked-gone-livid expression on her face made him swallow a more
acid comment. He didn’t need to get hexed by Pansy snout-nosed Parkinson while
he was trying to figure out a way how to hump the beautiful prat again! Oh…
wait… oh, she was totally brilliant! She had given him a cue and the brainless
arse he had become, he nearly missed it!
“I can’t… tonight,” he looked her bravely straight in the face and tried to
smile as gracefully as his Malfoyness would have him. “You see, I’m busy
tonight. I’m…”
He gulped as imperceptibly as he could and spoke as loud and clear as he could
hope to, without looking absurd and all too obvious.
“I’m on Prefect duty. You know, doing rounds and such. And afterwards it’s my
turn in the Prefects’ Bathroom; I had to book the last time-slot due to those
bothersome rounds.”
With a heart beating up in his throat he managed a quick glance towards Weasel
and he saw the dark cloud of anger replaced by a confused frown… and then
something alike realization, followed by an incredulous look. Good. This better
be what he hoped it was.
“And I can’t give that up, honestly, Panse, I can’t! I’ve been waiting for ages
to get warm in this draughty ruin of a school and if I give it up, some scum
like Weasel there might jump right in and take my spot – and we can’t have
that, can we?!” he said with a small smirk and a provocatively raised eyebrow
only to see the blue eyes grow dark again. But what came out of Ron’s mouth
next, knocked the wind out of him.
“If you won’t let me have it, Malfoy, how about sharing? Poor people get cold,
too, you know!” the redhead hissed quietly, dangerously and it had made Draco’s
knees go weak on the spot. Oh, that reckless bastard… how dare he?! He knew
everyone else must have interpreted it like an attempt at ridicule – they must
have, not knowing what they’d been up to! – but to him it sounded every bit
like a dark, passionate promise that made his cock swell instantly and it
nearly made him swoon. He didn’t have a single clever reply in his head, not
one, and it was god-given when Pansy saw it fit to start screeching to his
defence.
“Merlin, Weasley, could you be more pathetic?! Who’d want to share a bathroom
with you, you freckled sack of dirt?!”
“Wow, your boyfriend lets you kiss him with that mouth? Malfoy, honestly… no
wonder you need a bath!” The pretty, freckled face stretched into that killer
naughty smile that lit up those blue eyes like stars and Draco had a sickening
idea that if the redhead had whispered, “Let’s fuck…” it couldn’t have made him
harder than he already was.
“Shut your filthy gob!” he managed to squeeze through his teeth somehow but it
only made the redhead move closer and Draco could smell the warm, intoxicating
scent of his skin already. Oh… bloody hell, ohhhh…
“But why? You must like it filthy, if you like Parkinson, snake…” Ron spoke
with deceitful calmness, but the edge underneath his voice was for Draco’s ears
alone. “Let me know if you warm up to that sharing idea… I’d save some of the
really dirty bits for you… to admire…”
That tempting red mouth delivered another one of those god-sexy, slow,
provoking smiles and Draco bit his lip, hard, not to launch himself at him and
taste it. Luckily, the catcalls and giggles that erupted from the lines of the
Gryffindors had already made any kind of intelligent reply impossible – thank
fuck for small miracles! – but they had also infuriated Parkinson.
“Sod off, you spotted pouf!” she hissed and before one could blink, she had her
wand out and pointed straight at the redhead. It happened so fast Ron didn’t
even flinch… but Draco did. His hand reacted before his conscious brain could
catch up. His fingers wrapped around her hand like cold serpents and he could
barely stop himself from howling at her. What was the crazy bitch thinking?!
Was she attempting to ruin the precarious plans he had for Weasley this
evening?! She better not, he’d murder her in her sleep!
“If all this gutter-talk is the only way you can get kissed, Parkinson, perhaps
there’s time for a new boyfriend,” Weasley spoke coldly, but his livid eyes
told a different story. And Draco’s heart went on a rampage inside his chest,
beating like a drum-gone-mad, because he knew what this was – it had nothing to
do with Pansy, this was a warning for his ears alone and he was nearly giddy
with heady realization that Weasley was jealous enough to strike at him. God,
yes, this… it was this passion that was driving him towards the redhead like a
vicious landslide that didn’t care what it destroyed in its path. And that’s
why he needed him safe for tonight – he couldn’t wait to settle the score their
own way.
“Put that away!” he nearly spat at Pansy and his fingers around her hand
contracted viciously. “I’ve seen McGonagall lurking about and you know very
well we can’t afford to lose any more points this year! We can’t hope to win in
an open confrontation; use your head for once!” But the crestfallen and furious
expression on her face warned him to tread carefully and he forced his face
into a sly smile as he whispered hastily:
“We’re Slytherins, darling, and this is not our way. We’ll get back to them, to
every last one of them, but we’ll do it our way.”
He saw her eyes grow softer when he called her “darling”, and he used the
moment to pull her behind, but then an ice-cold, mocking “Oh, look, first
lovers’ quarrel… and over me of all things!”hit them in the back of their heads
and he had to focus not to turn around and launch at him, show everyone, the
whole fucking school if it need be, what this was all about, what they were
made of. He was glad he didn’t do it, though. If the Brown bint’s giggles were
anything to go by, she was once again showering her ginger hero in admiration –
and he just wasn’t in any kind of sane state to handle it. Not to mention that
he needed a wank so badly that Pansy could possibly be getting a new hole in
her back, if she stopped abruptly.
Because in there, in those mocking, contemptuous words, there had been a
promise, right? Hidden out in the open, for everyone to see, Ron had
acknowledged his offer like a chess master he was, and practically promised to
see him again. Right in front of everyone, the crazy Gryffindor arse that he
was! Because that was what it was, wasn’t it? It had to be, gods, it had to!
Merlin, he could not stand another minute of holding the soft, spongy hand of
his unplanned-for girlfriend; the hand he wanted to close his fingers around
was twice the size and Quidditch-calloused and would surely have locked around
the narrow palm of his hand with warmth and strength that spoke of
possessiveness he so hopelessly craved. Merlin, what had he gotten himself
into?!
Not that it matter much, no, not any longer. He had sold his soul to the red-
haired devil and now he was going to have to take what his insane decision
brought in tow. But first things first. He needed some time alone to wrap his
head around the new situation and try to make the best of it, and for that he
needed to lose Pansy; fast. He knew it was going to cost him; she was a
Slytherin to the bone and she won’t be as easily manipulated as a more gullible
girl might be. She was, on the other hand, a perfect cover for his… private
activities, and keeping her around might just prove useful. So he stopped dead
in his track in an abandoned Hogwarts corridor and turned towards her.
“So… Hogsmeade this weekend?” he asked with deliberate kindness straight into
her big, puppy eyes and had to endure “Oh, Draco! Of course! I thought you’d
never ask!” as she threw herself at him. He carefully put his arms around her,
not to give her the wrong impression and after he counted to five, he moved her
away gently, but adamantly.
“Good, that’s settled then. I was hopeful you would say yes… for some time
now,” he added quickly, smoothly and had to stop himself from rolling his eyes
up when she giggled the same way that he saw that Lavender pie do it.   
“Oh, Draco… who could say “no” to you, honestly,” she looked at him, and
blinked in a flirty fashion, but under all that affectation, she seemed
genuinely all radiant and for the first time he felt something alike pity for
her. She could not have picked a worst target for her affection, if it was
real. He could barely feel friendly towards her on a good day and he possibly
had more respect for that Mudblood Granger. Yet, Pansy was his ally, a welcome
one, and he couldn’t afford to lose her as one.
“I’m content to hear that,” he announced, trying to sound pleased and for a
proper theatrical effect, he kissed her cheek briefly. “You’ll have to excuse
me now, darling. As tedious as this Prefect duty is, I’m bound to perform it.
The weekend it is, then.”
He should have known that the peck on the cheek wouldn’t be enough; she
launched herself at him yet again and snogged him properly and after that he
couldn’t get away from her fast enough. As soon as he made it behind the
corner, he wiped his mouth furiously and made a grimace – seriously, there was
no comparison; with all her overdone make up on she tasted and smelled like a
powdered paper bag, while Weasley and his plush, tender lips… that slick,
maddening tongue, teasing its way into his mouth, that warm breath caressing
his willing skin into goose bumps, those fierce blue eyes, staring down his
soul while the curious, strong fingers lead his body down the road of
surrender… oh, yeah… about that wank…
With painful perfection he still remembered every detail of that first planned
rendez-vous, which had inadvertently started a pattern that lasted until this
day; a vicious circle of yearning and waiting and finally getting the very
thing he had doomed himself for – only to do more waiting and cursing and
yearning – until their next time.
He thought he would perish waiting. The bloody clock just
wouldn’t.fucking.move, and for the first fucking time he was happy to see his
Prefect rounds around the castle come up – at least it gave him something to do
and he got to take his frustration out on some of the squealing offenders. But
finally it was time and with a fluttering heart he headed for the Prefects’
Bathroom. His fingers shook as he was taking his clothes off and even submerged
into the hot water of the bath, he was still shivering. He had put his whole
world on the edge of breaking and now it was no longer up to him. If Weasel
didn’t come…
The seconds ticked away as slowly as hours and his intense gaze was glued to
the damn door as if he could will it into opening. He didn’t know if half a
minute has passed or half an hour, he had no sense of time left, but with every
passing moment, in which he dared not blink not to miss the movement of the
door-knob, his disappointment grew more bitter until he was nearly on the edge
of tears and choking on his bile. Bastard… that vile Gryffindor bastard! Fuck…
But in that moment the door-knob finally tilted, nearly imperceptibly at first,
and when the door clicked open slowly, hesitantly, his heart swelled up like a
balloon. He won... bloody hell, he won! He knew it was him before he even
entered; he had made sure no one else could open the door, so it had to be him,
it had to. And it was.
Ron had entered and closed the door behind him carefully as if he wanted to
have something to focus his attention on to, if only for a moment – and then he
just stood there, insecurity written all over that pretty, freckled face. Draco
only had to pay a single look at him, feel the manly, earthy, god-sexy scent of
him hit him straight on, and he knew he had made the right decision. His heart
went positively wild in his chest and the mixture of relief and arousal was so
heady and powerful that it had turned his legs into jelly and he was nearly
giddy with the overwhelming blend of conflicting feelings. Gods, he was
gorgeous… How could someone he hated so much, smell like pure golden
aphrodisiac to him?!
But Weasel still wouldn’t look at him; he was standing so close to the door as
if he was considering having a last minute change of heart and Draco knew he
simply couldn’t bear it. He wanted to shout at him, share some of the
impossible tension, tell him “You’re late!” in the coldest, most dismissive
voice possible, as he would to a servant, but there was something in that
nearly transparent face and downcast eyes that squeezed around his heart
viciously and ached and he couldn’t spit out anything vile or he would have
damaged himself. Against any reason he couldn’t stand to see Weasley hurt and
just a chance that he might leave and abandon him yet again… no…
“Well… what are you waiting for?” he asked hastily instead, and was shocked to
hear his voice come out so raspy and breathless. Fuck, he sounded desperate…
fuck, he did. But it was this barely hidden despair and the unmistakable
urgency in his voice that finally did the job. Ron’s head moved almost
imperceptibly, but just enough that it made those eyes made of the deepest blue
land on Draco’s face and the blond’s next words shot out of him before he could
stop them.
“I’ve been waiting… I… get in here… you need to get in here.”
Finally, a small, shy smile and an unusually softly-spoken, almost flirtatious
“I’m still dressed, you know” was all it took to let the Slytherin know that he
was not alone in this terrible obsession.
“Let me help you with that, then,” he offered quietly, with his heart beating
madly somewhere in his throat, and for an eternal, painful moment the redhead
said nothing, did nothing. But then those endless legs finally moved, slowly,
as if in a trance, and he approached the edge of the bath, almost as if every
step came with a price he could barely afford. He stopped just inches from the
water and those unfathomable blue eyes were once again upon his face, sinking
into his grey ones, all the way down to the bottom of his naked, aching soul
and then his redheaded devil slowly sank to his knees as if in a beautiful act
of surrender.
“There,” was the only thing he said in a dark, strangely pliant and subdued
voice, as if he came to offer himself, looking for mercy, and like this, on his
knees in front of his adversary-gone-lover, he was the closest thing to God
Draco had ever seen. His heart drowned in an unknown, sweet pain of need and
desire that spread down his body like a warm tide. He wanted him… Merlin, how
very much he wanted him. He couldn’t think, couldn’t talk, he could no longer
control his actions. His arms shot out of the water as if they recognised their
one chance at this and his nervous slippery fingers shook as autumn leaves when
they reached up to that strong, long neck to undo the first one of the tiny
buttons of the crisp white school shirt. And the redhead just let him.
His eyes still held, firmly set onto Draco’s face as if he was afraid to look
away and break his resolve, as if that narrow face held all the answers he
couldn’t hope to find within his torn soul. Draco knew exactly how he felt,
because their thoughts, their emotions have somehow spilled into each other and
became one. There was no need for words, none for explanations or excuses,
there were no mistakes possible, none of this could ever be wrong. This was
right. This was how it should be between them. As more that taut, tempting body
came to light, glowing in the candlelight with its own golden luminescence,
Draco felt the heat rise up his cheeks and his vision nearly swam with lust.
GodMerlinfuck, Weasley was a piece of work… stunning… so very manly… unfair…
entirely unfair that someone should look so breathtaking as if he was created
by a meticulous divine artist who strived for perfection. With the shirt off
and crumbled at the edge of the bath, a kneeling, half-naked redhead was a
sight for gods. The candlelight drew exotic shadows over every defined muscle
of that delicately sculpted torso, accentuating those wide shoulders Draco
dreamed about holding onto; the soft golden light poured down that endless,
sensitive neck he’d love to worship with his mouth and pooled around the tiny,
taut nipples, standing dark and erect from the creamy background, simply
begging to be touched. They were too much of a temptation for Draco like this,
right in the line with his mouth and he closed his lips around one hungrily and
sucked…
“Merlin… Malfoy…” It only took this half-gasp, half moan of Weasley’s for
Draco’s fingers to shoot up and look for the other little rosy peak, just to
hear that wonderful, undoing sound again.
“Greedy…” the redhead had whispered, but that single word was laden with the
same need and desire that was burning down the blond’s veins, incinerating all
his scruples and hesitation.
“… only for you, you bastard…” Draco had murmured against his skin and there
was another quiet moan when the long fingers slipped into his hair, warm,
wonderfully strong, beautifully possessive. Yesssss, this…
He brushed against the hot, hard bulge of his sex god and he had realized,
though somewhat hazily, that Weasley had spread his legs and let him slip
between them. Those strong thighs he couldn’t help to drool over were pressed
closely to each side of him, but they were still clad in an old threadbare pair
of jeans, now soaked all over the place. Christ… he had been too busy toying
with those addictive little nubs to ever finish undressing the redhead – but
right now, with the wet fabric clinging to the every contour of that impressive
hardness between his legs, he could not bring himself to regret it. Even
trapped like this, mounting angrily against its constraints, Ron’s hard cock
was making his mouth water and everything else fell forgotten.
He ran his fingers across the tented fabric gently, as in reverence, and was
awarded with a breathless moan, that made him incredibly greedy. Merlin… he’s
dreamed about this so many times he didn’t even feel like a beginner.  He’s
never been near anyone’s cock with his mouth before, yet it felt as if he knew
exactly what to do. He rubbed his cheek against the tempting bulge slowly and
was completely mesmerised by its warmth and hardness. But his act of silent
worship produced another one of those god-sexy gasps, so he looked up into the
blue eyes, as if asking for permission and the redhead nodded almost
imperceptibly.
“Go on, then,” the Gryffindor whispered in a shaky voice and it made the
blond’s blood pound in his ears when he recognised that urgent, cursed need
that bound them. He… is going to love this, he just knew it. Just mouthing him
over the thin, threadbare fabric, to have a feel of his volume, proved to be
the most undoing thing ever. He licked the little stain the blossomed where the
rock solid shaft pressed against the constraints of the trousers the hardest
and the strained “fuck, Malfoy…” was all it took for his fingers to start
fumbling with the offensive fabric that kept him from the main prize.
JesusMerlin, he was big! Big… and angry-looking… and how was that supposed to
fit… anywhere?! That was his first shocked thought, because dreaming about that
magnificent cock and actually seeing it up close, in all its erect glory, were
apparently two different things. And as if Ron knew what he was thinking, there
were suddenly those long warm fingers underneath his chin to tilt his head
upwards and the redhead leaned down to capture his mouth in a long, slow
luxurious kiss that eradicated every last trace of his panic and completely
bewitched him. As soon as the luscious mouth let go of him, he knew he wanted
to do… that. He was ready.
He closed his eyes and thought of the way he liked having it done and smiled
like a leisurely cat in front of him. He was going to start slow and see where
it took him. And after that first, tentative, slow lick from those perfect
hardening balls all the way to the pearly top, everything was easy.
Ron’s whispered “Jesusfuck, Malfoy” was desperate enough to instantly have him
addicted. Yessss… this is what he was after… to reduce this beautiful
motherfucker to an utter mess; to give back some of that raw feeling of primal
pleasure Weasley knew so well how to induce with those smart fingers and that
sweet, talented tongue; to lick and suck and worship and please… to make the
redhead dig his fingers into his hair and whisper his name… and all those
sincere obscenities he couldn’t think of in a broad daylight without blushing
and going hard because he’s only ever heard them from him –  “oh, fuckplease…
suck me, you beautiful, cocky little bitch”, “Christ, you’re talented, blondie,
you were born to do this…”, “I can’t believe you’re using this gorgeous mouth
to throw those evil, acid jabs at me… you always fuck me up… make me want to
knock you down in front of everyone and shove my cock into your mouth… and
watch you swallow it whole… watch you toy with it… watch you get off on making
it ooze this fucking hatred I have for you… and sucking it empty…”, “god,
you’re such a divine slut, why did I have to fall for you…”, “Christ, Malfoy…
Draco… I… please… pleasedontstop… please… so close…”
In that moment he let the pulsating, swollen shaft out of his mouth, but only
to twist his desperate need to the point of breaking, only to whisper with his
hot breath across the sensitive wet flesh what he needed him to know:“I want
you so fucking much it hurts… Ron… Need you… need to taste you, beautiful…”
And with a desperate, hopeless “Fuck… Draco!!!” the redhead slammed forward and
spilled his delicious, hot load straight into Draco’s pliant, hungry mouth. And
to the blond it was the most intoxicating feeling ever… those possessive strong
fingers in his hair, holding on for dear life… the way he yelped his name… like
it was his weakness, his sweetest, most private sin, like it was only right…
and then the taste of him on his tongue, warm and bitter-sweet, not at all
unpleasant, just… a lot to take, but he didn’t care for the bits he couldn’t
catch, he didn’t care about being a mess with him, because that’s what they did
to each other – they messed each other up and that’s what they were about. So
it didn’t really startle him when Ron leaned down and the soft tongue sought
out the remains of the pearly liquid he could not swallow.
“I taste funny…” he heard him mumble and it was such a Ron thing to say that he
couldn’t help his mouth stretching into a smile… which the smart, greedy tongue
used to slip in and steal his breath away. Merlin… he had yet to come and this
was… this was…
“This was delicious… why did you do that for?” he whispered into his mouth and
the blond didn’t think he had enough marbles left to lie.
“Wanted to…” he said instead and when he absent-mindedly blurted “…for ages”,
he didn’t even get the time to regret it, because the redhead had unexpectedly
sank into the water and knocked him against the edge of the bath to kiss him
thoroughly.
“That’s how I like you best,” Ron growled quietly, dangerously, in a way that
it made Draco’s skin prickle and his nipples harden. “Pressed into a corner,
with nowhere to run…” the redhead whispered with warm, moist breath against his
abused mouth and bit his lip lightly for a good measure as if he knew it was
going to go straight to Slytherin’s cock.
“Ron…” he moaned helpless, because his cock was now trapped in all its swollen
glory against that muscular body and he knew he was seconds from surrender.
Ron’s fingers found him in the same moment his soft, succulent mouth descended
down his neck and god couldn’t stop him from crying out when the heavenly
fingers moved in the ancient rite of seduction and that tender mouth sucked on
his pulse, with lethal gentleness. He was doomed before it began; this was what
he wanted, this was what he lived for and Weasley was a generous master.
“Ron… Ron, please…” he heard himself beg and he hated and loved hearing himself
so undone. Those skilled fingers were driving him crazy and he could no longer
focus on anything so he threw his head back and closed his eyes. And that
helpless moan that came out of Ron’s mouth was his unexpected payment, a drop
of aphrodisiac to the chalice of lust his body had become and he nearly spilled
over with that silken, dark sound.
“Oh, yeah… oh, yeahgodfuck, yeah… MerlinfuckDraco… this… the way you are now…
this is what I wank to… every.bloody.night… in my lonely bed… you gorgeous,
blond demon… you… no one but you… You hurt me and you laugh at me and I can see
you go hard at the sight or me… and I just want you in my bed, waiting for me …
I dream of spreading you open and fucking you hard… fucking all that hatred out
of you, until you’re screaming my.fucking.name because you hate me and you want
me so bad you can’t help it… I want to see that look in your face… this one…
this very one… when you’re seconds from coming and you need me… the way no one
else needs me… same way I need you, you beautiful bastard…”
As if he knew those very words are going to push him over, Ron’s mouth was on
his, bittersweet and daring as the first sin, claiming those first broken words
that made it out of his mouth when he flooded his fist with no way to save
himself, “Ron!!! Oh, fuckplease… Ron…”. Through his immense, wonderful bliss he
could still hear his lover’s whisper “I love it when you say my name, I love…
this” and that last word had seemed somehow wrong, as if it wasn’t what the
redhead really wanted to say. But then those strong arms closed around him and
held him through the sweet, heavy darkness that turned his limbs to lead and
Ron held him through the terrible transformation of blissful darkness becoming
a dreadful realization that this was once again over and that he’s going to
have to go through hell for many more days before his pride caved under his
uncontrollable obsession and he’ll find a way to have him again.
But Draco knew he would, there was no question about that anymore. He was in no
state to lie to himself. Find him he would, that much he knew, that much he
allowed himself to admit. He… no, not him, but some infernal… thing… inside of
him needed Weasley more than words could say and he knew he’d be back for more.
Just standing like this, wrapped in his embrace, with all that intoxicating
Ron-scent all around him and his head pressed into that wide Keeper chest,
listening to his heartbeat, he felt incredibly safe and right and… home. Being
held by Ronald Weasley, of all people, made him happy and he had no idea where
to go looking for a reason for that, so he decided not to bother – this is what
it was. And he just knew he was going to hate the next few moments.
He hated being pushed away, however gently, he hated parting with all that
warmth and that sense of being complete and in his rightful place, but it was
coming and he detested how weak it made him. So it took his breath away when he
felt Ron press the tiniest of kisses into his hair, almost as if he loathed
parting as well… and he nearly forgot how to breathe, when Ron’s fingers danced
down his cheek in a gentle caress and once again found a way under his chin to
bring his face up. He found himself staring into the sea of blue, into the
pretty, freckled, wet face up close and he remembered that he loved seeing
himself in his eyes.
For a long moment Ron seemed to study him intensely as if he was hoping to see
something on his face that was going to give him the right answer, but Draco
cared nothing for his studious intentions: if he was going to lose this soon,
he better use every moment when it was still his to have – and would you look
at those tempting, abused lips so close – did he really do that?! He didn’t
mean to! Well… perhaps a little bit… but he needed to make it better for those
poor damaged lips right now – kiss it better, isn’t that what they say? And he
was only a little bit surprised when they waited for him willing and pliant,
warm and eager, as if Ron was hoping he would make this one important step as
well. He didn’t want to let him go and the redhead had acknowledged it and
didn’t seem to object. Draco could barely believe his luck.
“So this is real for you, too?” he heard his tall lover whisper, as if in awe,
but the blond had already closed his eyes and submerged himself into that
luscious, hungry kiss, and he barely bothered to nod. He knew Ron’s mouth now,
he knew how to tease it into kissing him properly, he knew how to lure his
tongue into one of those mind boggling licking and fencing sessions that left
him shaking for it, he knew how to make the redhead go from insane, starved
mouth-to-mouth to a kissing marathon staged all over his body that made his
nerve-end burst with tension and aching need only those skilled fingers and
supple mouth from hell could put out.
They ended up making love twice more that night and only when they were both
lying on the heated, but hard tiles by the bath, panting and barely able to
move, Draco was willing to accept that this was really it, that this was the
end. He couldn’t move to save his life, but his mind was already slithering
around a million and one idea, devising impossible plans and discarding the mad
ones, working like a steam-engine to make sure this happened again, to make
certain there would be a next time. He felt him move and he knew it would hurt
before it did and he was still unprepared for the fact how very much he wanted
to keep him. He kept his eyes closed while the redhead was getting dressed and
he was only hoping Weasley had no way of telling that there was a turmoil going
on under the peaceful façade.
And only when he heard him head for the door, he opened his eyes to at least
remember him like this, in one of those rare moments when he was still his to
have, and much to his surprise he found him standing still by the door, with
those mesmerising blue eyes on his face, as if Weasley was saying his quiet,
private goodbye as well.
“You know…” the Gryffindor started hastily, but then stopped abruptly and
blushed adorably. Just as he turned away and grabbed the door-knob, he seemed
to have changed his mind again and he blurted out almost as if he could barely
help himself:
“On Thursday, the last time-slot is mine. I… you… oh, bloody hell, I still hate
you!”
And just like that, he was gone and Draco was just lying there, with a heart
swelling in his chest and the biggest fucking smile one could fit on a Malfoy.
He wasn’t given a chance to respond, because Weasley was just a mad fart and
his self-confidence could be carried by a baby ant, but there it was – some
sort of an invitation and he didn’t care if that proud Gryffindor barely nearly
choked on it – he was still coming. Oh, yeah… a Norwegian ridgeback in front of
that bloody bathroom couldn’t keep him away. Because he was just an idiot that
way. A horny idiot at that. An obsessed one. He should have known Weasley was
going to be trouble.
First of all, he was never on time. Never. Not even in his own time-slot did
Ronald Weasley ever show up on time, as if he was making a statement that he
wasn’t desperate for it. Only… he was. He was a fucking animal when they got
together and it was becoming increasingly hard for Draco to conceal all the
marks the passionate redhead left on him. And the scary thing was, he didn’t
even want to, less and less so. He would often lay in the darkness of his
bedroom and touch this love bite or another bruise made by their careless haste
and imagine walking around with it proudly. All his alarm bells should have
gone off at that! But they didn’t. Instead, he let himself be dragged deeper
and deeper into the dangerous, murky water of his attraction to Weasley – and
he had yet to hit the bottom. 
Their private little meetings twice a week should have been a perfect outlet
for a dark unhealthy passion they harboured for each other, they should have
served to let them burn the hatred between them, to let them steam out all
those youthful hormones they were flooded with. And in this respect, those
arcane, heated meetings of theirs did the job quite spectacularly. But
unfortunately they were slowly morphing into a something else, something… more
as well. And Draco found that aspect of the bond between them scary and
terrifyingly irresistible.
They’d start off every one of their encounters with sex so desperate Draco
often thought his heart would explode along with his cock. Weasley was a top-
notch athlete when it came to fucking. But the really scary part came
afterwards. Because Ronald Weasley, as it turned out much to the blond’s
surprise, liked to cuddle… and Draco Malfoy discovered, much to his despair,
that he was scarily in love with that idea. He just… liked to be held
afterwards, it seemed. Bloody hell… this had disaster written all over it. But
he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t help himself. He knew he would have come to
meet Weasley for those moments in his arms – sated and sleepy and stupidly
happy – alone. Weasley was a slow-working poison, but he was a poison
nevertheless. An addictive, lethal sort that works its way through one’s body,
slowly dissolving its victim into a wreck.
And that’s why he was back time and time again; that’s why he endured the long
moments of waiting like some involuntary settlement for the tenderness and
bliss he was awarded with; that’s why he could see no end to his obsession even
as it was turning more unpredictable and more dangerous. Weasley just… he
needed to keep meeting him. He needed to come every time, just… needed to make
it to their warm little shelter, to their steamy refuge, to their little piece
of stolen Heaven – and Draco could take anything that came as a payment.
His breath hitched as he saw the door-knob move at long-fucking-last and that
slender figure slipped in a moment later. It knocked the breath out of Draco
every time, to see him stand by the door, looking like a dream come true with
that fiery hair and a shy, daring smile just for him. Only… there was no smile
in those bluest of blue eyes of his this evening, just some unpredictable,
crazy sort of determination and the blond’s skin prickled as if his senses
recognised that he was facing danger.
Ron didn’t linger by the door as long as usual, not this time. He tore himself
from the entrance as if he had made some reckless decision and had one chance
at doing this right. He walked straight to the edge of the bath and kneeled
down, just like that first time. The blue eyes sought him out and his quiet,
adamant words froze the very breath in Draco’s chest:
“I don’t want this anymore. I want…”
But he didn’t get to finish his words. Draco rose out of water with all the
ruthlessness and despair of a wounded dragon and with a raw, livid scream that
tore somewhere from the bottom of his damaged core he locked his arms behind
Weasley’s long neck and pulled him into the water.
***** Spilling over... *****
The echo of Draco’s scream barely subsided when the redhead rose out of the
water. He was taller and stronger after all, yet even so he was barely a match
for a hurt and furius Slytherin, who no longer cared what he hit and how badly.
 “You evil bastard… never fucking on time… leave me waiting like a common
pauper… and now you want to end it!!! Think again, you fucking, vile git!” were
the broken, desperate words the poured out if the cracks of his broken
Malfoyian armour and Ron had to throw all his weight into wrapping his long
arms around him from behind and holding him in a gridlock.
“Jesusfuck, Malfoy…” the redhead gasped, while still spurting water. “I knew
you were a monster, but this… would you stop trashing about for one fucking
second, you blond idiot… Merlin… calm the fuck down… who said anything about
ending it?!”
And the Slytherin went instantly rigid. With his hands still raised, in a
position to deliver a stroke, he stood as frozen as a statue and only his
heaving chest betrayed he was, in fact, a living being. Then his arms fell flat
down his body as if all the spite had run out of him and he slowly turned
towards the tall redhead, whose arms were still locked around him. The blond
closed his eyes for a second, to get a grip on himself, to brace himself for
whatever was coming and then he let out a shaky breath and looked up into those
mesmerising blue orbs.
“Not ending it…” he repeated awkwardly, the tremor in his voice and his heaving
chest revealing how very much he was invested in getting to the bottom of this.
“But you said…”
“You didn’t bloody let me finish, did you?!” Ron barked somewhat irritated now
when he was no longer in immediate danger. But he didn’t release his arms
around the slender blond and his eyes eventually softened.
“I just thought…” he murmured and when he cast his eyes downwards and
swallowed, Draco thought he was the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. “I
wanted to say… I’m no longer happy with just this.”
The Gryffindor that he was, he finally looked straight into the eyes of his
Slytherin lover, alight with silver awe, and blurted out the words that must
have taken all of his courage and then some:
“I want more.”
And Draco kind of stopped breathing after that. Merlin, Weasley… What the
actual fuck?! Oh, dear god… that mad Gryffindor idiot! He can’t just come and…
say that. He was fine… everything was fine until it was left unspoken… as long
as they could pretend that it wasn’t there… as long as they could still call it
fucking and turn a blind eye to the fact that they spend more and more time
simply wrapped around each other for warmth and that unspeakable sense of
belonging they gave to each other.
Oh, Merlin… that’s what you get for meddling with that all too honest
Gryffindor lot! As long as he could still pretend there was no other… things…
feelings involved he could still cope with it, but now... Now it was out in the
open and he could no longer lie to himself: he loved those moments in Ron’s
arms, every last one of them. He loved closing his eyes against the alluring
scent of his warm skin, he loved counting freckles on that wide chest and
chasing them with his tongue to make him grunt; he loved the feeling of that
silken fiery hair tickling his skin, and he loved finding himself so completely
immersed into this one person that felt as if he was exactly where he was meant
to be. He loved… he was dead-frightened to finish that thought.
Oh, bloody hell, why did crazy Weasel have to acknowledge it?! He could almost
feel himself fall apart at the seams… where were they supposed to go from
here?!
But those brilliant blue eyes already turned dark and the arms behind his back
dissolved, making him feel strangely loose and dizzy.
“But it seems I’m the only one who wants it,” the redhead spoke very quietly
and Draco could just make out the hurt tainting those sky-blue eyes before he
pushed him away and turned towards the edge of a bath to climb out. The blond
wasn’t thinking, there was no time for that, his actions were pure instinct and
his hands closed around those wide shoulders before there was any conscious
thought involved.
“Don’t,” he said hastily, with a strangely dry voice, as if he was standing on
the edge of a bottomless cliff and wasn’t certain of his ability to keep his
balance. “Please don’t go. I… you… you can’t.”
Ron stopped as if frozen and only after a few endless, terrifying moments, he
slowly turned towards his lover and Draco was surprised to see the blue eyes
swimming with unshed tears.
“Well, I can’t bloody stay either!” he shouted angrily at the same moment when
he lost a battle with his tears. “Not when you’re happy with the way things are
– and I’m not!”
He pushed his arms off his shoulders and wiped the treacherous tears off his
cheeks furiously, as if hated them for betraying his weakness so obviously.
“You don’t understand… this is just a fucking game to you, isn’t it?! A nice,
safe way of letting your tension go, having your cock sucked twice a week by
someone who can never betray you for what you are – while you keep on ignoring
whatever else is there. No feelings are ever welcome when it comes to you,
Draco Malfoy, I know that much. But it’s not like that for me. For me…”
His voice broke and for a moment there he looked so lost and hurt that Draco’s
throat seemed to have closed down at the sight and barely any air got through,
making him strangely dizzy and reckless.
“For me it’s all I think about… and whatever scraps you give me, it’s never
enough,” Ron continued quietly, in a resigned voice, but there was no mistaking
the misery that radiated out of every softly-spoken word. “I barely leave and
I’m already thinking about our next time and about the way you snuggle up
against me after… you know…” he blushed most adorably and Draco’s heartbeat
switched up a gear or two, thinking that he’s never seen anything prettier than
a blushing Ronald Weasley.
“And it only takes that to make me feel as if I’m worth something, as if I’m
the one… the only one for you,” the redhead continued softly, unaware of his
own allure, but there was such unspoken, leaden sadness in his subdued voice
that it sent shivers down Draco’s spine.
“Look… I know it’s all fake for you… I know it. I know you only keep coming
here to get your rocks off with someone easy and cheap… but I can’t help
myself, yeah? I guess I’m that very sentimental Gryffindor sucker you take me
for after all,” the redhead finished with a small, bitter smile and his eyes
closed for a moment, perhaps to get a grip on himself or perhaps to hide from
the Slytherin what was left unsaid. But Draco knew and his heart fluttered
wildly in his chest as if begging to be released and scream out the secret they
shared and tried so hard to stifle. But he said nothing, he couldn’t.
Everything he was would have fallen apart under a weight of such recognition
and he wasn’t strong enough… he wasn’t.
“So… I can’t do this anymore, not like this,” Ron picked up, sounding tired but
adamant. “I know you take me for a daft idiot who can barely tell which way his
arse is pointing, but even I know enough, Malfoy, not to ask for impossible. I
know that we’ve picked our sides the second we set foot into Hogwarts and for
all I know, our fathers might have made our choice for us before we knew any
better. I know there’s a world out there, our world, in which I could never
snog another man in public the way you snogged that evil bitch of your
girlfriend. It’s just not done and I have no wish to label myself as even more
unsuitable and awkward as I already am. I know you’re a player – wealthy,
clever and destined for greater things than a miserable Harry Potter’s side-
kick and his overbearing affection. I know all this,” he repeated stubbornly,
as if he wanted to point out that he had thought this over. “And I don’t care
about any of it,” he finished simply and finally looked straight into the grey
eyes of a shocked Slytherin.
“You see… I have no great designs for my future,” he spoke uncommonly softly
and a tinge of that sadness was still there, corroding what was left of Draco’s
armour of arrogance and disdain. “In fact… the way things are going, I’d be
lucky to make it out of my teens alive. Being best friends with a Saviour
definitely comes with a price, you have no idea… yet I’d never give it up,
never, and if it costs me my life in the end, so be it. I know I’m average and
I owe whatever popularity I have to my friendship with Harry and however well
I’m coping here, at Hogwarts, to Hermione.
“But being average and not being destined for great things doesn’t stop me from
wanting things for myself in what little time I have left, Malfoy,” Ron’s voice
suddenly grew intense with that wistful passion that instantly made Draco’s
skin prickle and he was overwhelmed by a shocking desire to kiss him and share
some of that fire. He could barely tear his eyes away from those supple lips
moving. 
“I only want small things, feasible things, no fancy miracles – things you want
when you only live for the moment,” the redhead continued quietly, almost
dreamily and it made Draco’s head spin to realize that Weasley trusted him
enough to get so... personal with him.
“Things like... you know... getting out of this bloody bathroom, because I can
no longer stand those fucking hard tiles," Ron's generous mouth turned upwards
in the tiniest of smiles. "For once I want to lie down on a nice, soft bed… a
big, spacious one, with no hard edges, with fresh smelling sheets… somewhere,
where I could undress you slowly... and fuck you stupid, Malfoy,” he suddenly
looked straight at him with that daring, sexy lopsided grin of his. “Because I
never stop dreaming about that.”
And Draco’s heart made a clumsy salto and left him with his boiling blood
rising and buzzing in his ears. He was unable to tear his gaze from those
predatory, brilliant blue eyes, filled with sweet, sinful promises and the
reflection of his own stunned, pale face he could see in those crystal orbs,
seemed to be blurred  at the edges. Merlin, Weasel lost it… but in the best of
ways… He shouldn’t talk like that, he shouldn’t… this could not end well.
“And after we’ve fucked in every way we can think of, Malfoy…” Ron’s voice,
strangely soft and barely above a whisper, seemed to go straight to Draco’s
helpless, stubborn cock. “When we’ve done it so many times you stop begging for
it with that fuckable mouth and that tempting arse… just because you can’t
bloody move – then, blondie, I want to wrap myself around you, let you snuggle
against me, let you lick the freckles off my chest if you must… and I’d love to
fall asleep with you. Long and peaceful, with no hurry and nowhere to go.”
Strangely enough, after those words Draco’s world was never quite the same
again. In the small pause that followed Ron’s words, something changed and the
reality in which all those simple things were utterly impossible, seemed to
have faded away. It was only them now, the frantic beating of his heart, the
rush of his own blood in his ears and Ron Weasley’s eyes, staring down his soul
and bonding them forever.
“Now, isn’t it strange…” Ron said quietly, a deadly weight to his words, “…
isn’t it strange, Malfoy, that every single wish I have, involves you?” A
shiver he could not conceal went through Draco’s skin, electrifying it, making
all the hairs on his body rise.
“I guess… I just want you,” the redhead whispered softly and it took what
little breath Draco had, away. He barely managed a choked, pleading “Don’t…”,
but that wasn’t much of a line of defence from what was coming.
“As wrong as you are for me – I want you,” Ron repeated with that stubborn,
passionate determination that bordered on despair. “And I had to tell you. It
sure took me long enough to get it myself.
“You see… I almost broke my brain, trying to figure us out,” the redhead
continued in a dark, restless voice, as if offering an unwilling confession to
an invisible god, hoping to be absolved. “Was it really what you said – just
lust, binding us like this, bringing us back to clash against each other time
and time again? Was that all there was? It felt too cheap, too common, and
just… wrong for the way I feel about you. But I had to be sure. Was I really so
desperate, so filled with teenage hormones, so bloody horny, to go after you,
just because you were willing and ready for me? I let Lavender snog me inside
out, to see if I was indeed that easy – and guess what: I wasn’t. I barely
found her interesting and she certainly deserves better.
“There had to be something else, then. Was it because you have that fucking
soft, vicious mouth on you that smirks at me and spits insults in my face and
kisses me the way it makes my knees soft and makes my fingers turn greedy?
Perhaps I’m wired like this; perhaps I’m crazy about you because you challenge
me and provoke me, until I just want to hurt you and fuck you and have you cry
out my name when you come. That would have been so easy to grasp; that would
have made sense, except... that isn’t it either, Malfoy – and I think you knew
that from the start, better than I did, and you lied to me, the cowardly little
snake that you are.”
“Shut up,” the blond barely uttered with a dry throat, his voice incredibly
weak. “Don’t ruin everything…” he whispered frantically, all too pleadingly,
but Ron shook his head as if he had made a decision he was unwilling to change
and he spoke with the same dark determination as before.
“You see, try as I might, there was a tiny bit of our crazy encounters that I
couldn’t quite place. Where does the part when I hold you afterwards go,
Malfoy? That little heartbeat of time, that seems to grow longer and longer
every time we meet; that quiet, priceless, sweet moment when you lie in my arms
exhausted and boneless like a plush kitten, snuggling up against my warmth,
kissing a trail between my freckles and finally close your eyes against my
fingers treading through your hair? How do I place that, Malfoy? It’s not
hatred. It’s not lust either. I think you know what it is… and you lied to me,
because it has a name you’re afraid to use.”
“Shut up!”
Draco’s fist flew out of the water again and hit the Gryffindor’s chest as if
he tried to smash the precious emotion to bits in its nest and stop those
brutally honest, destructive words from coming.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!!! Why did you have to go and ruin everything?! God,
I hate you! Why uthe hell did yo have to go and dig deeper?! Couldn’t you for
once – for once, you blasphemous idiot! – leave things as they were?! We can’t
have more, can’t you see?! There isn’t more… to have… for us… not for us. And
now we’re going to lose what little we had… And I can’t bear it… I can’t
fucking… bear it!”
Before he knew it, his face was pressed against that wide chest that he loved
to hold onto so much, and those strong, warm arms soothingly wrapped around his
narrow shoulders, already shaking with violent tears that came out of nowhere.
“Shhh…” Ron whispered into the semi-darkness of their embrace. “I love you,
too, Draco.”
“I don’t…” the blond chocked out stubbornly through his tears but nothing else
came out as if his body recognised a blatant lie and rebelled against it. He
only snuggled up against him more tightly and cried a bloody river.
“Such a stubborn little liar,” Ron whispered gently, without letting go. “You’d
rather break yourself than admit defeat. But you’ve got nothing on your Weasel,
love. We’re as stubborn as they come. I can’t play with you anymore, if you
won’t play with your heart. I won’t. God knows I didn’t come here today to end
this – but you leave me no choice. I can’t keep on coming here, wanting more
every time I leave; getting hurt, because it’s enough for you and it won’t ever
again be enough for me. I die a little every time I have to leave and you’re
looking at me, saying your silent goodbye, and I know you won’t ever do
anything to stop me because you got what you wanted for that day. And I want so
much more… I can’t even begin to tell you, you’d just mock me for being a sap.”
He pressed one last kiss into the blond hair, he seemed to have a hard time
saying goodbye to, and whispered in a torn voice, full of regret and some
stubborn, unyielding hope:
“But… if you ever do want more, my beautiful fallen angel, come and find me. It
doesn’t have to be my dreams we make true, you can show me yours. But I want a
piece of you, Draco Malfoy, the real you, the one that snuggles against me and
asks to be kissed again and again, with no words. I won’t ever come to you for
less than your heart. And until you find it, we’re back to what brought us
together in the first place: to hatred, disdain and all those cold insults
you’re so good at. Be my guest; they no longer hurt the way they used to.”
Those warm, comforting arms around the Slytherin dissolved and with one last
brush of the long fingers against a trace of tears on his cheeks, Ron was gone
and the blond could barely hold the choking sobs in his heaving chest long
enough to hear the door click. His body nearly convulsed under a violent storm
of tears, because he hated, hated, hated that evil redheaded demon that kept on
ruining his life… and he loved him so bloody much he could barely breathe under
the suffocating emotion.
“Come back, you mean git! Come back this instant!” he yelped in a raw, crushed
voice through a flood of devastating tears into the emptiness of the bathroom,
but not even banging his fists at the edge of the bath helped – there was no
one to answer him, no one but his own lost echo.
He’s never felt so broken before and it was as if all those feelings he kept at
bay through the years of his cold, stiff upbringing, crushed upon him with a
vengeance, all at once – the sadness, the feeling of loss, the feeling of being
lost, the fear, the shame, the regret – it was all there, and that cursed,
hated love most of all. He felt… invaded by it and he resented it; resented the
feeling of loneliness it had left him with, because he no longer had the one
person he wanted to share it with.
“I hate you! Merlin… I hate you…” he sobbed out as he felt the weight of his
loneliness, his abandonment, wear his heart down as if he was suddenly a
million years old.
He had no idea what to do next. The world without Ron seemed bleak and without
any colour. How was he supposed to live without the prospect of those
breathless, impatient moments of crazed passion followed by most sublime
tenderness, he could barely hide his hunger for? He couldn’t even imagine
coming to this place ever again – how was he supposed to relax in here, when it
only ever reminded him of a heartbreak?
He stared into his own reflection in the water forever, long after his tears
had dried; he remembered last seeing it in those sapphire eyes and finally,
with parched, tired, nearly soundless voice he whispered at it:
“You know I do… I do, too.”
It took him a while to stagger out of the water and by the end he was
shivering, in spite of the bath being charmed to stay warm. He felt as if he
would never be warm again. He didn’t even know how he made it to his Slytherin
quarters, but sinking into the dungeons felt strangely in place that day, as if
it was somehow right and proper to get buried in the chilly, dark place with
tons of heavy, ancient slabs of stone piled on top of it, threatening to bury
them all underneath.
He felt buried himself, buried alive, with his heart still beating and boiling
painfully, fiercely with love he never wished to have, but it came and found
him anyway. He’s never felt anything like it before, not even remotely. It was
horrible. This love thing… how could anyone write poems praising it, how could
anyone celebrate something so devastating?!
He climbed into his bed, not really aware that he was not even properly dried,
and the when the exhaustion finally brought upon a restless dream, it was
uneasy, heavy one, filled with sad blue eyes, long fingers brushing his cheek
and warm mouth whispering into his ear: “Come and find me.”
And when he woke up, feverish and still trembling violently, he finally knew
what to do. He was Draco Malfoy and for someone of his name there was ever only
one way.
***** Finding a way... *****
It took him the rest of the week to make all the arrangements – even with money
and six years worth of secrets to blackmail and favours to be repaid it wasn’t
easy for a Hogwarts student, who had no way of getting out of the school, to
find a decent, private room to rent for the weekend, without anyone of
significance finding out about it. After some consideration, he recruited
Blaise Zabini to help him. Blaise, always short of coin when his mother was
between husbands, had proven to be exceptionally useful in the past – and the
boy knew how to keep his mouth shut. He never asked many questions, as if he
really didn’t want to know and be considered an accomplice himself, but Draco
was still cautious: he only gave him the faintest outline of his intentions and
Blaise never asked for more.
“I need your help,” Draco told the exotic looking boy after he had dragged him
to the darkest corner of the Slytherin common room and, while glancing around,
put an expression on his face that would have driven a troll away.  “You see, I
need to get out of the castle for this weekend, unnoticed. It hast to do with…
certain business… for our side, I can’t disclose too much. I need you to get
Pansy off my back, tell her I’m ill or studying or some such rot – and make
sure Potter doesn’t stick his bespectacled nose in it, he’s been sniffing
around a lot lately. And for Merlin’s sake distract Granger – that nosy
Mudblood know-it-all is way to smart for her own good! Best get them out of the
castle for the weekend, if you can think of a way, or they’ll suspect we’re
cooking something – which, of course, we are. I’ll take care of Weasel, the
dumbass is easier to dupe than a newborn Pygmy Puff, and Longbottom will
probably put himself in the hospital wing again anyway, no assistance required,
the clumsy klutz that he is. I know it’s a lot to ask – but you’ll be rewarded
well for it, I can promise you as much,” was all the skimpy detail he was
willing to give and the quiet boy, who was a much bigger menace anyone would
give him credit for, only asked “How much?” and “What about Snape?”.   
Snape. That was a good one. He would have forgotten about the gloomy, bitter
Potions Master, who was also a Head of their House. Snape was cleverer than the
rest of his adversaries combined and he had an uncanny ability to stumble upon
things that were none of his concern. He couldn’t leave Snape to Zabini.
“I’ll take care of Snape,” he promptly decided and Zabini just nodded.
“Deal,” he said simply. “I want half upfront.”
Draco thought about dealing with Snape long and hard. He knew he stood no
chance in trying to fool the man; he was as sharp and as cunning as they came.
So he simply knocked on the door to his private quarters in the evening before
his grand plan was supposed to take place and offered him the truth – well, a
half-truth at the very least – as arrogantly as only a true Malfoy would:
“Professor, if I may steal a moment of your valuable time... Excellent, how
very good of you. Now, better get to the point; I’m well aware you have no time
– nor patience – for nonsense. You see, the thing is – I have a… request to
make. Quite a special one… and I would prefer if my father didn’t hear about it
– for the time being, that is. You see, I wish to… entertain someone this
weekend and I would kindly like your permission to do it outside of the
castle.”
He felt those black-as-coal eyes burning at the back of his skull before he
even finished the sentence, but he merely smiled coldly, obligingly, and
focused his mind on those unpleasant moments, when he let Parkinson snog him,
using the trick his father had taught him – “… when subjected to Legilimency,
focus on what you’d like them to see – try to remember the details of that
scene and you might have the person inspecting you, distracted, if luck is on
your side…”.
He tried to remember what Pansy was wearing that day and the colour of her
fingernails and surely enough he felt the powerful black stare subside a
little.
“And who, if I may ask, has earned the honour to be your… guest?” the
permanently displeased-looking wizard enquired, but the tiny smirk in the
corner of his mouth, never fully on display in front of a Malfoy, told Draco he
was convinced he already knew.
“As a gentleman I cannot disclose the details of that… person’s identity. I do
not wish to compromise anyone, I’m sure you understand,” the blond said
pleasantly enough and allowed a haughty smirk to curl his lips and when Snape
nodded, curtly, barely noticeable, he was all but certain he had won. However,
this was Snape, and he was never the one to let someone off the hook easily.
“I cannot grant any student a free exit for an entire weekend, I’m sure you
understand,” the Potions Master explained leisurely in that unpleasant, gruff
voice he had, and Draco found himself with a sudden knot in his throat,
feverishly hoping there was a “but” in there somewhere.
“But... perhaps I can… fail to notice that a particular student is gone…” Snape
finally evolved nearly matter-of-factly, as if he enjoyed keeping him on the
edge for a while longer. “Should that certain student return to his dorm by no
later than… let’s say ten o’clock in the evening, on Sunday – precisely,” he
added pointedly and Draco felt a big rock of concern roll of his heart.
“I see…” the blond paused politely, careful to hide the nervous tremor of
relief in his voice. “How very… generous of you, Professor. If there’s some way
to express my gratitude…”
“I’ll be certain to mention it when the time comes, young Malfoy,” Snape cut
through his words rather rudely, but Draco wasn’t about to complain about his
lack of manners.
“Very well, then, Professor. I will see myself out. I wish you a very pleasant
evening – and thank you again,” he said, somewhat sincerely, and Snape threw
him the strangest look.
“Thank your mother, boy,” he said unexpectedly. “She asked me to look after you
– and imagine she would like to see you… content.”
It was the most curious thing to say and Draco was tempted to ask him about it,
but the dark Potions master must have read his intent and promptly slammed the
door behind him.
And then came the hard part. Disappearing from Hogwarts for the entire weekend
was tricky enough – but he had no intention of going alone. And if a certain
redhead was no longer game…. A painful pang that resonated through his chest
was proof enough how much he was invested in this… little experiment he was
willing to go through just because Weasel was a spoilt brat who wanted the
moon. Or an equivalent of it. And now when Draco was about to deliver it, he
only had to find a way to ask him. Which was, in reality, much harder than it
seemed.
It’s not like he could walk to Ron, pull him out of a red-and-gold crowd around
him, and ask him if he was willing to escape out of the school for a weekend
with him, because he was dying to have his brains fucked out – oh, and if he
could please fall asleep in his arms after they were done with the horny bit…
er, how about no. Honestly not a very popular option in Draco’s mind; one he
hoped to avoid – just the way he’d been avoiding him these past few days.
Skipping lessons they shared, finding excuses to disappear whenever he all but
spotted a glimpse of red hair in the distance, manipulating the House elves to
bring him food to the dorm – he was not beyond any of it. He just… oh, bloody
hell… he felt he could no longer trust himself around the lovely Gryffindor he
fell for so spectacularly.
If he was to meet him before he managed to carry out his crazy plan, he would
surely risk ruining all his efforts with some spontaneous lunacy. He wasn’t
entirely certain if he would have jumped him to beat him to the pulp for
leaving him behind – or because he missed him so bloody much that he couldn’t
stand the idea of passing him by as if there was nothing between them, as if he
wasn't choking on the very words Ron wanted him to say, as if this boy he
wanted so mindlessly and beyond any reason, was not his to have.
But he was dreaming of him with his eyes open and close; he’d stare in the
blank space during the class, not hearing a word of what was being said,
thinking of those blue eyes he could see himself in, of the strong arms closing
around him, sheltering him, owning him, of those long fingers shooting fire up
his skin, and of the hungry, soft mouth stealing his breath and offering
whispered confessions of the unspeakable that he was not meant to have, but he
came looking for it anyway. He’d wake up after some merciful soul or the other
shook him out of his stupor and his first concern these days was how to conceal
a bloody hard-on he had worked up during this daytime reveries. At least at
night he could indulge his fantasies…
So, no… nope, he couldn’t just… bloody ask him, could he?! But he had to do
something! It was already Friday morning and he was running out of time. If he
didn’t figure out what the unfathomable “something” was by the end of classes,
it would all be in vain and he could wave goodbye to his one crazy chance at
showing Ron how far he was willing to go to get his attention again and prove
that… he didn’t even want to think about it. His mind cringed from it and panic
ran down his veins like a toxic flood, as if trying to warn him he would be
burning all bridges. But burn them he would, he knew that much now, and he
might have to start by…
His line of thoughts was brutally interrupted by a sudden hard blow that
knocked into him from behind and catapulted him across the corridor, straight
into the crowd of people passing by. A blink of an eye later he crashed against
a tall, muscular body and when he was instantly welcomed by a familiar scent
and those strong, possessive arms closed around him, he forgot how to
breathe... In the background there was a pained “Ouch! Sorry, I didn’t mean
to!” and a loud, howling laughter, signifying that Crabbe and Goyle managed to
ambush that idiot Longbottom again and trip him over, but Draco barely
registered any of it. Unaware of his own actions, he had closed his eyes and
just breathed him in; inhaled that heavenly warmth and wonderful essence that
was as Ron as it came, and he mewled quietly as the world came to a slow stop.
He never wanted to leave again. He was even afraid to open his eyes in case
this was some elaborate, cruel dream and he would lose his precious presence as
soon as he woke up.
Whatever feeble protection against what was coming he had built in the last few
days, melted away like butter in a hot pan. He needed to tell him, needed to
let him know and he barely remembered to keep his voice down to a whisper.
“Please,” he all but breathed out quickly, and as quietly as he could, and he
didn’t even hate himself for sounding so bloody desperate. “You need to…”
But he never got to finish the sentence. He felt himself being whirled around,
still inside the arms of his fiery lover as if Ron had an equally hard time
letting go, and he finally opened his eyes in shock. The last thing he saw was
the glee on Potter’s face and the panicked, nervous expression on the face of
the Mudblood, before he was pushed through the open door leading to an empty
classroom.
“Excuse me, while I have a “talk” with the serpent prince here for launching
himself at innocent passers-by like a bloody comet!” he heard the redhead say
somewhere above his head and his deep, dark voice made his skin prickle with a
sudden rush of goosebumps. But at this point he wouldn’t have cared if Weasley
yelled a couple of “Crucio!”s down the hall; not as long as he got to stay like
this, pressed against him for a few priceless moments longer. He was still
holding firmly to his robes with both fists, when the ancient, heavy door
closed behind them with a loud “thump” and cut off Granger’s frantic squealing:
“For Merlin’s sake, let him be, Ron, he isn’t worth it! Besides, it was an
accident! Neville…”
That sweet, starved mouth was on him before he could ask for it and
MerlinfuckChrist, he forgot how it was to kiss Weasley... pure, sparkling
magic, shivers and liquefied fire of need running down his body like a deadly
storm, destroying everything in its path and… how could he ever think this was
going to be hard… how could he ever give it up… what wouldn’t he give to keep
it…? He needed to keep it. He knew of nothing else anymore. He opened up for
that lovely, eager mouth completely, sought out its warmth, its desperately
missed tenderness and moaned most embarrassingly when their tongues touched
gently and slipped around each other like playful serpents made of silken fire.
“Ron… please… just this once… Ron… more…” he heard himself beg into his mouth
and the redhead murmured a heated, angry “Jesusfuck” and pushed him backwards
into the wall. Those long, warm fingers slipped into the blond hair to find a
grip so Ron could melt his very soul and kiss it out of him with that ungodly
mouth and Draco could feel his knees turn into a goo. The only thing still
holding him up was that heavenly, strong body, pressed against him and he put
his trembling hands on that magnificent arse he couldn’t stop fantasizing about
and pulled him closer, just to show him that he couldn’t get enough….
He gasped and whimpered all in one when the hard, hot bulge rubbed against him,
brushing at his painfully hard erection like an angry dragon, ready to take his
offering, and his helpless sounds of surrender seemed to have broken something
inside the redhead:
“You need to come back to me!” Ron hissed and caught his bottom lip with his
teeth as if he knew he could get anything in Heaven and Earth from Draco just
by doing this. “I can’t do without you… I miss you so bloody much. I want you…
all the time… all the bloody time, you have no idea... Merlin… longest fucking
three days of my life… Don't you dare stop kissing me, I’ll fucking die without
your mouth on me… You need to change your mind… and for fuck's sake, stop
hurting me! You can’t kiss me like this and tell me you don’t want me… not when
you make me feel like this... no one makes me feel the way you do… no one…
Don’t do this to us... don’t let me go again… you always let me go and it
fucking hurts… it hurts to know you want me and you won’t have me…”
“No… yes… I mean… Merlin… you’re wrong… today…” whispered Draco into that warm,
hot cave made of silken flesh and his deepest desires, and he no longer cared
for anything that lived outside the proximity of their bodes. “Today… tonight…
after dinner, meet me… by the front entrance… I… bloody fuck, stop – don’t stop
– oh, fuck, yeah… seriously, you need to stop kissing me, I can’t think for
shit when you do… Think of something to tell Potter and that Mud… Granger, why
they can’t hang out with you this weekend. I need you… elsewhere.”
Ron’s shock at these words was immediately apparent. He actually stopped
kissing him and paid him a long, perusing look – and with heaving chest,
tempting sweet mouth and those blue eyes looking somewhere into the depth of
his soul, Draco thought he’d never seen anyone look more beautiful.
“You’re serious…!” the redhead whispered and a tide of hope replacing disbelief
in those mesmerising blue orbs was the most gorgeous sight ever.
“Of course I’m bloody serious!” the blond blurted out, almost dizzy in the
inviting and madly frustrating warmth of Ron’s body. “You didn’t honestly think
I’d let you ditch me! You threw me a glove… and I needed some time to pick it
up,” he smiled sheepishly when he realized his babbling wasn’t making any
sense. But he was well past caring. He couldn’t think beyond the wonderful,
musky scent of a boy that was just right for him, his mind didn’t come farther
than the soft skin, the beginning of a smile in the corners of those soft, sexy
lips, and the one thing he could think of just kind of flew out of him:
“I want to count your freckles… by the candle light… and the first morning
light,” he said quietly, with feverish passion he didn’t even know he was
capable of, and he saw the upturned corners of the lovely mouth blossom into a
breathtaking smile. Oh, god, he was too beautiful like this… he left him no
choice but to try and kiss the sweet, sinful smile off his face again and the
needy, eager kiss melted whatever was left of his reservations. The urgency to
do this, to confess what drove him to put everything on the line, the desire to
tell him the truth and say the words grew inside of him like a ball of heated,
expanding glass.
Ron’s fingers had just cupped his face, sunk into his hair, and with the warm
breath teasing his damaged, greedy lips, Draco was ready, as ready as he was
ever going to be, and he only needed to catch his breath for long enough to say
it... – but then there was banging on the door, and that cranky bitch Granger
shouting in a worried voice, asking Ron if he was alright, and somehow it
sobered Draco enough to stop his words just short of spilling.
The freezing, dusty classroom was not the right place for something as
monumental as that, and if he did this at the wrong time – or with no time – he
could lose everything he was holding in such a precarious balance. Not yet.
There will be time enough… that is, if Weasley said yes! Merlin, he hasn’t even
said yes yet and the Mudblood was already bringing down the door...
“Yes,” Ron whispered simply. “I’ll be there.”
Just like that, as if he was reading his mind, and it was not for the first
time that Draco had the strangest feeling that their thoughts spilled into each
other, as if they were indeed becoming one. It was scary, magical and strangely
intoxicating to be so intimately intertwined with another person.
One last kiss, soft, enticing and full of unspoken promises planted near his
ear, hot wet air of his whispered “thank you” making him shiver – and Ron was
gone. And Draco didn’t even bother following him into the corridor. He honestly
didn’t think he could move. He just slid down the wall like an empty sack,
feeling overwhelmed and smitten and all over the place – and so goddamn in love
and so stupidly happy he didn’t even care about the goofy grin he could no
longer wipe of his face. He knew it would be a while before he’d be
presentable, but right now, that was the least of his worries. Right now, he
had no worries. He had Ron. He said yes. And that was all that mattered.
No one came for him and he briefly wondered what the hell it was that Ron told
them, so they left him alone. Or perhaps this was Zabini’s effort? Blaise could
already be working on his little plan of making him invisible for the weekend.
The boy was worth every sickle and galleon he was paying him. And if anyone did
come to check on him, he reckoned he could probably scowl at them and pull off
“we had a bit of a row” explanation, as Ron’s greedy mouth and impatient
fingers did enough damage to his usually impeccable appearance to make him look
as if they had a once again engaged in a brawl that was halted before it could
get too serious. Surely, he’d think of something…
He just… didn’t want to get interrupted. He didn’t want to have to get up and
walk about the school, pretending this was an ordinary day, when it was
anything but; he didn’t want to have to go to classes, he doubted that even the
Dark Lord could hold his attention today. He didn’t want to get up and stop
thinking what a lucky bastard he was, he didn’t want to ruin the priceless
moments of sweet expectation building up inside of him. He simply wanted to sit
here quietly, unnoticed, undisturbed, leaning onto the ancient stone wall,
which must have seen hundreds like him in the heavy ages of its existence, and
he wanted to wait this endless day out. He would wait patiently for the lazy
clock to drag its slow two feet near the designated time and he would think of
nothing other than how insanely, ridiculously he was in love with Ron Weasley
and wonder how in heaven’s name was he supposed to tell him that and not fall
apart completely. And shatter his entire life as well. 
***** In a world of their own *****
Draco was slowly approaching the Great Hall, trying to look as casual as
possible, but even inside of his pockets, where he stashed his clammy hands, he
could feel his fingers tremble. He was going to linger around the Great Hall,
trying to catch Weasley's attention once he exited, but he wasn’t going to
actually enter  – god forbid! He was beyond nervous as it was; dinner was
simply not an option. Not a chance in hell that he’d ever be able to shove a
single bite of food down his throat – wound up as tightly as he was, he was
more likely to throw up what he had so foolishly eaten in the morning.
That’show nervous he was. But Merlin Almighty, so many things could go wrong!
Zabini could fail in getting his friends and enemies out of his way or Snape
could have changed his mind and have a last minute inspiration to interfere;
Merlin, even the Dark Lord might issue some incomprehensible order that would
make their weekend adventure an impossible one… but none of it was nearly as
scary as the thought that Weasley might develop a bad case of cold feet. The
very thought felt like an icy screw to Draco’s heart, twisting his insides
painfully, to the point of nausea, but he still kept rolling the numbing
thought in his mind masochistically, as if he was afraid to give the shyest
hope a chance, as if he hoped to be prepared for his worst fears to come to
life. If Ron didn’t show up… if he didn’t show up…
“Oh, Merlinthankfuck, there you are!” the unmistakeable warm voice interrupted
the train of his rambling, feverish thoughts, and he was instantly snatched
sideways from the corridor and pulled into a dark alcove just in front of the
entrance to the Great Hall that he could have sworn was never there before.
“Shhhh…” Ron warned him, pressing him against the wall. “Snape… we need to get
out of sight…” the redhead tried to tell him, but Draco no longer cared for
anything or anyone.
He came! God Almighty, he came… And not only did he come – this time, Ron was
the one doing the waiting and for some reason Draco was over the moon about
that. It may not have been significant to Weasley, but it meant everything to
him. It seemed as if Ron was finally done backing off, he was done with denial
and with the “this is not what it seems”  heart-breaking little games they
played for far too long. This time the redhead came here to get him, waiting in
tow, to show him that he needed them to happen and that he meant business when
he whispered his quiet expression of love into the darkness of their embrace in
their private sanctuary, what felt a million years ago. And the very fact that
he was here, waiting, made the blond stupidly happy.
“I thought you’d never make it,” Ron whispered into the small fraction of space
between their bodies and Draco’s heart nearly exploded in fireworks as his
senses remembered the feeling of that warm body arching above him, grinding
into him… He didn’t even bother pretending he wanted to hear what Ron had to
say. Without a thought to spare he launched himself at those plush, sweet lips,
and the exquisite pleasure of tasting the tender flesh once again, feeling it
open and welcome him - delicious lips and warm, daring serpent of a tongue
alike - made his head swim and his knees soft.
And when a second later Ron gave up talking for a lost cause and kissed him
back with gentle devotion and pure, golden desire that said “I missed you”
without a single word, the blond lost himself completely in the addictive
luxury of tasting his lover again. And he couldn’t get enough… Merlin… he would
never be able to get enough…
He felt himself melt against the slow burn of that undoing, insatiable mouth he
spent every second dreaming about and there was not a shred of restraint left
in his repertoire. Because… this. This was his. This was him. Right there
inside of the warm, dark embrace, kissing his fiery lover desperately and with
hungry urgency, Draco felt more alive and more… defined as ever before. He was
born to be this, he was meant to find himself here, wrapped around the boy he
came to worship against all odds – and he realized that he could no longer
imagine his life without Ron, without that shy, sweet tenderness they shared,
without that violent, aching craving that bound them and that incredible warmth
that filled every last cell of his body when he was immersed into him.
It was almost as if he was one part of a long-ago broken puzzle and Ron was
another, and their bodies and their hearts knew it even when their minds still
attempted to ignore it. A perfect contrast to each other on so many levels, yet
terribly alike on all others, important ones, they complemented and completed
each other perfectly and Draco no longer wanted to fight the overwhelming
sensation that he had finally found someone he belonged with – and to.
“Jesus, Draco… I missed you, too… ” Ron murmured straight into their silken,
breathless kiss and the blond had a blurry, passing thought how desperate he
must seem. And, god, yes, desperate he was... too bloody desperate… Merlin… he
just missed this too damn much… Without a thought he sank his teeth into that
tempting, delectable lower lip to taste him properly, to show him that he ached
for him, to mark him for himself and Ron just moaned quietly, like he couldn’t
help it, like he needed it and… oh, bloody hell… that sound… How could he had
forgotten about that bloody sound that made his knees into butter and had his
swollen cock ooze with most desperate need…
MerlinChrist, he really needed to get himself under control or he would bloody
maul the redhead in his urge to own him once again. Being with Ron always woke
up strange possessiveness inside of him that made him brutal. Perhaps it was
because it had all started in hatred and hatred felt as right as everything
else between them – but he just knew that if he let himself go, he wouldn’t
stop until there was blood and bruises and Ron got him underneath forcefully
and fucked him into screaming obedience. He wasn’t whole if it didn’t hurt, if
only a little, and Ron could give and take as good as he got, and then some.
The redhead never went easy on him, he never treated him as delicate the way so
many others did – and it was so bloody liberating, not having to behave and to
mind and to present. He could be himself around Ron, slightly raw, a bit
insecure, in love with experimenting and testing his boundaries, and in love
with him. And he only needed to find a way to tell him. But this was not the
place.
As much as he’d love to, Draco knew he couldn’t let himself go completely, they
were still in a bloody school, for fuck’s sake, he had to tune it down somehow…
fuck if he knew how… but he had to try. Ron’s fingers had already crawled into
his hair, treading through his scalp with maddening allure, and Draco realized
he had precious few seconds before the redhead started to kiss a slow, mind-
boggling trail down his neck and everything would be lost.
The sensitive patch of skin just behind his ear and down his pulse was his weak
spot and Ron knew that all too well. Just a slow, sensuous lick over that bit
of transparent skin where the bluish pulse tore through the creamy velvet –,
only a sense of his tongue working its magic around in small, maddening circles
– , a bit of tension provided by those possessive strong fingers, massaging his
pulse – and there he was, beyond help, reduced to a whimpering mess, hissing a
filthy litany of broken curses and frantic pleas for more. Merlin… he really
couldn’t… he shouldn’t let himself go like this… not when he had put so much
effort into making Ron’s dream come true. And Ron deserved better.  
“Weasley…” he tried, “Ron…” – but it came out like the world’s most god-
desperate and needy whimper for more and… Merlin, this was hard… He tried to
force himself to go slower, he tried to figure out how to make him stop – but
he was just too fucking aching and desperate for this and this really wasn’t a
game he knew how to play. For fuck’s sake, most of the time it was just the
other way around – he was all too eager to give in, to use the precious little
window of time with his passionate lover the best he could – he didn’t have a
clue how the hell to stop him, he didn’t even want to…
Perhaps he should just indulge himself… His crazed body liked that idea; the
horny bastard liked it all too much! Perhaps they could do this, get the worst
of the edge off here – and…
“You know, they call this The Kissing Pit,” Ron panted against his mouth
unexpectedly without even bothering to stop kissing every last trace of sanity
out of his blond prey. “Clever bit of magic… it only appears to those who want
to snog a bit of steam out, but as soon as they try more… well, if you don’t
put those pretty fingers off my arse soon, we’re about to find out if the
rumours of what happens to greedy, too-randy offenders are true… Because… fuck,
gorgeous… because if you keep doing this, I’m going to embarrass myself in
about 30 seconds flat… Merlin… and I doubt that your plans for tonight include
outing yourself as shagging a Weasley… and giving yourself over to Snape for
recruitment to his weekend survival camp.”
The surge of surprise was strong enough that it finally made Draco break the
kiss:
“Snape… what?!” he asked incredulous, not certain if he had heard him right,
but before answering his question, Ron quickly stole another slow, delicious
kiss that spoke the world of how much he had missed him – and it had almost
made Draco not care about the answer.
“I think he finally went bonkers,” the redheard said at long last, shaking head
in obvious disbelief. “At the beginning of the class today – you know, the one
you so conveniently managed to skip – we were settled in nicely, ready for a
cosy shower of insults and point deductions, when from one moment to the other,
he started rambling about the “very real danger to students”, who, according to
him, are “too incompetent to save themselves from a cranky Pygmy Puff”.
Apparently, he was finally granted permission by the other Heads of Houses“to
remedy the appalling situation” and he would be holding something called
“survival camp” this weekend for the poor sods that weren’t fast enough to duck
under the table when he started calling out names.
“I literally hid under the remnants of a cauldron Neville managed to explode
before the class even started, but Harry and Hermione weren’t so lucky. He’s
taking them somewhere… I don’t know where… to some god-fuck village, supposedly
to train them – which is probably Snape-ish for“torment into exhaustion” – and
they won’t be back before Sunday evening. He told them to take four sets of
warm clothes each, because they might get soaked. I couldn’t believe my fucking
luck!”
“Knowing him, luck had nothing to do with it,” Draco said quietly, a very
bizarre thought nudging at his brain. “Tell me, did Pansy get called?”
“Sure enough, Parkinson got picked out as first and let me tell you, she didn’t
go quietly! Not that her squealing helped her much, no. Snape told her in that
dooming voice of his that since she’s obviously  reluctant to engage in combat,
she’ll be cleaning the latrines – and if she’s lucky enough, the Dark Lord
might let her do that if she’s of no other use to him. I think everyone’s
misery was slightly less obvious after that, I swear I even heard Zabini
chuckle out quietly, and you know what a shady bastard he is. Well, I suppose
he had a reason to laugh: Snape skipped him as if he couldn’t even see him.”
And Draco swallowed quietly. Either the Potions professor was willingly
sabotaging him – or his skills as Legilimens were much greater than he gave
them the credit for. For a brief moment he considered cancelling the whole
thing, but Ron, oblivious to his concerns in the semi-darkness of their hiding
place, decided this was as good a moment as any to find that sweet little spot
under his ear with his warm mouth and Draco promptly forgot his own name.
Merlin, Weasley… this boy’s mouth should seriously come with a licence… he had
no weapons against him…
“We… we should go…” he whimpered weakly, not entirely certain where that
thought even came from nor why should they do any such thing, because fuck if
he felt like moving when Ron’s lips teased the shivers out of him with their
enticing magic, sending wave after wave of lust down his skin.   
“I was wondering about that,” Ron murmured into his ear and blew a tiny kiss
right onto its sensitive shell, chuckling softly when the Slytherin couldn’t
stop himself from mewling. “It’s one thing seeking a hiding place from Snape,
when one hears him raging down the corridor, but it’s something else entirely
to spend half an evening snogging two feet from the entire school walking by,
at the mercy of capricious pit that won’t even let you get down to business
properly. Whatever you have in mind, I think we should do it while Filch is
still locked up in the dungeon.
“Filch is – where?!” Draco asked hazily, not entirely certain he was able to
process the information properly so bloody dishevelled and melted into a pile
of horny goo.
“Someone locked him in the dungeon,” Ron reported, not without glee, and
finally stopped his merciless attack on his senses by pulling the blond closer
into his embrace, holding him tight. Draco wasn’t entirely happy with that
particular development, but he recognised it was necessary, if he was to start
functioning at least in some half-arsed way. So with a resigned sigh he leaned
his head onto his chest, trying to gather his fleeing thoughts and to figure
out how the hell was he supposed to walk around with a bloody Hippogriff hard-
on. Unaware of his predicament, Ron trod his fingers through the blond hair and
chuckled into the darkness above him.
“Filch has been banging on the door for at least half an hour now, and everyone
seems to be fine with that. Well, I suspect Hermione wouldn’t be, but she’s not
around. I suppose the mean bastard isn’t exactly Mr. Popularity around here,
going on and on about the good old times of taking the students down to the
dungeons – I guess everyone just silently agrees to let him enjoy his beloved
dungeons a while longer. So if there’s anywhere you want us to be…”
“Well, yes… that… I suppose… I do… Merlin, you should have stopped kissing me
earlier…” Draco pouted, half in despair, half-amused at his own diminished
ability to think straight. “I remember telling you earlier to stop kissing me
if you want any of my mental functions to still work properly! You know I’m a
mess when you do that to me,” he murmured and felt Ron’s lips press a soft kiss
and a smile against his hair. “Under the circumstances, you can’t blame a boy
for forgetting a little detail such as a weekend getaway he spent half a week
planning and half of his monthly allowance on realizing, just because a certain
redheaded prat asked it of him…”
“Oh, babe… I’m so going to make it up to you,” Ron murmured with his face still
buried into his hair. “Just give me a chance,” he whispered darkly when his
lips discovered the sensitive shell of the ear and Draco barely swallowed a
most undignified whimper. For Merlin’s sake… this was beyond god-awful, he
couldn’t allow himself to fall apart like this! With what was left of his
Malfoyness he somehow gathered all of his measly remaining wits about and spoke
quickly, before his resolve crumbled.
“I’ve got us a room in Hogsmeade. The owner of the The Hog’s Head Inn doesn’t
tend to ask too many questions when faced with a pouch heavy with galleons. We
need to be back by Sunday, 10 o’clock in the evening, sharp – don’t ask, you’re
better off not knowing,” he warned the redhead and Ron just nodded. Draco’s
heart swelled just a little when he saw the awed look in those blue eyes and
for the first time in this entire endless, crazy day, he felt as if he could
actually do this.
“I’ll sneak out first and hope no one decides to look through the window at
that exact moment,” he explained further, in a hurry to have the tedious bit
over with and just… be with Ron already, as scary as the thought was. “It is
fairly dark already, and with most of our friends possibly out of the way…”
“Or we could go together – and never leave the castle…” Ron suggested calmly
and when Draco, completely focused upon revealing his carefully thought-up
plans, looked up in surprise, he saw there was a small, mischievous smile
playing in the corners of his lover’s pretty mouth.
“A brother of Fred and George here, hello!” the redhead elaborated somewhat
proudly in the face of his evident surprise. “I might not be privy to all their
pranks and secrets, but they did tell me of at least half a dozen passages
leading in and out of school they discovered back in their first year. Most of
those are usually useless these days, because Filch knows about them, but since
that respectable gentleman isn’t available for housekeeping at the moment…”
“Well, Weasley, frankly, I’m impressed. I’m almost tempted to say that your
brothers are bloody geniuses!” Draco blurted out and it was a thought he had
been harbouring for a long time already, but he never thought he would have the
opportunity to say it out loud.
“Bat-shit crazy… but geniuses nevertheless,” Ron agreed. “Meet me behind the
statue of Gregory the Smarmy in five minutes. We’ll go together from there. And
for fuck’s sake…” he leaned forward unexpectedly, and kissed him softly, “…
don’t get ambushed by Snape if he’s still lurking about. I don’t think I could
stand losing this,” his fingers playfully brushed against a hard bulge in
Draco’s trousers. As the surge of most hopeless lust crashed down the blond’s
body, for one dread-filled moment there the Slytherin thought he was actually
going to come in his pants. To paraphrase Weasley: Jesusfuck… that boy got
cheekier by the meeting… and more irresistible.
~
As soon as Draco plunged into the darkness behind the statue, Ron’s warm hand
sought out his. Ron whispered a quiet Lumos and Draco realized they have found
themselves at the beginning of a long corridor, leading into the darkness.
"We need to go, sooner or later someone will take pity on Filch, at least an
odd professor might," Ron spoke quickly and Draco closed his eyes for a second
to adapt to this new reality, but then he nodded resolutely and allowed himself
to be pulled behind. It's not like he wasn't used to darkness - there was
darkness a plenty down the endless corridors of the Manor - and Ron was right
here, with him. He could do this. The passage was narrow and they could barely
walk next to each other, but after a while Draco realized that he could think
of far worse situations than holding hands with the boy he was completely
smitten with, walking through the darkness that didn't seem threatening, but
more like a soft wrapping, sheltering the unspoken feelings between them, under
the guidance of two wands casting warm light like two narrow rays of hope.
Under his snarky marble surface, Draco knew he was hopelessly romantic, though
he would rather swallow his tongue than admit it openly. But there was
something strangely serene in the surreal scene of strolling down the ancient
corridor; and holding the warm, strong hand of the boy that stubbornly came to
claim a place in his heart, the blond quietly contemplated the bond that tied
them together.
It was real, that much he knew; real, and solid and so very brutal it was
scary. He’d do anything to keep Ron; he already went against his upbringing,
his Malfoyian pride, his anxiety and everything else that stood in his way to
his beautiful, forbidden blue-eyed lover, demolishing it all – and Ron came to
meet him half way every time, and again tonight. He reckoned that they were far
beyond mere lust and a passing teenage crush. His Gryffindor had already said
the words and he… bloody hell, he hoped when the moment comes, he wouldn’t be
reluctant to say it, to just blurt it out, for fuck’s sake, and finally let the
redhead know how hopelessly he had fallen for him as well.
“Nearly there,” Ron spoke softly as if not entirely certain if he should break
a train of his thoughts. “I have no idea where we’ll come out, I’ve never used
this one before, Filch is obsessed by running up and down those at least once a
day, George told me. Wasn’t worth the risk… until now,” he said quietly and
looked at Draco and there was something in those sky-blue eyes and a shy smile
that made the blond’s heart beat faster.
“No worries, I’m sure we can do this. I’ve notice we’ve been kind of…
unstoppable when we’re working together, Weasley,” he spoke the words filled
with his usual snark, but there was none of it in the tone of his slightly
shaky voice and the way Ron’s hand closed around him even more tightly, he knew
that the redhead saw through his pompous façade.
“Together?” Ron asked when they finally found themselves in front of the heavy
door, built into a two-feet thick stone wall and Draco just swallowed and
nodded.
“Cover your hair,” the Slytherin had one last epiphany. “We might have to walk
some and even when we arrive, they’re expecting me – but you, with that fiery
head…”
He shook his head to demonstrate that it was entirely unacceptable to drag Ron
down with him should anything go wrong. And right before he reached for the
door knob, Ron unexpectedly pulled him closer and pressed a long, enticing kiss
onto his lips.
“Thank you,” he whispered and his quiet voice was laden with some unspoken,
undoing emotion that made Draco close his eyes and seek out his lips once
again. For courage, for trust, for love. They were going to need it all.
~
The door opened so smoothly it was obvious that it was being used regularly and
when they stepped outside with their wands raised, they realized they had
opened a part of the wall in the currently abandoned corridor of a pub, leading
to the bathrooms for the guests. The door closed behind them so seamlessly that
Draco wasn’t entirely certain if he was going to be able to find it once the
time came, but he decided to worry about that when it did. But from where they
were standing he could see the large stuffed head of a hog hanging on the wall
and he could barely believe his luck. How was that even possible? It seemed as
if even the gods were on his side, smoothing a way for him to be with the boy
he had so desperately fallen for – there could be no other explanation for
their serendipity.
“Wait here,” he instructed Ron and went to find the person in charge. The tall,
beefy looking wizard with a long beard he stumbled upon when he turned the
corner, was sporting an apron and the disgruntled, bitter expression on his
strangely familiar face made him look like a person Draco would normally prefer
to avoid. But he had no choice under the circumstances and he approached him
reluctantly, addressing him in a quiet, yet adamant voice he heard Father use
when he was out and about on sensitive business.
“I have an agreement with the owner about renting the room for two for the
weekend,” he said firmly and tried to mask that he was in no way as confident
as he wished to project. “I’ve sent a couple of owls and I’ve paid upfront. Is
it possible to speak to the owner? My agreement is directly with him.”
The vibrant blue eyes, again strangely familiar, were immediately on him, as if
trying to burn a hole into the darkness Draco’s face was submerged in under the
hood of his coat, but the tall man nodded with little hesitation and pointed
towards the obscure set of stairs on the very corner Draco had turned.
“Your agreement was with me,” he spoke in a deep, raspy voice and somehow his
tone spoke of his true age better than his appearance did. He must have been
quite a bit older than he looked. “I’m the owner. The name’s Aberforth and if
you and your… guest want to avoid the thick of the crowd, you should follow me
up those right now – rooms are in the floor above, just two, really – and I
would advise you to keep your mouths shut and speak to no one. Well, no one but
me, but I prefer that you avoid that as well.”
Ron must have been listening in, because he appeared from behind the corner
directly and followed them up the stairs quietly, without saying a word.
“There,” the sturdy man handed Draco an ancient looking key. “You’ll find no
luxury inside, but it’s been kept clean and it’s warded to give you privacy. I
will make sure you don’t starve. Best food in the village, lads, you’re in the
luck!” he said somewhat proudly and then quickly made to leave.
“Oh, and one more thing,” the man turned around when he was already half way
down the stairs. “Whatever you two are up to – I don’t want to know. But it
better not be some funny business that ends up going awry and leaving me to
clean up your mess, this Inn’s reputation is bad enough as it is.”
“No funny business,” Draco choked out, strangely intimidated by the unspoken
threat in those uncommonly clever blue eyes. “We just…”
“And no lies either,” the man, Aberforth, interrupted him abruptly. “I don’t
need to know. I don’t want to know. Should you get caught, you can offer your
explanation to my brother. I think he might be more sympathetic to your
predicament that you’re aware of, considering his… preferences,” he chuckled
unexpectedly and then he was gone for good.
Draco couldn’t open the door of the room fast enough and he pulled Ron in as
quickly as he could.
“What the actual fuck was that?!” he whispered somewhat in panic, because the
inn owner was just plain scary.
“I think that, my darling Pureblood-who-doesn’t-have-gossiping-parents, might
have been Dumbledore’s brother,” Ron explained, looking uncommonly calm, as if
slightly stunned. “According to my great-aunt Muriel, he’s been at odds with
the headmaster since forever… and I believe he might just have told us that his
brother preferred male company as well,” the redhead said slowly, thoughtfully,
causing the blond to simply freeze in shock.
But Ron didn't seem too concerned. Without further ado he launched himself on
top of the ancient looking yet immaculately clean bed and it creaked unhappily
under his weight.
“Oh, Merlin… Heaven… pure Heaven… so soft…” he sighed only with a bit of
theatrical exaggeration and when he rolled around to bury his nose into the
sheets, only to announce “You won’t believe that but they smell of jasmine…
best smell ever!”, some of his childlike joy somehow rubbed off on Draco and he
could feel the blood slowly returning into his stiff limbs. Bloody Gryffindors!
Weren’t they ever shocked out of their skin?! How did it feel to have that much
courage, to be so carefree and just… live for the moment?!
And when Ron leaned back onto his elbows, stretched across the bed, all long
muscled limbs and tousled fiery hair, looking like sin personified, looking at
him with a small, inviting smile, the blond had a feeling that he was about to
find out. The redhead only needed to tilt his head and ask enticingly – “Join
me?” – in a husky, god-sexy voice, and every sane thought and legitimate worry
Draco had ever had, flew straight out of the window. He had been waiting for
this for too long, Ron was too beautiful like this… and if it all went to hell
after this weekend, he had better make sure it was at least going to be worth
it.
The Slytherin’s heart was beating somewhere in his throat as he approached the
bed slowly, feeling as if he was about to reach the invisible milestone. When
he stopped by the bed, not certain if he was supposed to cross into this scary
new domain, Ron slowly got up in a sitting position as if he was willing to be
right there with him, as if he wanted to make sure not to give destructive
insecurity a chance to settle in. His large hands closed around the blond’s
narrow shoulders and it seemed as if the Gryffindor understood how badly Draco
needed to be kept together.
“Here… let me do that for you,” the redhead offered in a soft voice and his
fingers slowly crawled towards the ornamented silver clasp, keeping the blond's
coat bound together. Draco simply nodded his consent and closed his eyes to let
himself fully enjoy the intimate sensation of being undressed by Ron Weasley.
He felt the heavy coat slide to the ground and then those warm hands once again
came to rest motionless around his shoulders as if Ron wanted to give him time
to consider. Only then Draco dared to open his eyes and he found himself
looking straight into the magical blue orbs, aglow with tenderness and unspoken
devotion like starlit midnight skies. And when Ron leaned his head forward to
press a tiny, warm kiss into the corner of his mouth, Draco’s breath hitched
almost as if in a sob.
“You know I love you,” Ron said quietly, pulled him down on the bed next to him
and pressed another one of those innocent, soft kisses that felt like sun-rays
in the other corner of his mouth. “Thank you for giving me a chance to finally
say that… even though I know you can’t. Not yet. Perhaps never. But it’s
alright, you see… because I know,” he said softly and one of his hands came to
rest on top of Draco’s fluttering heart, warming up his shivering skin.
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t,” he continued with down-to-earth
determination. “And I don’t need your words as much as I need you to be here
with me… for me, because I don’t have a single dream that doesn’t begin and end
with you,” he smiled his god-sexy smile at his stunned, smitten blond lover
when their lips finally met in a slow, luxurious kiss and Draco exhaled the
shaky, warm breath he didn’t even know he was holding, straight into the
heavenly mouth.
“But I want to say it,” the blond heard himself whisper and he didn’t even
remember giving his mouth the permission to talk. “I just don’t know if I can…
and how… not to make a mess out of things,” he heard his stupid heart blurting
out one declaration after another and felt the colour rush to his cheeks at the
sight of blue eyes alight with a thousand sapphire stars at the unexpected
revelation.
“There’s been so much between us,” he tried to explain in a shaky voice and he
hated himself for sounding so fragile. But this was Ron and he could never lie
to him; here, by his side was the only person he could be himself with and once
he started pouring his heart out, he found himself unable to stop. “I can
barely remember a time before we met and from the first moment, I've always had
feelings for you. Only... most of them weren't good, whoever is to blame… but
it’s what I’m made of. I know how to hate you… I’ve done that, hating you and
your family, for as long as I can remember. I excel at that, I’ve been taught
little else.
“And then I discovered that for some bloody reason you turn me on,” he let out
a tiny, shy smile and had Ron kiss it off his lips.
“Bloody scary, that… but I’ve accepted it since and I don’t think I can hide
this… unfortunate circumstance even if I wanted to. And I thought… I’m a
teenager and you know how we get… someone bloody coughs and we’re sporting a
hard-on! So for a while I thought… I had hoped, it was that. Because lust… I
can do. Lust I can live with. You are, after all, objectively speaking, a fine
specimen of a young male, you’re very… vibrant and quite grown into your manly
form already and… oh, fuck it, you’re a bloody sex god on endless legs with an
arse that should have its own fan club and I’m fairly certain I’m not the only
one who wakes up with their hand around their cock and the image of you in
their head,” he said boldly and at the sight of violent rush of blood to Ron’s
face, he added rather naughtily:
“And that’s only the boys!” which earned him a mumbled “Shush, you, you know I
care for no one but you” and another tender kiss that gave him a silent
permission to go on.
“So, as much of a shock as it was after that… our first time, I couldn’t even
start feeling properly guilty about it, just stunned and angry over my own…
stubborn preferences.  But as you so cleverly discovered – lust wasn’t the
right name for what was between us either. And if it’s what you think it is…”
he swallowed and looked straight into his brilliant blue eyes with all the
courage he was ever going to have.
“If it’s… love… then I don’t know much about that… and I’m so, so bloody
frightened I’ll blunder it somehow! And I hate it how… weak and without a
compass I am… and how scared and… in need it makes me feel… In need of you. I
lose myself around you… and I find myself in you, but it's like... I’m a
different person at the bottom of your eyes… I’m all those things I didn’t know
I could be – caring, jealous, yearning… and all those other terrible things
that make me so dreadfully vulnerable. And it’s all because of this love… this
bloody… permeating feeling that is all over me… I can’t control it, and I can’t
get rid of it and it’s just plain petrifying how much of myself I have to give
away and how it’s changed me already… And the worst of it is… that I want it,”
he finally blurted out all the confusing truth and his messed up feelings.
But then he saw Ron give him one of those beautiful, soft smiles that lit up
his eyes, and feeling strangely heady and liberated, Draco unexpectedly felt
his own face stretch into a smile as well and he hastily spoke out his quiet,
priceless gem of a truth:
“I want to love you, Ron Weasley. It’s beyond scary and the most awesome thing
ever. And I do. I love you,” his words disappeared into the tight, warm embrace
Ron locked him in and he whispered his finishing thought into the loving,
comforting darkness around him: “I love you… I hate and want and love you… it’s
all for you. I’m all for you.”
“Don’t… Jesus… Merlin, man…” he heard the redhead’s voice, strangely strangled,
as if Ron wasn’t quite successful in keeping his feelings at bay. “You don’t
have to undo me every bloody time, you know. Once was enough. Hearing you say
all that…bloody hell, man… you sure know how to make amends. I’m all in pieces
now… fuck… I just need… I guess I need a moment… with you. I need you.”
Ron kissed him once again, deeply, slowly, almost forcefully, to drink his
devotion and quiet surrender off his lips, to seal the unfathomable bond
between them, and to meet him half way with his heart.
“How could you ever think I’d give you up?” the blond asked heatedly, dizzy
from a sudden rush of heady love he felt flowing at him through Ron’s
desperate, mind-boggling kisses. “You don’t have a clue what you do to me… in
how many ways you undo me… I’m always going to hate you a little bit for making
me love you so much. I let my guard down for you, you knocked down all my
defences with that trustful heart of yours and when you left… you left me
heartbroken and without a choice. I’m a Malfoy… and Malfoy’s only love once.
I’ll never give you up. Even if I have to wait beyond this life to be with
you.”
And one hopelessly wanton whimper later, coming from Ron, Draco was rolled
around to find himself underneath that wonderful muscular body he spent so many
hours fantasising about. And there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
“Don’t say that,” Ron said quietly, almost pleadingly, pressing their foreheads
together and kissing him with reckless abandon that made the Slyther’s blood
run wild. “We’ll find a way, I know we will… With your Slytherin wit and my
insane Gryffindor guts… we’ll get there somehow. But I don’t want to think of
this now; I only want to think of you… and of the ways of thanking you for
making my dreams come true when I nearly gave them up for lost.”
His long, skilled fingers found a way under the collar of Draco’s school shirt
and slipped across his skin like fiery serpent and it made Draco gasp and
exhale a slow, torturous moan into the hot wet mouth, stealing his every breath
away. The warm, calloused digits danced towards the tiny buttons to beg access
and the blond breathed a single, strained “Yes” into the thick, electric air
around them to give himself up completely, of his own will, no doubts and
excuses in sight. He chose to belong to Ron and there was no turning back now.
“Such a beautiful, good boy…” whispered his redheaded master and his warm
breath and strolling fingers teased Draco’s skin into goosebumps. “Letting me
do that… I’ve always wanted to do that…I've always wanted to undress you…
slowly… watch you get revealed by the candlelight… one perfect, sublime detail
of you after another… with no rush and nowhere to be… with all the time in the
world to admire you… and to worship you, the way you deserve to be worshipped,”
he sank his head down onto the fragile, endless arch of his lover’s creamy neck
and he caressed it slowly, lovingly, making the blond throw his head back in a
sudden surge of ecstasy.
“You’re so bloody gorgeous,” Ron breathed in the sensitive shell of his ear
quietly, heatedly, as his warm, adept fingers slid like a snake down the length
of the crispy white shirt, slowly coming undone one tiny button after another.
“Just look at you… look at you, precious… I daydream about this swan neck of
yours all the time… the way you offer it to me, trusting, wanting, making those
small breathless sounds that drive me crazy… Merlin, I get all hot and
bothered, picturing you naked in front of me, under me, all mine for the
taking… Jesusfuck, you drive my mind towards such heavenly filth… you have no
idea…
“Sometimes I can see the outline of your rosy, tiny nipples through that thin
fabric of your schools shirt and I remember how much you like having them
licked… teased… nibbled on… all the way to the point of pain, until they’re
nothing but a pair of shiny red buttons I could just swallow… and it makes my
cock leak to know I can make you come like that. You like a bit of edge,
lovely, I know you do; I see how you come looking for it, I can feel you crave
it until you get just the dose you can take.”
“Yesssss… I… please…” was the only whimpered sound Draco was capable of as
those long, calloused  fingers brushed against his nubs, first one, then
another, and it barely took more than sweet, torturous expectation to have them
erect and ready to melt like candy in Ron’s delicious mouth.
He had no idea when the redhead managed to open his shirt, but it was decidedly
open now, revealing the taut, lean body of a Seeker and Ron whispered a wanton
“Fuck, love…” just before he launched himself at two little peaks of lust
breaking through the marble landscape of the flawless skin. And Draco could not
hold back a broken scream if he tried.
“Christfuck, yes…” Ron panted above him and Draco keened and arched his body
upwards to offer himself to his fiery god, naked and vulnerable and raw, to
have himself taken apart and devoured and split open and fucked into a begging,
screaming mess.
The Slytherin yelped once again when the hot wet mouth devoured the outline of
his swollen cock, still painfully captured by his tight school trousers,
drilling a fucking hole into them. But Ron just chuckled softly, with delight,
and his teasing, slick tongue slowly, mercilessly pressed against the wet spot
in the fabric, as if desperate to finally meet the throbbing, leaking cock
underneath. Draco’s hips instantly bucked forward and he barely managed to hold
back from orgasming.
“Fuck… you bastard,” he gasped and sunk his aristocratic fingers into the fiery
hair to at least gain some semblance of control.
“Oh, yeah… soon…” Ron murmured darkly and scraped his teeth lightly at the
mounting bulge only to have Draco’s bony fingers dig into his silken hair with
force and the Slytherin hissed:
“You fucking Gryffindor tease… Get on with it, or I swear I’ll…
fuckyeahplease…”
Ron just licked a long trail up and down the row of strained, bursting buttons
on his trousers and whispered:
“Who’s a tease now? Buttons, babe… seriously? If it was a zipper, I could have
opened it… with my teeth… and have you in my mouth already, but you just want
to be difficult, don’t you… Such an evil little thing you are… you deserve to
be punished… I’m going to teach you a lesson… and I plan to start with that
perfect round bum of yours… fill it full of hard, mean cock… and you’re going
to let me… because you love it… don’t you, my beautiful serpent prince… you
love to be filled with cock…”
“Yes… I… ohyesgodpleaseyes…” was all the eloquence the blond was reduced to,
because Ron had done the unexpected savage thing and simply tore through the
last of the offensive buttons to get to his cock. Draco felt his juices surge
like a geyser. The wonderful, luscious lips had opened and his swollen,
desperate prick slammed in as if looking for salvation that could only be found
at the bottom of that soft, obliging mouth that knew all of his secrets and
long denied needs. His heavy shaft was throbbing in the rhythm of Ron’s mouth,
the slick, tight cave moving with him and around him, the gentle tongue drawing
a maddening pattern of ancient seduction across every sensitive nerve, bursting
to explode and he world narrowed down to a most primal need to come. Nothing
was more important right now… he needed to come and he begged for it in a
litany of stuttered pleas and filthy words that could make his mother faint.
“Such a dirty little boy,” Ron whispered when he let him out for a second, only
to swirl his tongue around the thick, purple crown, glistening in the
candlelight in a mess of their juices. “Such a beautiful cock… Shall we make
your beautiful leaking cock come, my pretty little boy-toy? I think it would
look gorgeous, dressed in its own come, like the icing on the cake… I love the
icing, oh, yes, I do… I’m going to lick it all off, I’ll smear it all over my
mouth and then I’ll let you have some, my dirty little boy… you love licking
your own come off my face, don’t you… you love your own taste, you love kissing
it off my bruised lips… such a depraved little boy… I love sucking depravity
out of you, drop by drop, my filthy little prince… on my knees, in front of
you… licking at your fantasies, teasing them out with my tongue…”
His soft lips slipped around the crown of Draco’s cock against a most godless
yelp and they closed around it tightly, a hot, wet, perfect fit. Tender,
unforgiving mouth began suckling on the sensitized  tip of Draco’s cock and the
sudden surge of lust was so intense, the blond found a helpless shout
impossible to hold back. When the lovely redhead closed his eyes as if he was
getting off from feeding on the heavenly elixir, the Slytherin’s hips moved as
in a trance, in a hopeless attempt of burying him deeper into the godless cave
of his redheaded devil, making a slave out of him.
But Draco felt his heart might have had an orgasm before his cock did, it went
positively wild at the brain-melting sight of his mesmerising lover teasing the
pearls of come out of his spoiled slit with the sweet, slick tongue like a
hungry kitten, and with the long auburn eyelashes closed as if in worship Ron
was a most mind-shattering, decadent sight ever. The blond was riding the very
edge of bliss, his body covered in perspiration and screaming to fall apart,
his heavy cock begging for deliverance together with his unruly tongue, but he
couldn’t, couldn’t, not without…
“Look at me…” he blurted out, whimpered really, not knowing where this came
from and why, he just knew he needed it so badly it was making his heart burst.
“Please… I need...”
And then Ron’s eyes opened and the bluest brilliance reached Draco’s face
together with a soft, beautiful smile and the redhead whispered with a hot,
moist breath holding a key to the dam of his release:
“Love you my prince… love you… so much, my love… always.”
“Christfuck… Ron!!!” he bellowed his name, feeling his body ripped apart by the
monstrous tension in his balls erupting, the hot charge rushing against the
melting tip of his throbbing cock where the supple red mouth waited patiently
to be spoiled with his load. Draco’s hips arched off the bed with the vicious
force of his ecstasy and for a while he could see nothing, hear nothing, sense
nothing but a blur of most brutally exquisite pleasure and starlit darkness he
had ever experienced.
“Ron… fuck… Ron…” was the first thing he heard, when his senses returned and he
was shocked to find out it was him, chanting the breathless words as if his
gruff voice suddenly ran out of colour.
“We didn’t get to that bit,” the voice murmured by his ear and he slowly became
aware of his surroundings, of the addictive, earthy scent of the man, wrapped
around him, of the hard, hot bulge pressing against his thigh and he struggled
to catch his breath for long enough to tell him…
“Just… give me… a bloody moment… you insatiable beast, we’ll get there… bloody
hell… were you trying to off me, then?”
“Mhm… it’s a secret family recipe what to do with a Malfoy… should we encounter
a naked specimen,” Ron chuckled, kissing his neck leisurely and the blond, as
shattered as he was, felt his cock taking sudden interest in its favourite
activity.
“Merlin, man… you’ll be the death of me…” the blond moaned, helpless against
his hormone-dazed body, which apparently developed a crazed mind of its own and
foolishly thought it could do this... once more… so soon.
“I love looking at you like this…” Ron mumbled, his hot breath caressing his
ruined prey’s ear and lazily toying with his sensitive earlobe until he felt
the unmistakable shiver. “Bloody gorgeous sight if there ever was one, lovely…
stretched like a lazy kitten across the bed… can’t beat the sight of an utterly
debauched Malfoy… I feel like fucking you all the time, babe… you’re going to
have to let me at some point… or my balls just might explode all over this
virgin velvet of your skin… now that would be a mess… my come all over you…
this fucking gorgeous, ravaged body of yours covered in it… pooled on your
stomach… sipping into the mattress between your thighs… I might have to dip my
hand in it and rub it all over this moonlight landscape of your skin… all the
way to your nipples… let them have some… I know you like them wet and hard…”
“JesusMerlin, Ronald… this fucking filthy tongue of yours could make a saint
come at the sight of deadly sin…” Draco hissed, his cock already so hard, he
realized he lost the game spectacularly. But perhaps he could at least give
something back… He pushed his fingers into the silken hair and pulled a little,
just the way he knew the redhead liked it.
“You know I can’t resist seeing your balls bursting at my entrance…” he
murmured seductively and he let his long fingers move towards that wonderful
hard flesh, pressed tightly against him. "I can't wait to have the rest of you
buried so deep inside of me that I can almost taste you in my mouth," he
whispered, licked the shell of his ear with his obliging, pliant mouth and
mewled happily when he felt the Gryffindor’s breath hitch.
“You know I can’t get enough of that throbbing fat shaft of yours splitting me
open... driving into me like the beast you are and keep pounding me crazy…
again and again and again… so swollen and juicy, it looks painful… pumping me
full of come, about to spill… making me forget my own name… You fuck me so
well, my big, gorgeous love… I just want to scream myself hoarse with your name
on my lips…”
“Fuck, Draco…” Ron whispered in a lost voice and the blond felt a surge of
foolish pride, mixed with most ungodly arousal spread to the every sparkling
ending of his nerves. He moaned like a whore in need a moment later when he
felt his redheaded god rise above him, because he loved nothing better than to
yield to this lovely creature born to dominate him.
“Ron…” he whimpered as the long fingers found his crack and scrapped across the
tender surface of his hole. “I missed you, Ron… I missed you so very much, you
bastard. How dare you leave me… how dare you leave me without?! I want you
inside, my savage redheaded devil... I’ve been so empty without you… I want you
to fill me with your hot, heavy cock, make me ache and burn and want… make me
come like a fucking beast… make me come alive the way only you know how… Yesss…
oh, yes, like this… spread me, shove it inside, fuck me, fuck me, Ron…”
“You… fucking… bastard…” panted Ron, his fingers working at full speed on
making room for his throbbing, purple cock, oozing desire to the point of pain.
“Such a filthy mouth, Slytherin… such a filthy, debauched sweet mouth, my
little serpent prince… How about I shut your mouth with my tongue, you depraved
little thing… How about I gag you with it and you can suck on it, while I’m
busy opening you up, hm…? Oh, yeah, baby, that’s the sound I want to hear…
these helpless beastly moans of aching need is what I wank to… Such a debauched
little boy-toy you are… that beautiful, boyish body made of virgin innocence…
and such a sex-crazed, needy slut underneath the polished marble surface… Shall
I give it to you, my little virgin slut? Shall I? Tell me, you want it, my
little whore, tell me where you want it…”
“Yes… fuck… I want… now… in… inside, Ron… nowgodpleasefucknow…” the blond
babbled incoherently, spreading out for him wantonly and closing his legs
behind that magnificent arse to pull him in. He never needed someone as much in
his life and when he felt the tip of his cock pressing at his entrance and the
long, calloused fingers of the giant fist closing around his neck, he moaned
like a bitch in need, because this… yes… this was what his restless dreams and
every furious wank he’s ever had were made of.
“You have no idea how often I dream about getting you underneath me… about
closing my fingers around that lovely endless neck of yours… and just enter
you, my lovely,” the redhead whispered. “I want to be holding tight, feel that
hot surge of life going wild under my fingers while I violate that inviting,
blooming, hungry hole of yours… just like this… You like this, beautiful?… you
like it when I slam my cock against that sweet spot inside of you that makes
you scream my name and beg with those breathless filthy words? I whisper them
to myself again when I wank, you know… Oh, yes, like this… you know how I love
to hear you beg… makes me want to thrust inside you like a fucking brute and
fuck that little piece of heaven inside you so hard they’ll hear you scream in
fucking Romania when you come, you decadent little bastard…
“You like your Ron going wild inside you, don’t you… you like it… no one’s ever
going to fuck you so hard… no one… I’m going to ruin you for everyone… just
like you ruined me… Jesus, gorgeous, I’m so full of come it hurts, I need to
give it to you so badly… Why the fuck did you have to let me wait for so
long?... Touch yourself, c’mon, nothing makes me come faster than watching you
wank… Merlinfuck, yes… like this… oh, godyes… just like… oh, motherfuck, Draco…
you sweet little piece of arse, I’m so fucking close… give me something…
anything… one of your sweet little nothings that make me lose it… I need…”
“JesusMerlinfuck, don’t stop fucking me…” the blond spoke hoarsely, with
urgency; wanking furiously and staring straight into the magnetic blue eyes
that stole his soul, his sanity and his heart.  “Fill me up, Ron… spill
yourself inside me… I want to own you; I want to be you, a part of you, yours,
and I’ve been waiting for so long… too damn long… You need to know… you were my
first… my first… my only… and so help me god, you will be my last… I know no
one but you, Ron. I want no one but you… I love you… I…”
“Draco!! GodfuckDraco…”
The wanton, desperate howl tore from the redhead’s mouth the second the blond
chocked on his words and flooded the tight space between them with his bursting
cock, spurting long strands of pearly come across the creamy skin, covered in
sheen of perspiration and glittering like marble landscape in the candlelight.
The solitary sound of Ron’s cry of surrender still echoed from the walls of the
tiny, rustic room, the sole, humble witness to their love, when his body arched
backwards, and his hips slammed forward to make his cock explode and empty its
load deep inside of the blond devil he came to love so much it hurt.
“DracoDracoDraco, fuck, love… fuck, my love…”
Ron collapsed on top of his blond lover, with his eyes closed, out of breath
and his heart pounding wildly, feeling utterly boneless and destroyed and on
top of the fucking world at the same time.
“Merlin, Draco…”
The blond wasn’t doing much better. His eyes had literally rolled back in his
head and he still seemed to be riding out his orgasm somewhere in the world
beyond reality and it must have been a wonderful, uncharted land indeed,
judging by the soft, blissful smile spreading through his face, lighting it up
from inside. Ron stared at him, mesmerised, in love, unable to look away, with
his heart beating furiously at the numbing, proprietary feeling that swept over
him at the sight of his lover’s decadent, ethereal beauty, framed by the long,
soft shadows of the golden candlelight.
“Mine,” he whispered fiercely, and put a hand on his chest to feel the erratic
pace of his heart whisper out its secrets under his warm touch. His fingers
then moved on to cup his cheek and he kissed him lightly, lovingly, as if he
was afraid to break the enchanted illusion.
“Yours,” Draco said simply and when Ron lifted his head up from a kiss, he saw
the silver eyes looking straight at him, filled with unfathomable tenderness.
“Never forget that,” he whispered. “Whatever happens… never forget.”
“How could I?” Ron asked quietly, suddenly a knot in his throat. “You have no
idea how you make me feel… no idea. I never thought I’d find someone to make me
feel like I’m a million galleons worth… Everything else seems to fade into the
background when you look at me, really look at me, with those enigmatic silver
eyes of yours and you’re so lovely and beautiful that it makes my heart ache
and I’m almost afraid to love you back, because surely, I was never meant to
have something so precious. How could I ever forget? I’ll go to my grave
knowing that I loved you.”
He put his head into the crook of his lover’s neck, into the soft nest made of
slick skin and exotically scented blond hair and he closed his eyes, looking
for a refuge for the love he came to foster and was perhaps never meant to
keep.   
 “Sine qua non,” Draco whispered softly after a while, with his fingers
treading gently through the lustrous red hair and when the redhead lift his
face up a tiny bit, with a questioning look in those sky-blue eyes, the blond
just gave a small smile and said quietly:
“It’s an old saying that runs in my family… It means… you are essential, you’re
the one I can’t live without.”
And Ron kissed him softly, chastely into the corner of his mouth, before
putting his head back into the crook of his neck, professing quietly:
“I can’t say it in such a fancy way… but you’re the first thing I think of when
I wake up, and I close my eyes thinking of you. I reckon it’s got to count for
something, even if it’s only in plain English… and in my heart.”
Draco felt his heart beating somewhere in his throat and for a moment he got
that strange foreboding, out-of-place, out-of-time feeling that this was their
moment, the one to seize and to remember, because when the tiny fraction of
time in the humble refuge of their love was up - they might never get another.
He couldn't stand the thought, yet it had made him strangely reckless and
desperate. If this was indeed it... if this was all they were going to get, he
could not afford to waste a single moment. So he turned his head towards his
redhead, kissed him enticingly, lovingly and once he felt his silken lips
respond, he found it impossible to let him go. He would not think of anything
but of the magic they were, when they were together. 
“Merlin, I love kissing you,” he murmured into the delightful, lustful,
increasingly intense kiss. “You’ve got the softest, most kissable mouth ever
and if I could just patent that thing you do with your tongue, we’d never have
to worry about galleons again… mmmm, yeah… that one… God, Weasley, I confess
you will turn me into a sex addict… I’m quite the toy for you, am I not, my
deceitful blue-eyed devil…? Perhaps… with a bit of persuasion… I could be
tricked into another round… with that skilful mouth you possess… and… oh, god,
yes… that tongue… Merlin, man… this is worse than a drug… I could live a
thousand years and never get kissed like that… Weasley… Ron… get over here…
Jesus, stop… don’t stop… Now, you won’t be going anywhere, you ginger brute,
finish what you started… oh, yes… Ronald Weasley, Sir… have I mentioned that I
loved you…? Here, in case you forgot, pumpkin head: I love you, Ron.”
And once he had said it, he couldn't stop saying it again and again, as if he
wanted to make sure that Ron remembered, no matter what was coming. He said it
into his mouth, when he made him come, he whispered it into his chest when he
allowed himself to be cradled to sleep. He woke up with those words on his lips
and he whispered it again, desperately, when the dusk of the second day was
falling like a smothering mist onto the small room above the pub in the
Scottish Highlands. Parting was upon them and Draco Malfoy was never more in
love. 
***** Hope for the future *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Do we really have to go already?” Ron asked quietly for the millionth time,
silently pleading for another tiny extension in the paradise they’ve turned
their weekend refuge to. “Can’t we…?”
“It’s time, I’m afraid,” Draco sighed quietly, desperately struggling to find
some of his Malfoyian sternness and hide how wrecked he felt underneath.
They’ve been huddled together on the bed for the past hour, turned towards each
other, sporadically throwing miserable looks towards the merciless clock
counting down the moments before they would have to abandon a fragile shelter
they found for their love.
“It’s absolutely imperative that we leave at least half an hour before ten,”
Draco had said adamantly at the first signs of darkness crawling through the
windows, but a few desperate kisses later it was “Alright, perhaps we can make
it in 25 minutes”, and then “Oh, fuck it, twenty, but we’ll have to run”,and
after that they both knew that they were out of time.
“I don’t want to leave,” Ron spoke out both their minds, and his quiet voice
was so wretched that it simply broke the Slytherin’s heart.
“But we have to,” the blond said softly, knowing that he was going to have to
be the firm one here. It was he, who had made an agreement with Snape and it
was one he knew he could not afford to break. Snape was not a man who took
broken promises well.
“I know… I know,” Ron said miserably. “Harry and Hermione will be back as well,
if they’re not already, and sooner or later I will be missed. And trust me, you
don’t want my family looking for us; wizards in bloody Australia would find out
we went missing! But I still don’t want to leave…” he repeated miserably,
pleadingly.
“I…” For once the Slytherin was lost for words. He didn’t want to return back
to their ordinary lives either. He had never felt more alive and absurdly happy
than in those few stolen hours they had spent in their little spot of Heaven.
They fucked each other into exhaustion – Merlin, did they fuck, there wasn’t a
spot in his body that wasn’t marked in some way or another by his Gryffindor
beast! – and then they held each other through quiet, painfully intimate
moments. And… they talked, for hours and hours at the time, which surprised
Draco, because he could not fathom prior to their getaway what it was they
could really talk about – yet talk they did, and it was wonderful, liberating,
sweet and funny, sometimes hurtful and so damn easy.
They went on and on about everything and nothing, listening to each other’s
private, sometimes heart-wrenching confessions, spoken in a quiet voice and
followed by some more cuddling, and exchanging little fragments of their lives,
that couldn’t be more different – yet strangely similar, simply from the fact
that they were both purebloods, raised by the principled parents. They already
knew their differences, but they were both shocked how very alike they were.
And for the rest, they manoeuvred as carefully as they could around the touchy
subject, such as their friends, their allegiances and their choices, but
inevitably ended up fighting over any of those and – equally inevitably –
closed their arguments with long, thorough, heavenly sex that left them both
without a feisty bone in their bodies.
They knew they belonged to each other without a single word spoken – and now
their little daydream in paradise was about to end and neither of them really
knew what to do about it and how to cope. At the moment, they were not coping
too spectacularly.  
Ron leaned in to kiss him once more and it was so sweet and needy and desperate
that Draco didn’t have a heart to tell him to stop. He felt his resolve melting
and he knew that it was just a question of time before he will close his eyes
and tell the evil world, that wouldn’t let him keep his redhead, to fuck off.
“Please…” he whispered in the last attempt to save them. “You’ll get me in
trouble..”
And it worked like a charm on his Gryffindor. Ron had moved away, albeit slowly
and the longing in those blue eyes was almost too hard to take for Draco.
“I suppose we must, then…” Ron said quietly and the heavy sadness in his voice
weighed the blond down like a lead cloak.
“It’s not for good,” the Slytherin said quickly, his heart in his throat. “This
goodbye… it’s not forever. We’ll find a way, honestly, we will. I’ll think of
something, just… oh, please, for fuck’s sake, Ron, don’t be so sad, I can’t
stand to see you so miserable!” he finally blurted out at the sight of the
redhead’s eyes swimming.
“I know,” Ron tried and he even managed to push out a small, broken smile that
was so forced and wretched that it hit the blond in the chest as if he was
punched and he momentarily ran out of air. He didn’t think he could bear it.
Perhaps Snape’s wrath wouldn’t be so hard to take, perhaps he could slither his
way out of this one.
But Ron had already closed his eyes as if he couldn’t look him in the eye while
he did this, then with a heavy, determined sigh he pressed a quick peck into
the corner of his mouth and got out of bed swiftly, as if he couldn’t trust
himself if he tried to delay any longer.
“Let’s do this,” he said quietly, looking at him with all the bravery of a
Gryffindor. “Let’s get going. I can’t see you get punished on my account.”
“Well… yes, very well,” Draco said quietly and his rational brain grabbed the
opportunity to do the right thing, while his heart struggled and screamed in
his chest how very wrong this was. He was nearly breathless with misery and it
felt as if the tight ring of despair and anxiety was going to suffocate him. He
hated doing this. But as soon as he managed to get out of the bed and
straighten his clothes as if he was riding on some Malfoyian autopilot of
keeping up appearances, Ron's long fingers wrapped around the palm of his hand
and they were so warm and soothing that he looked up in absolute surrender and
let his rational brain abandon him completely. If Ron were to ask him at that
moment to stay, he would have complied without a single objection.
But the redhead simply squeezed his fingers gently and spoke quietly:
“Together, yeah? Always. Through this as well. We’ll manage. We’ll beat the
odds. We’ll be back one day.”
“Yes… I…” Draco was unable to speak and his fingers shook something terrible
inside the big, warm grasp of his lover’s hand. “I don’t know if I can…” he
finally admitted in a shaky voice and he was instantly pulled into a warm
embrace and he closed his eyes to the sound of Ron’s heartbeat.
“I can’t either,” Ron said quietly. “But we can. Together. We’ll weather this,
love. We will… we have to. I can’t go through life without hope of ever holding
you like this again. So I know we can. What we have is priceless… and totally
worth a shot and I refuse to give it up.”
His words, as quiet as they were, were strangely wild and defiant; the words of
a true Gryffindor who’d beaten the odds before and tackled everything life had
thrown at him – and just kept on winning. The surge of hope suddenly erupting
in Draco’s chest was as unexpected as it was liberating and he instantly felt
his anxiety relax and a strange reckless, stubborn feeling flood him from the
inside. Ron was right, of course. No one said love was easy – and they were
destined to nurture a particularly difficult specimen – but that was no reason
to give up. What they had waspriceless, and in his book, absolutely worth
fighting for. In the end, they may win or they may lose, but they won’t go down
without a fight. This… parting – a temporary one, he was sure of that! – was
just a small obstacle in the way of their love and they were going to ride over
it like a freight train. Together, they could do this.
“Weasley, let no one ever tell you again that you’re stupid. I reckon you’re
pretty much the smartest man I know,” he said calmly and straightened himself
up, suddenly feeling focused and composed. “Of course we can do this. It was
just… temporary insanity on my part, thinking that we couldn’t. Just remember
that I love you, Ron,” he added more softly and pressed a small, resolute kiss
onto his cheek. “I’ll do anything to keep us together. Whatever happens from
this point on, I shall be working with that purpose in mind. However,” he added
quickly, when he felt the magnetic power of those blue eyes draw him closer and
away from the sharp claws or reality, “it would be the easiest to keep my
promise if I were still alive, which is not a given, if we’re terribly late. My
agreement with Snape – ”
“Snape?!” The redhead’s blue eyes almost fell out of their sockets. “You’ve
made a deal with Snape?! And we’re still here, breaking it!! JesusMerlin,
Malfoy – Draco – you idiot, why didn’t you say that directly!?”
His hot-tempered Gryffindor pulled him behind furiously, heading for the door,
his anxious voice still pouring out questions.
“And what kind of a deal are we talking about?! What did the old slime make you
promise?! You didn’t tell him about us, did you?! No? Thank, Merlin, that would
be a massacre! Laugh all you like, you’re clearly teacher’s pet but I’m hardly
worthy of drawing breath in his book! Malfoy, stop it, this isn’t funny…”  
Draco couldn’t help it, but Ron’s temperamental fussing around had startled an
eruption of bubbles of hysterical laughter somewhere in his chest, that proved
uncontrollable. Sure, they were in trouble, since there was no way in hell they
could possibly make it back in time in the measly ten minutes that were left of
their time and the blond could only guess what wards did Snape set up to ensure
his timely return – or provide a fitting punishment. But there was absolutely
nothing they could do about that anymore and he had a passing thought that he
had perhaps been infected with a hefty dose of the Gryffindor “fuck all”
attitude that made him not worry about the consequences. Besides, taunting his
pretty boyfriend was still rather high on his list, it had made those blue eyes
sparkle in a most flattering fashion and…
They both came to abrupt stop when a large shadow blocked their way at the
bottom of the stairs. Draco’s breath hitched nervously and his fingers
instantly flew to his wand, but at that moment, Ron shielded him with his body
and Draco realized that if the man had meant them harm, he would have been
temporary sheltered. His heart went positively wild at the unnerving thought.
Stupid Gryffindor! That loser Potter might have needed this kind of service
from his right-wing man, but fuck him sideways if he would ask his boyfriend
for the same sacrifice! He was about to poke Ron with his wand to make him move
aside when he heard him whisper in a low voice, that could not really hide a
sharp, nervous edge.
“Is there a problem? We’re in a bit of a hurry! You’ll find no harm done to the
room; I believe we were quite the model guests.”
“Calm your tits, boy… Merlin, you’re quite a temperamental one, aren’t you?”
the calm raspy voice answered and with a mixture of relief and annoyance Draco
recognised the inn owner’s voice. “I suppose you can’t help it, with that
feisty woman for your mother… I only meant to check if you found everything to
your liking and…”
“What do you know about my mother?!”
This time it was a full-on hiss and Ron no longer bothered to hide a
threatening tone to his voice. But the pub owner merely chuckled quietly and
suggested coolly:
“You may want to keep your voice down, boy. As tall as you are and covered from
head to toe, you’re bound to attract enough unwanted attention already. Of
course I know who you are – what do you take me for, a fool?! You come
strolling through the village with that little runt the call the Chosen one;
you two and that bushy-haired witch are impossible to miss! And I know who that
is as well,” and from the way that Ron’s shoulders tensed and seemed to have
expanded, Draco guessed he must have pointed at him. “He’s got his snotty
father’s gait… and his money, it seems. I’d think twice about blowing off steam
with him, lad, you two don’t seem like a very healthy match.”
And in an instant white-hot anger exploded within Draco. How dare he! Without a
thought, he pushed Ron to the side and faced the large figure of the inn-keeper
without a single thought to his own safety.
“We could do without your lectures, thank you very much,” he said coldly,
angrily. “And as I recall, you liked my snotty father’s money well enough. But
only to get your story straight, since you insist on being such a know it all:
we were not merely blowing off some steam, as you so crudely called it, we
happen to be in love and if you truly know who we are, you would understand we
had nowhere else to go.”
In his side-view, he saw Ron shoot him a panicked look, but a second later, his
warm fingers wrapped around him, as if he had instantly passed a decision to
stand by him no matter what. But the look on Aberforth’s face was a most
peculiar one.
“Is that so…?” he murmured and suddenly his smirk spread into a full-on grin,
that didn’t make him look any kinder only more bandit-like, like an old pirate.
“In that case, you’re most welcome to continued use of my premises,” he
mumbled, but Draco shook his head and explained coldly:
“As you so astutely pointed out, it’s my father’s money; I have to ask for it
and I can only lie ever so often about having extraordinary expenses related to
books. If I continued to spend it in such quantities, it would… raise
questions. And this… is not the right time for this type of questions,” he
glanced at Ron and was relieved when he saw him nodding furiously.
“Oh, perhaps I should have been clearer, then. I meant… for free,” added the
old inn-keeper matter-of-factly, the light of an incomprehensive smile still
dancing inside of those particular blue eyes. “As it is, I would pay good money
to see an honest attempt at seeing the two families reconciled after such…
explicit animosity between your fathers. So, be my guests, it’s yours if you
want it.”
“Glad to be able to entertain you,” mumbled Ron and by the tone of his voice
Draco guessed he was rolling his eyes up. “But unless you can think of a way of
getting us into Hogwarts in, oh, let’s say, two minutes, I, for my part, am
never leaving the castle again. I suspect Snape will have me permanently
grounded well into the 8th year!”
“You only needed to ask,” the old man chuckled. “Snape, you said? Who wouldn’t
like a chance to spoil this sour bat’s plans! Gentlemen,” he turned around and
stretched out his arms left and right. “Both of you, hold on to my arm… and for
bald Merlin’s sake, close your eyes, I don’t want any vomit on my shoes, this
is my last clean pair… bloody Filch cannot take his drink to save his life!”
Draco shared an incredulous look with Ron behind the old man’s back, but as it
was, they had little other options and certainly none better. 
“I suppose it can’t actually get worse…” Ron mumbled, before he reluctantly
grabbed the old man by his arm and Draco hesitatingly did the same.
Bloody hell!!! Out of curiosity, the blond had ignored the old man’s warning
about closing his eyes… but only for about a second. The pull of his body was
tremendous and when he came to an abrupt stop about half a minute later, he
felt that all his organs might have liquefied against the wall of his body.
This was certainly not an experience he ever wanted to repeat again.
Ron’s feelings on the matter clearly mirrored his own, if his queasy-sounding
voice was anything to go by:
“Mother of god, man, what the fuck… what the actual fuck was that spell?!”
The odd old man let out a stifled chuckle and knocked them both on their backs
with his shovel-like hands:
“You’re welcome, lads… and sadly I cannot share the identity of the wonderful
piece of magic you’re intrigued by, there might be some, er, legal issues
regarding its use, and trust me, you’re better off not knowing. Hurry up, then,
the clock is about to start chiming, and I won’t see my efforts wasted on
Snape’s glee.”
“Thank you,” Draco uttered sincerely, though still feeling faint. “I consider
myself in your debt…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah… show them hell, boys, it’s all I ask,” the old inn-keeper
smirked and pushed them towards the narrow ray of light indicating the way out
of the passage. When Draco looked back, there was no longer any trace of him,
so he turned around and followed Ron to the exit. Only – Ron just stood there
as if petrified, blocking the light and Draco, sensing there was no time to
lose, pushed him forwards lightly so they could hurry up to their respective
dorms.
“Move, love, we need to…” But the words simply froze in his throat. He had
stepped out of the secret passage onto the Hogwarts hallway the very moment the
clock began to chime – and found himself looking straight into the stern stormy
face of Professor Severus Snape. But the coal-black eyes were not on him, not
yet.
“Well, well, well… what have we got here… Good evening, Mr. Weasley, there you
are, at long last. Have you been avoiding me? I’ve certainly missed you in my
survival camp. I suppose you’re going to have to make it up to me. So how
about… detention every evening after dinner, for a week, for foolishly and
cunningly avoiding a class that could prove vital to your… well, perhaps we
shan’t call it well-being since all your friends are in the Hospital Wing… but
to your continued existence, as useless as it may be. I suspect there is no
point in trying to stop you from visiting them, but should I find you wandering
around the corridors in half an hour, you will be cleaning all the toilets in
the castle until the year is out – without the use of magic!”
Ron threw him a panicked, helpless look, but after Snape had frowned at him,
his expression darkening even more, he promptly shrugged and nearly sprinted
away. Draco, however, thought that this had gone surprisingly well for the
Gryffindor. Detention for a mere week and he got to visit his friends – it
seemed that Snape was feeling exceptionally generous! He would normally attempt
to have the redhead expelled! And not a word on what was he doing in Draco’s
company… not one. This could only have one explanation: Snape already knew. And
a cold hand seemed to grip him from inside and closed around his heart, when he
finally felt the full weight of the pitch black eyes focus on him.
“Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy,” the menacing man said in that cold voice of his
and Draco felt his heart sink even deeper into the ground. The Potion’s Master
was clearly making an effort to be disagreeable. “I must confess that I
somewhat doubted your ability to make it back on time, however, your methods
are clearly efficient… if a tad surprising. As is your choice of a partner,” he
stressed matter-of-factly and Draco felt slightly sick at his words. He didn’t
really know what to say to that. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to
compose himself and if possible, to conceive a way to minimize the damage.
Snape knew, that much was obvious and most likely, he knew when he had given
permission. It was clear that his skills as Legilimens were far above anything
Draco could hope to resist or mislead. Yet – the man had helped him and since
his father howling about disinheriting him was nowhere to be seen, Draco had
reason to believe that the murky Professor had kept his word and kept his
secret to himself. Thus it was imperative to determine Snape’s motivation
behind such an uncharacteristic behaviour, before he could pass any further
decisions. But first and above all, he needed to keep a cool head about him; he
knew for a fact that Snape simply despised wimps and whining. So he gathered
all the courage he was ever going to have, opened his eyes and looked the stern
Potions master straight into the darkened face.
“Well… yes, I admit my… choice might seem a tad… exotic,” he admitted bluntly,
and after a snorted “Hmph, try unsanitary and downright insane!” from Snape, he
offered the most leisurely, arrogant smirk in his repertoire and added as
calmly as he could:
“However unorthodox my choices may be, I’m certain you agree that the corridor,
however abandoned at this late hour, is no place to discuss so private a
matter. I would be most happy to offer you a more… extensive explanation,
should I be offered the benefit of more secluded quarters.”
“We could try the Headmaster’s office,” Snape suggested leisurely. “I’m certain
that’s quite secluded enough for you.”
Draco had to employ his finest Malfoyian drill on covering one’s true feelings
to hide the chill those words sent down his body. He was crudely reminded that
Snape was the master of this game and that his knowledge of Draco’s affairs
gave him the upper hand in this verbal confrontation. This was the fight he
could not win. So he played the only way he knew how – like a true Slytherin.
“Whatever you say, Professor,” he agreed obligingly. “If you are certain that
the affairs of my heart are of any interest to the Headmaster, I’m most
certainly willing to follow you and explain my... weekend adventure. The whole
of it,” he said calmly. The feeble threat of involving Snape should he indeed
consider taking him to the Headmaster was the best he could do under the
circumstances.
The look Snape paid him was begrudgingly complimentary.
“You’ve got a cool head on your shoulders, Mr. Malfoy. I’ve always appreciated
that about you,” he grunted with approval and turned around quickly in a way
that it made his black coat swirl around him ominously, for a moment indeed
making him look like a giant, nefarious bat.
“Have it your way,” he barked, as if trying to accentuate that he wasn’t being
obliging out of the kindness of his heart. “Follow me to my quarters. I do wish
to know more about your motivation for so foolish a decision. I have my
reasons.”
Draco was stuck somewhere between a relief and anxiety. At least the vile man
wasn’t willing to humiliate him in public, but once they were safely sheltered
from too curious eyes… This was a double-edged knife. Perhaps he was safer in
public after all; safe from far worse things than public exposure…
But his musings all came down to nothing when he found himself nearly slamming
into Snape, who stopped abruptly to unlock the door to his quarters. Draco
found himself swallowing thickly. This was it, then. He was going to have to
put his trust – and possibly, his life – into the hands of a man he knew for a
fact to be as vicious as they came, if some of the passing remarks, exchanged
between his father and his mother were anything to go by, and he only had his
newly discovered courage to play with. Somehow he knew that his Slytherin
cunningness wouldn’t do him much good under the circumstances – Snape was the
master of all things devious and perhaps the only thing he wouldn’t expect –
was the truth. However hard it was to swallow.
~
The air in Snape’s quarters was chilly, as it would be in the underwater
dungeons, however, it seemed to Draco that this was more a choice than it was
an unfortunate circumstance. Snape could certainly manage a long-lasting
heating charm, yet he masochistically insisted on residing at a grave-like
temperature. Not for the first time Draco wondered, what an unforgivable thing
had the man done, that he punished himself with lack of every comfort
imaginable. His worldly possessions were meagre at best, the room was tidy but
ascetic in a way that could make every monk proud and the room looked more like
a jail cell than a home. But this was no time to ponder upon the oddities of
Potion master’s character and fate. Those dark black eyes were upon him and he
needed his wits about if he wanted to slither out of the unenviable situation
relatively unscathed.
Snape sat down on a solid, hard wooden chair and since it was the only chair in
the room, there was nowhere else to sit, except on Snape’s bed and frankly,
Draco would rather sit on a heap of hot coals than attempt it. So he remained
standing like a common beggar and he assumed that was Snape’s intention to
begin with. Let him have his small victory, the Slytherin decided. Having learn
the subtle art of manipulation at his father’s knee, the blond knew better than
to let it affect him. He had more weapons where that one came from. He remained
absolutely silent; determined not to let the uncomfortable silence get to him.
If Snape wanted answers, he would have to ask questions; ask being the
operative word here. He had no intention babbling himself – and Ron – nervously
into an even bigger predicament.
“So…” Snape started slyly, after it became obvious, that Draco wasn’t about to
turn chatty. “Ronald Weasley. Of all people. I doubt that even a so-
calledChosen one himself would have turned out to be a more surprising choice.
At least your interest in Potter would have been somewhat… justified. I imagine
your father would have known how to capitalize on such an affection greatly… if
it was mutual.”
Snape was right, of course. Had he fallen for Potter and had the Boy-who-lived
returned his affection, Draco’s father might consider it carefully before
dismissing such a significant relationship. Ron, however… And it seemed as if
Snape was reading his thoughts again.
“Ronald, however, is an entirely… incomprehensible choice,” the Potions Master
picked up leisurely. “He has, quite literally, got nothing to his name. No
wealth, no exceptional skill, magical or otherwise, not even a good pureblood
name to be proud of, since the Weasleys are largely considered to be blood
traitors. It’s a choice that would completely aggravate your father – both
fathers, to be honest – and might severely damage your relationship with your
family. Not only did you choose a boy – someone, who cannot procreate – you
chose a boy that’s of absolutely no useto Lucius and the ambitions he has for
your family.”
Snape paid him a sharp, penetrating look as if he wanted him to react, to speak
out and defend his choice of a lover, but Draco still said nothing. He had no
justification in the way Snape expected it. He needed none. And some of his
emotion must have somehow translated to his face, because for a second there
the murky Professor seemed almost surprised.
“But I imagine you know that,” he continued thoughtfully. “Why else would you
attempt to conceal this when you first asked my permission for your weekend… of
entertainment, as you so diplomatically put it? Your attempt at distraction was
a fair one, by the way, and it might have confused someone with less skill,
however, I suggest you try to think of something other than of girl’s nail
polish colour next time: that, I’m afraid, gave you away, hardly any man would
care for and remember such a thing. So – to summarize – so far you have taken
great risks and attempted more than one manipulation and deception, to be with
Ronald Weasley, therefore I believe it is safe to assume that whatever you two
imagine that there is between you, has gone beyond the common teenage groping.”
And Draco couldn’t stop himself from smirking to save his life. One could say
that, he thought tiredly, with a sort of dark amusement. He bore the marks of
Ron Weasley all over his body – yeah, one could definitely say that they were
far beyond mere groping… and that might still be considered the understatement
of the year. And Snape, watching him intently, must have picked up on a tiny
smile in the corner of his mouth as his expression darkened further.
“Needless to say, as the Head of your house and a personal acquaintance, if not
a friend, of your parents, I am highly intrigued – and somewhat alarmed – by
your choice,” he barked. “I’m certain that you are well aware that you have far
better options with your… favourable looks, good-breeding and your family’s
wealth. But it had to be Ronald for you. Why, in Merlin’s name, would you do
such a thing to yourself and to your future prospects?!”
And so there they were. This was Draco’s one chance to explain to the man that
was more than capable of harming him, why it was, that he chose Ron over
everything else that would have been within his reach if he had made a more
calculated, rational choice. He didn’t know if he could, but he at least had to
try. So he looked Snape in the eye, something he usually attempted to avoid,
and told him in a quiet, determined voice:
“Who else but Ron? Have you even looked at him properly? Like, ever? He’s all
fire and laughter and… life, he’s so full of life. I’ve never felt so alive
before… never. Have you ever had someone that only had to look at you and you
felt your cheeks colour and your heart beat faster?”
It could have only been an illusion, but for a moment there, Draco imagined he
saw a most incomprehensible, stunned look suddenly flourish at the bottom of
those coal-black eyes, but it was gone before he could blink and perhaps he had
only imagined it. But even if Snape understood nothing of what he was trying to
say, even if it was all in vain, Draco knew he had to tell him. He owed it to
Ron and to himself to recognise it, to acknowledge and to confess to this shy,
stubborn love born from the ashes of mutual hatred, and for this purpose, Snape
would do just fine. He represented everyone that would ever stand in their way
and because he had asked for it, he was forced to listened to what Draco had to
say – which more than he could expect from his father.
“As you are well aware, I was raised to be cool, well-mannered and composed,”
the blond continued with a quiet fire burning under his adamant voice. “My life
was perfectly charted from the day of my birth, as if it didn’t even matter
what kind of a person I was underneath the role of a perfect Pureblood heir I
was moulded into. I was not even a proper person until I met Ron. Always
someone’s perfect son, a pliant pawn in someone’s far-fetched designs of
pursuing greatness, barely more than a living, breathing tool. I would have
easily stepped into my father’s shoes, if it wasn’t for him. But he would have
none of that,” Draco suddenly smiled at a bitter-sweet distant memory.
“From the first moment on, he cared nothing for my polished, pompous façade. He
challenged me as soon as I laid eyes on him, he made me lose my temper, he made
me feel… well, livid, to be honest… but he made me feel. I looked into those
blue eyes of his and I felt more alive than I did in the other eleven years of
my life. He completely knocked me off-balance and that’s how he affects me to
this day. I went to bed that first night at Hogwarts, thinking of him, my head
full of childish designs on how to retaliate to him for stealing Potter from
me, but thinking of him, not of Potter. I was convinced that I hated him but I
suppose I should have known that obsessing about him the way I did, was a one-
way street,” Draco ran fingers through his hair, as if he was perplexed over
his own willingness to be deluded.
He paid a short glance at the Potion Master’s closed face, but he couldn’t read
anything from it. The man was only listening, intently, as it seemed, but if he
had already passed any judgement of him, Draco couldn’t tell.
“And then I wrote him that stupid taunting song for the Quidditch match,” the
blond continued tiredly. “Well, as you already know, that didn’t quite go the
way I wanted it… so I confronted him. And we got… physical, of course we did, I
couldn’t bloody wait to get physical with him, only I didn’t know… yeah, that
didn’t go down the way I planned it either. I guess… I was ready for it. I
just… I couldn’t help myself, I wanted to feel myself wrapped around him, I
wanted to feel him, that raw life underneath me, I wanted to… god knows, what I
wanted, I only know that I was all over him and before we know it we’re not
fighting but kissing like we’re fighting and… yeah, you know. I started it. I
couldn’t be without any longer… and he barely struggled. He needed it as well.”
He paid another shy look, but the stern face was just as dark and closed as
before, only an unfamiliar reddish tinge to Professor’s yellowish complexion
indicated that he was, in fact, aware of what Draco had been on about. But
Draco couldn’t care less. Emotionally exhausted as he was, he decided to throw
everything to the dogs and just spill it all to the only man that was willing
to listen to what he had to say in the defence of his heart.
“After that I couldn’t let him go. I was a mess, I was scared of myself, I
didn’t understand how could I want someone so… infuriating; I hated him and
myself… and I craved him, god help me, how I craved him, I still do. So it
happened again. We couldn’t stay away from each other after that, we were
pulled towards each other like two halves of the same magic and… I can’t
explain. He just melted all my defences and I cannot for the love of god tell
you how he’s done it. He has a way of reaching under people’s façade, under
whatever rubbish is there to protect us from getting hurt, and he brings out
the true person. It’s a proper gift, and don’t even try to tell me, that it’s
not,” he looked at the dark silent face with fire in his eyes.
“You may think he’s got nothing going for him, but that boy you find so
unremarkable succeeded in becoming Harry Potter’s best friend – something I
have failed at, as my father insists on reminding me at every opportunity. But
Ron is Potter’s thing he’d miss the most,”he stressed and continued with the
same unrelenting energy: “And even Granger, who’s supposed to be the smartest
girl our year, is obviously head over heels about him! He tends to sell himself
short – but I doubt that the true worth of Ron Weasley has escaped your keen
senses. You can hardly refer to yourself as “alarmed” regarding my choice, when
you admit to having seen through my intentions – and still helped me realize my
plans. I happen to think you know very well that there is more to Ron than
meets the eye!”
“Well, yes,” Snape admitted begrudgingly. “I’m myself quite immune to Mr.
Weasley’s allure, I assure you,” he smirked, perhaps only to rattle his cage.
“However, it has caught my attention before that he seems to be quite… pivotal
to some rather important people. There is, to put it plainly, something about
the boy. You, Mr. Malfoy, have painted your affection for your Gryffindor
nemesis in quite vivid colour – beyond my liking, even – however, I still
cannot fathom why would a bright young man like yourself risk his entire
future, the precious bonds with his family, his social standing and the way the
world looks upon him – for something that could be a mere passing attraction,
one he will eventually grow tired off. Surely you are smarter than that!” he
added with a cold, heartless smile.
But Draco simply looked him in the face and said point blank:
“Because it isn’t. It isn’t a mere passing attraction. Don’t ask how I know… I
just do. And so does he. It’s as if we’re bound with some old magic that
refuses to let go, even though we’ve both fought it. He didn’t want me that
first time… yet he could not hold back. And all other times… I’ve been content
for a while living under the illusion that what was us pulling us towards each
other was a mere… teenage crush mixed with some natural defiance of the youth.
I was supposed to be rebellious at this age, perhaps this was my way… And yet I
spend more and more time thinking of him, wishing I was with him, daydreaming…
it was never enough. I will not go into details, but you are gravely mistaken
if you think Ron Weasley is without talents, there’s at least one area in which
he… excels,” he said pointedly and had a small satisfaction of seeing the red
tinge of Snape’s sallow cheeks turn near crimson.
“However, it was not merely… the carnal aspect of our meetings that I’ve grown
addicted to. I became exceedingly attached to his presence alone. I wanted what
came after… you-know-what, even more. The way he held me afterwards, the way he
trod his fingers through my hair to lure me to sleep, the heavenly way his
skin, warm and flushed, smelled inside of his embrace – of unspoken tenderness
and of me. Our meetings grew progressively longer and it was becoming ever so
hard to let go. I wanted him so much I didn’t even realize that I’ve fallen for
him before it was too late.
“And then, the stupid Gryffindor that he is, he nearly ruined it all. He wanted
to know the truth, imagine that. And I was bloody terrified to give it, of
course. For all the reasons you listed above, and then some. As long as it was
only an illusion of want, of lust, of forbidden fruit… I could deal with it.
But love… have you ever been in love?”
The question came so unexpectedly that for once even the master of deception,
which Snape undoubtedly was, couldn’t hide his shock… and something else as
well. This time, Draco was certain of it. It was there. For a reason he could
not explain or rationalize, he was suddenly sure that Snape had once been
wretchedly in love, as unbelievable as that sounded. And it didn’t seem to make
him a better man; the bitterness at the bottom of his eyes was more pronounced
than ever before. The raven-haired man abruptly got up from his chair and went
to stand in front of the enchanted window, projecting its unhealthy green light
onto his sallow complexion. Draco could not see his face, so his answer came
unexpected enough to have startled him.
“Of course I was bloody foolish enough once, who wasn’t?!” he growled. “I was
once young, as hard as it is for you to imagine!” There was bile to his voice
now, such as the blond had never heard before. “I’m only 37, you know,” he
heard him murmur and it came as a proper shock. Somehow he had always thought
of Snape as ancient and yet this sour, miserable man was younger even than his
own father. Merlin, what had happened to the man?!
“And what I’ve learnt from this love, boy, is that it makes you weak,” the
Potions Master barked darkly, and the edge in his voice made Draco’s hair stand
on ends. “Weak and vulnerable… and hollow once it’s gone. It makes you into a
proper fool; just the way it made you into one now. Yet… I still remember how
it feels… and I find it hard to blame you,” he added more quietly, in a
resigned voice, and the blond could hardly believe what he was hearing.
“What happened?” he heard himself ask before he could stop his foolish mouth.
“What happened to the one you loved?”
A bitter bark of laughter was his only answer for a long while and then the
Potions Master answered so quietly the blond barely caught the trail of his
voice.
“She wed another, what else? She couldn’t want me; not the way I was back then.
And then she died. He killed her.”
And the way he had said it, it sent shivers down Draco’s spine. He needed no
explanation on who “He” was; there was just one such person that could make
Snape’s voice quiver. But he knew that much: if He came to kill her personally,
she was no ordinary witch. That was a dubious honour reserved only for the
select few most powerful wizard and witches. And suddenly he had an
inexplicable urge to know more.
“What was she like?” he blurted out and for a moment he forgot about his own
predicament. There was something off about Snape tonight and Draco
instinctively knew that his impressive mind was no longer focused upon him.
Another long stretch of silence and when the Potions Master finally spoke his
voice sounded strangely… broken.
“Beautiful… most beautiful girl I’ve seen. We grew up together, we discovered
our magic together, she was my friend… my only friend. She was… exceptional.
All the way down to her beautiful soul that stripped away all the ugliness of
the world. And you know what? She was a redhead… and a Gryffindor… just like
yours.”
And for a moment Draco seemed to have caught a whim of a distant tragedy that
must have marked this hapless man’s life and crippled him for good. He could
feel his ache even from a distance and it felt like a terrific weight to carry.
There was mortal sadness at the unfathomable loss, a barren wasteland of
unspoken feelings left behind by the years of loneliness – and there was
something else as well… something that felt terribly like… guilt. And perhaps
this was where his salvation lay.
“Will you help me?” he asked all of the sudden, riding an instinct he could
barely comprehend. “I’m not asking for much. I just want you to keep my secret
until it is time… until the time is right,” he corrected himself. “I wouldn’t
ask more of you,” he added quietly, quickly, eager to stress that it was not so
big a favour for a man used to keeping a million secrets of his own.
“I should call your father upon you,” Snape spoke slowly, his words almost
slurred and uncommonly heavy and Draco’s heart sank to the ground. “It would be
doing you a favour in a long run… save you from your own folly; possibly, save
your life…”
“But you won’t,” Draco said in a voice barely above the whisper, afraid to
sound hopeful. His heart must have stopped for the few endless moments while he
was waiting for Snape’s answer and finally, it came:
“But I won’t.”
And the unexpected flush of relief that flooded him, made the blond’s knees
rattle and he had to lean onto the wall not to collapse. Even his voice no
longer seemed to work.
But at that moment Snape turned towards him and there was strange light and
determination etched into his face and somehow, he seemed more… human that ever
before. His voice, however, was the same cold gruff voice Draco was used to.
“There is war upon us, Mr. Malfoy, have no doubt. There will be great losses to
both sides and this time, only one side can prevail. And whoever is to be
victorious, will have to build a new world on the ashes of the old one. And in
this new world, Mr. Malfoy, alliances like yours will be priceless. It will
show our world how to heal itself, it will be the only way for our kind to
persevere. There are not enough of us left to survive years of prolonged
conflict. I believe it is the likes of you and Mr. Weasley that will lead the
way. You see, our world cannot afford to lose you. Therefore… I will protect
you for as long as it is in my power to do so.”
“Thank… thank you,” Draco stuttered. It was really all he could say after such
an eerie declaration of allegiance.
“As you well know… I have no children of my own,” Snape said roughly after a
short pause. “However, a promise made to your mother obliged me to perform
certain… father-like duties and services when it comes to securing your well-
being. You are, effectively, the closest thing I will ever have to a son,” he
said quietly and the numb resignation at the bottom of his dark eyes testified
of this man’s tragic fate better than a river of tears could. But if there was
any tenderness left to Snape, it was buried so deeply under his scarred, thick
shell that it seemed forever lost. He was not a man to indulge weakness for
long.
“And because of the nature of my duties towards you, I’m afraid I’m going to
have to ask you for the trust and obedience one usually asks of their children.
It is imperative for you and the young Mr. Weasley, to understand that it is no
longer in your interest to deceive me. Please keep it in mind that your safety
is my primary concern – and I can think of great many people that would find
the information of your relationship with Ronald Weasley a priceless one and
would undoubtedly try to use it to their gain. It could not end well for either
of you. Do we understand each other?”
And when Draco nodded quietly, still quite unable to find words in this utterly
surreal, insane end to an equally out-of-this world weekend, Snape merely
smirked, clearly satisfied, and then added slyly, as if on a second thought:
“I’m glad we have an agreement. And since we both seem to agree that deceiving
me is not an acceptable option – you shall be properly disciplined for the
attempt you have already made. A week of detention, starting tomorrow evening,”
he said humourlessly and Draco growled internally. The man was irreparable
bastard, there was no helping it. Still, he had to admit to himself it could
have been much, much worse so he wisely kept his mental screams to himself and
headed for the door. He paid one last look to the black figure of a solitary
man, in whom he had placed his trust, and as rattled as he was in this insanity
of an evening, he could not stop himself from blurting out a question he had
not yet gotten an answer to:
“Do you regret it? Do you regret falling in love?”
The dark figure seemed to have frozen to the spot and for one frightening
moment Draco thought he had at last gone too far. But finally the Professor
moved slowly, his black robes billowing around him like a dark cloud and when
his face came to light of a feebly-burning torch, Draco’s heart squeezed in his
chest at the sight of hollow pain etched into it.
“After all this time,” he said with softly, “it is the only part of me still
worth something.”
~
“What are you doing here?!” Ron hissed in panic when he saw Draco leaning onto
the wall in the abandoned hallway in front of Snape’s quarters. “He’ll give
birth to a hefty litter of kittens if he spots us together once again! Oh, for
fuck’s sake, Draco, you gorgeous mad fuck… c’mere,” he murmured suddenly and
pulled him closer… straight into a long delicious kiss that neither of them had
the inclination to stop.  
“I’ll have you know…” Draco panted straight into his mouth, unable to let go,
“… that I was required to come here… fuck, baby, fuck… to serve my detention.
Merlin… you need to stop kissing me this bloody second, or I swear I’ll let you
have me right here and now…”
“Jesusfuck… don’t say shit like that, I’ve got a bad case of blue balls as it
is,” Ron mumbled miserably, but showing no signs of willingness to stop. “I
thought I could do without you for a while, after… you know, this weekend… but
I miss you so fucking much… How can I miss you even more?! We have to find a
way to meet… somehow, fuck if I know how… It’s back to the fucking bathroom if
we must… Those bloody tiles will be the death of me… but still… It’s either
that or run myself around the bend… a boy can only wank so much, you know…”
“Ron…” Draco moaned because this image proved his undoing. “Merlin, Ron… after…
right after the detention… I’ll wait for you and…”
“I hate to interrupt your… idyllic coupling,” a cold voice said behind them and
they flew apart as if scorched at the sight of ill-disposed Potions Professor
glaring at them. “But I certainly didn’t bring you here to cast a light of
debauchery onto this school’s reputation. This is, after all, meant to be a
respectable institution, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Malfoy?”
“Yes, Professor. We’re very sorry, Professor!” Draco mumbled and didn’t even
dare to look Ron into his flushed face.
“Somehow I doubt that there is a shred of sincerity in that statement,” Snape
judged coolly and added as on a second thought. “I suppose we’ll have to add
another week to the lamentable week of punishment you’ve already earned
yourselves.”
He cast a long, shrewd look across their faces, looking for any signs of
rebellion, but turned around swiftly like a giant black bat, when he found
none. Draco resorted to cursing mentally and how Ron had kept his temper in
check, was anyone’s guess.
“Follow me, gentlemen,” Snape told them curtly. “Your… assignments won’t wait.”
The look on boys’ faces grew progressively perplexed when they saw they were
approaching the very statue of Gregory the Smarmy, where the secret passage out
of school lay hidden. And the quick looks they exchanged grew alarmed when they
saw Filch standing in front of it, smiling a broad smile of a blessed man,
happily displaying a full array of his rotting teeth.
“There you go, Argus!” Snape spoke, sounding uncommonly pleased with himself.
“Both here, as agreed. Please give the Headmaster’s brother my regards, I
suppose we should thank him for providing us with such an excellent
opportunity. Tell him not to bother with going easy on them, they’ve both more
than earned their punishment, whatever it is to be. They are not to be damaged,
at least not permanently, if the punishment is to remain in accordance to the
school policy, but I expect Aberforth knows that already. Do you perhaps have
any idea…?”
“Something to do with the equipment,” Filch mumbled in a voice that sounded as
if this year Christmas had come early for him. “He had called this morning,
asking if we could spare some help for a week of two. Just in the evenings, he
said. Some urgent maintenance or some such. I know for a fact that he’s got a
hefty stack of enormous brass cauldrons in that rotting underground cellar of
his, that haven’t been cleaned since Godric Gryffindor hunted down that hog,
hanging on the wall of the inn. There must be all kinds of filth and…
abominable things down there!” he nearly squealed with joy, paying a gleeful
look to the boys.
When Ron paled to an unhealthy pasty shade, Draco remembered his fear of
spiders and his hand ached to touch him and tell him it was going to be
alright. It would be, he’d make sure of that. Spending detention time together
was, after all, more than they could have hoped for. Snape, however, looked
even more pleased with himself after hearing Filch’s description.
“Physical work for a Malfoy and creatures of the dark for a Weasley, how very…
befitting a punishment,” he said with an evil smirk and when Draco saw the
tendons in Ron’s neck tense and his face flush, he mentally rolled his eyes up:
Snape was clearly provoking and Ron’s epic temper might get them in trouble yet
again. Seriously, Gryffindors – what was he thinking getting involved with one
of the volatile lot?!
“Is there a problem, Mr. Weasley?” Snape asked quietly, menacingly.
Draco’s eyes quickly darted towards Ron, full of silent pleading, and
miraculously, the redhead’s shoulders relaxed and he slowly exhaled what was
clearly to be a fit of anger.
“Let’s go!” he said darkly, clearly rattled, but in control and Snape could
barely hide his disappointed frown. “Let’s get this over with. I reckon, we
haven’t got all night.”
“Well, this is where you reckon wrong, Mr. Weasley!” the Potions Master said
coldly. “Your detention is to last as long as the owner of The Hog’s Head Inn
requires your services for the evening. I shan’t be watching the clock for your
return too closely… as long as you are attending your classes regularly every
day,” he added with that special sly malice that made even Draco want to punch
his lights out.
“Enjoy your time together,” the Potions Professor wished them in a smug, acid
voice, but when Draco paid him one last resentful look, the strangely twisted
shadow of the wall-torch erased all malice from his face and he looked
strangely wistful.
The road through the tunnel seemed to last twice as long in Filch’s company.
The man was happily talking to himself, rambling endlessly about all the
horrors that might be hiding in the inn’s cellar and Draco seriously considered
hexing the man’s gob shut when they finally reached the heavy door and they
stepped into the familiar corridor of the Hog’s Head Inn. In the light of
Filch’s company, the sight of Aberforth was a welcome one. Whatever the inn-
keeper’s intentions with them, he at least won’t attempt to ramble them into a
premature grave. He didn’t seem like a man of many words. But he was,
apparently, of a short memory – he showed no signs of recognition at the sight
of them, in fact he barely paid them a look.
“Here you go, today’s offenders,” Filch delivered them with a toothy grin,
staring gleefully from one to the other. “Whatever the two scoundrels have
done, it must have been something that really set Snape’s ships on fire!
Detention, for a week, imagine that! Might even be for two! And they’re yours
to do with them whatever you like… er, except for lasting damage, Snape said…
something about school policy or some other unfortunate rot… I reckon it
wouldn’t go down so well with the Headmaster… he’s got school board and such to
worry about, you know… shame, that. I remember the time…”
“Yes, thank you, Argus, that will do,” Aberforth cut his words short with his
gruff voice and at the obvious disappointment on the caretaker’s face he
pointed his finger in the direction of a loud voices and rowdy laughter.
“There’s a pint of freshly brewed one waiting for you there… on the house,” he
said in a placating tone and from the look on the caretaker’s face it was clear
that was just the remedy to eradicate any feelings of resentment.
“Much obliged, much obliged!” he exclaimed cheerily. “I confess I could use
one… was out of breath for a bit… my legs aren’t what they used to be…”
As soon as he was gone, Aberforth growled what sounded suspiciously as
“bothersome old fart” into his beard and reached for his pocket. Without
another word he brought out a strangely familiar key and placed it into Draco’s
hand. The blond’s eyes grew to be the size of the moon when he realized what he
was just given, and as in response to his incredulous look, the old man
murmured without really looking at any of them:
“This place could do with a bit of renovation. Bought a new mattress this
morning. It needs… testing. I reckon you know the way. Put the key back on this
windowsill here, when you’re done. Gotta go, can’t have the paying customers
waiting for long.”
They just stood there, gawping, while the tall, sturdy man turned the corner
and was instantly gone from their sight.
“Is he serious?!” Ron asked slowly, clearly in shock, still staring with his
mouth open after the Dumbledore’s mysterious brother. And Draco just nodded as
if in trance, not quite able to grasp all the dimensions of the lucky break
they got.
“But why?” he wondered out loud. “Why would he go out of his way to help us?”
“Don’t know,” Ron shook his head, clearly still in disbelief. "He's an old man.
Perhaps he's seen too much misery in his life." But then his blue eyes darted
onto his Slytherin and softened with a gleam of a proud owner of something
precious. He quietly moved to stand behind his blond lover and he possessively
hugged him across the shoulders.
“But I suppose even ancient, rough men think we’ve got something that deserves
a chance,” he whispered into his ear with a tender, enticing kiss and Draco
promptly forgot there was such a thing as a strange, grumpy old man handing
them the key to their happiness for the night.
Ron’s “Coming, love?” was entirely unnecessary, a herd of untamed hippogriffs
couldn’t keep him away from the humble room on top of the stairs and he
clutched the precious key with such force that he was bound to have the
imprints of his nails in the palm of his hands. But his other hand held Ron’s
firmly, their fingers intertwined, and the warmth of their bond spread through
his body with a most undoing, heavenly bliss. He nearly felt like crying.
As soon as the door opened, Ron launched himself onto the bed and
announced, “Yep, definitely new!” . He proceeded to pushed his face into the
sheets and happily proclaimed “Still smells of jasmine!” - and Draco simply
couldn’t stop a smile from crawling onto his face at such… Gryffindor-like
enthusiasm. Impossible, mental lot, those Gryffindors, every last one of them…
but this particular specimen he came to own unexpectedly, was just so bloody
endearing and disgustingly lovable that it had left him quite defenceless.
He slowly approached the bed, hoping to keep at least some dignity about him,
but he was quickly sabotaged by his Keeper boyfriend who didn’t give a rat’s
arse about being poised and restrained and oh-not-so-desperate. The redheaded
brute had – accordingly to his abominable standards – deviously tackled him and
unceremoniously dumped him on the bed and then proceeded to fry his brains with
one of those scorching, oh-fuck-it-should-really-be-patented pornographic
kisses that left Draco with swollen, tender mouth and with an aching cock
pressing into the hot body of his lover.
“You think we’ll make it?” he asked him breathless and even as he did, he
couldn’t stop undressing him, couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop owning
him. Every second was precious, every warm touch priceless, every quiet moan a
confession of love.
“We’ll make it,” Ron said firmly, with passion and devotion straight into his
mouth and took more of his prize, as if he couldn’t get enough of wonderful
soft flesh, declaring with such tenderness that the beautiful blond boy he once
hated, angrily wanted and now stubbornly loved, truly belonged to him. “The way
I figure… we’ve already made it. Now we just have to make it last.”
Bought and sold, Draco thought strangely moved and nearly stunned by relief
those words brought him. Bought-and-fucking-sold, Gryffindor dearest. You need
say no more. Damn, I’m in love with the smartest boy alive… I’m in love. I’m so
fucking in love with you… It was always love… what else? God, I’m such an
idiot… Love. I’ll never have anything else for you, never… only love.
He never said those words, Ron didn’t give him a chance. When that sweet, bone-
melting mouth came for him once again and his devilish redhead whispered “I’ll
let you have me tonight… show me, what you’ve got, my beautiful serpent
prince”, Draco god-honestly wasn’t left with enough of a functional brain to
contemplate their future. They belonged to each other in this priceless,
timeless moment and with enough of those, they would have a future.
Chapter End Notes
     This last chapter was probably not what everyone hoped for, but I
     happen to like closing stories down with a bit of hope for the future
     and in the given circumstances those two could have barely made it on
     their own. I hope it wasn't too much of a disappointment - I could
     have written a sexier, yet more superficial chapter, but I wanted to
     give them something solid to hope for (and the writing came out a bit
     tedious, I know). Thank you all for reading, I'm off to new
     challenges! :)
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