A First Time for Everything
The first time Ron Weasley set eyes on Draco Malfoy, each was all of eight years old and tagging along with their respective fathers to the Ministry's Father/Son picnic. Along on the trip with Arthur was also Ginny, of course, as she voted herself one of the 'sons' by virtue of the fact that she would 'simply die' if left alone to be trained in the arts of home economics.
Ron had not been impressed by Malfoy.
The brat had wandered about, nose in the air, demanding the biggest ice lolly, the first look into the new alchemy lab, and his sandwich remade because it 'had too much smelly cheese'. He'd made a snide comment about Ginny definitely belonging with boys that earned him a shove from said Ginevra Weasley right into the great stone fountain. Later referred to for years as a 'terror' and 'Weasley's little hellion' by everyone who had witnessed the incident, she'd escaped punishment entirely. This was largely because Arthur was of the opinion that the name-calling and uproar was only due to the fact that everyone else had to suffer the brat without giving into the impulse to shove him, and no one thought Ginny Weasley was special enough to merit exception.
Ron had been more subtle in his early attempts at Malfoy-bashing. He'd simply spit in Malfoy's lemon squash while the brat was entertained complaining about his sandwich.
The first time Ron laid eyes on Draco the fall in which they should all have been starting their seventh year, Ron slugged him in the stomach, holding Draco's shirt fast to be able to get another hit in before he crumpled to the ground.
Hermione didn't try and stop him, though she helped instead by keeping her wand trained on them and restraining a nearly murderous-looking Harry from joining the fray as the lights around them flickered violently on and off.
The first blow had knocked the wind from Draco's lungs, and he struggled to speak as he fumbled for the package in his pocket. Fingers closing around the object wrapped tightly in many layers of magic-dampening cloth, he held it up as Ron pulled back to deliver another blow. "Locket," he finally managed to wheeze out, followed closely by a hoarse mutter that sounded like, "Wankers."
Harry straightened immediately. "Ron, wait. Malfoy- what?"
Ron eyed Draco with distrust, but released him with a shove. Draco's free hand moved to his stomach. "Christ, did you have to bloody well--"
Impatient, Harry barked, "Malfoy! What the fuck? Why shouldn't we turn you in to the Ministry?"
"Because, prat-- I've got the locket. And I know about the Horcruxes..." Draco found that bit hadn't been all that difficult to get out after all. "...And I can help you."
Oh but that, on the other hand, had.
The first time Ron mentioned his memory of the Ministry picnic incident to Draco, the great git scowled as if the hurt was fresh, eyes going even more narrow as Ron tried too obviously not to laugh. Granted, not laughing had been more survival on his part, given that they were creeping up on Carrow Manor, waiting for the signal to move in. Truth was, Ron had not-so-long ago decided he couldn't necessarily be friends with Malfoy, but he could tolerate him to an extent, and when one was quite possibly about to die, one shared these sorts of things with people one tolerates.
The coin clenched in his hand shook and went hot, and Ron suddenly did not have to try to not be laughing. His eyes came up and caught Draco's-- the light was bad but he could see the anger and determination and sheer fucking fear in their shiny reflective surface and he knew his own told the same story. Without another word, Ron nodded, and he and Draco crept up to the servant's entrance, wands drawn, ready to stun and/or hex anyone they came across. Draco hazarded a glance through the window before spelling it open, Ron covering his back.
Hermione had taken the wards down once she and Harry had made their way in through the basement and if all went well, they should be waiting in the main corridor from which they would all head upstairs. Considering how rarely all went well for them, there was no telling what might happen.
They didn't have to wait very long to find out. The door at the end of the corridor imploded in a blast of red light and Hermione stumbled out, shouting as she shoved Harry ahead of her.
"Up the stairs! MOVE!"
No one questioned Hermione when she was in field general mode, and as such, everyone moved. It was entirely possible that Draco may have grumbled under his breath but he was nonetheless half a step behind Harry. Ron remained as rear guard at the base of stairs, poised to hex anyone that followed as Hermione hurtled past.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs, Draco's eyes widened as he recognized the figure that suddenly Apparated not more than ten feet away. Frozen for only a split second, he cursed and called out, "Potter, down!" as he slammed into Harry, shoving them both into the wall as the first spell flew from the newcomer's wand.
The spell did indeed miss Harry, but glanced past Draco's shoulder even as he tried to avoid it, and sent him flying awkwardly back and half-sideways, past Hermione and squarely into Ron. The two of them fell the last three steps onto the landing together, Ron's name a worried shriek on Hermione's lips. A very brief one, that is, as her attention was diverted immediately by helping Harry fight off whomever it was that Draco had spotted in the upstairs corridor.
Ron, it turned out, was good for more than telling stupid stories about his childhood. He was an excellent mat, considering that Draco had landed directly on top of him, face cushioned on Ron's chest. Ron shook his head briefly before taking Draco's head in his hands and tilting it up so that he could see his face. "Ferret?! Malfoy - you breathing?"
Indeed breathing, though wondering why and how, Draco blinked, considering the twin images of Ron just now solidifying into one. "Y've got to--"
Finding that he might actually be mildly concerned, Ron shook him slightly, "What? Malfoy, damn it--"
"Getupnfight. It's Him."
Ron's eyes went wide and he probably quite literally stopped breathing for a split second before rolling Draco off and popping to his feet with a slight wince. He bent to pull Draco off of the ground, though his attention was focused over his shoulder on the cursing and power and light thrumming from the corridor just out of sight. "Can you walk?"
All Draco had really wanted to do was curl up and wait for it to be over. Instead, in a move that convinced him he'd been spending too much bloody time with Gryffindors, his hands grasped Ron's and he stood shakily. "Of course. Don't be an idiot." He took a deep breath and raised his wand again, though his peripheral vision still seemed a little foggy, and set his foot experimentally on the first step. Satisfied that he would not fall, Draco nodded and took another, muttering, "As if you child prodigies would last a day without me."
The first time Ron and Draco got piss drunk in one another's company was some time not so long after the incident in the Carrow Manor. Regardless of the fact that they were no longer technically on the run, they found themselves in a seedy pub much akin to those they had spent the last year staying in under assumed names.
They had known that last mission would be hard; damn near impossible, even. They had been there looking for the seventh and final horcrux and common consensus held that Voldemort wasn't just going to let them take it. Hermione had owled Remus for Order backup as it were, but no answer was forthcoming and they'd gone anyway.
It turned out later that he hadn't been in any state to receive correspondence. By all accounts, the services had been lovely, but the four of them had been too busy sleeping off their various hurts (read: hospitalized) in the brave new post-Dark Lord Wizarding World to attend.
Blearily, Ron held up a tumbler half-full of firewhiskey in Draco's general direction, not at all distressed that it took Draco at least two tries to get the glasses to clink together.
"Cheers, mate. Was a good fuckin' fight. Did good."
Draco nodded enthusiastically as he sipped something considerably more refined than firewhiskey. "Yeah yeah. You too. An' Granger. An' even bloody Potter. That bastard. Who knew he had it in him?"
Ron puffed out his chest. "I did. All along. 'S a fucking fact, there."
With a dismissive wave, Draco emptied his glass. "See, an' that's why that's not impressive. 'Course your lifelong friends are gonna believe you. 'S wizards like me that change sides and have to eat their words and look like assholes that are impressive." He looked at Ron as he waved for a refill, only to find the redhead staring, open-mouthed. "What?"
"You've-- I think-- oh fuck, think you have a point. Either need another or to stop."
Draco opened his mouth to say something cutting, and instead began to laugh. A laugh that degenerated into more of a drunken man-giggle which, as is common with such beasts, set Ron to laughing too. He wiped his eyes, and fell over a little, bumping Ron's arm in the process. "'M right more often than 'm wrong. You should-- should listen t'me. "
Without a second thought, Ron guffawed and reached over and ruffled Draco's hair the way he might Harry, shoving his head a little as he pulled away. "Would mean you plan t'be seen about with Potter's gang of disgraces to th'name of wizard. You doing that?"
Unconsciously, Draco leaned into his hand, a little disappointed as it pulled away, though just now he realized that the entire length of his leg was pressed tightly to Ron's under the table. Too drunk to be distressed, Draco instead relied on more instinctual methods of dealing with this sort of situation. He raked his hair back from his face and grinned his best 'drawing attention to how pretty I am' grin. "Might." It wasn't after all that he was trying to get anything out of Weasley... more an attempt to see if he could.
Right.
Ron blinked hard at the grin, and fumbled for his drink. Once it was in hand, he regained his composure such as it was, though he wasn't sure why he cared. "Yeah? That'll be interesting." Maybe he was sure, but he didn't know that he was drunk enough to let it filter in.
Draco pressed his advantage - whether Weasley cared that he was a bloke wasn't at stake at all; he'd known from the moment he was forced to spend more than five minutes in a room with the golden trio that given the choice, Ron Weasley would rather have Potter on his back than Granger, and Draco couldn't blame him one bit. He leaned a little closer, looking around furtively, beckoning with his finger for Ron to lean too, as if to tell him a secret.
Rolling his eyes, Ron leaned in and Draco scooted his chair ever closer, boldly dropping his hand on Ron's thigh. Draco looked up through half-downcast lashes, his voice pitched low and as smooth as possible given his advanced state of intoxication. "I doubt my housemates want t'see me back. 'Sides, with Potter retiring to the country to raise a gaggle of half-Weasley brats, you'll need someone else t'look up to." His hand crept up Ron's leg, and he continued with a smirk, "I make a better role model by far." How long had he wanted to do this? There was no telling.
Ron's voice rumbled low in his throat, his 'f' shaky as he tried not to entertain the thought that if Malfoy would just fucking move his hand a little further... "Fuck you, Malfoy."
"Exactly that, I think," Draco smirked. "Could. Room's not so far 'way." With that, his hand moved across the inside of Ron's thigh , high enough up that the side of his hand and his little finger brushed the seam of Ron's jeans, and it was apparent that Draco had not been wrong. Not that he often was.
Eyes wide, Ron registered that Draco had just propositioned him, was sliding his hand along his leg in ways that were altogether too familiar, and that he was achingly hard at the thought. As usual, he spoke before properly considering what he was about to say. "Should. Let's go."
The first time Ron outright shagged another bloke, he spent half the time vaguely shocked that it was Draco's firmly rounded arse in his lap, Ron's cock buried deep within him. The other half of the time, he thought that it was the best thing he'd ever felt in his life, firewhiskey notwitstanding.
Draco had pulled him through the door of his own room, but it was Ron that had slammed it shut behind them, cradling Draco's face in his large, callused hands as he practically held him down to kiss him breathless, clothes melting to the ground on the way to the bed somehow, as they tend to in such drunken shags.
Eventually, Ron found that Draco's hips seemed shaped just right for being held tightly in place, his cock impossibly hard and caught between their bodies. Ron sucked in a hard breath every time Draco shifted and rocked forward, every time his lips skated across Draco's pulse point as he nipped along Draco's throat; every time Draco's fingers clenched against his skin and murmured his name-- not 'Weasel' or even 'Weasley' but 'Ron', voice breathy and shuddering with need and desire.
It seemed Ron's night for trying new things, and as such, he plucked up the courage to pry a hand from Draco's hip and snake it between them. Wrapping his fingers around Draco's cock and tugging experimentally upward, he was rewarded with a loud almost-sob and this time stopped the muttered stream of cursewords spilling from Draco's mouth with a prolonged, open-mouthed kiss.
Later, sometime in the wee hours after a nap and a double dose of hangover potions, he found it unmentionably arousing that it was still Draco fucking Malfoy, this time on his pale, flawless knees whimpering around Ron's cock, one hand pressing relentlessly at the base of his shaft, the other stroking himself in time to the bobbing of his head. Fists clenched tight -one in the over-bleached sheets, the other in Draco's soft, nearly translucent hair- Ron finally pried his eyes from his lover just long enough to let his head loll back as he came with what could only be described as a howl.
Someone thumped on the wall from the neighboring room with a muffled admonition to please shut the hell up jesuschrist, but their curses were drowned out by Draco's as his body tensed and sprung and snapped. Ron bent with a hissed inhale to catch the rest of Draco's swearing in a sloppy kiss and tasted himself and Draco and the disconcerting certainty that this was the beginning of something bigger and far more frightening than a mad shag in a dingy pub, and kissed him harder nonetheless.
The first time Ron woke up curled around Draco, the sun may have been shining brightly through the half-pulled shade, or perhaps it was raining so hard the fat splops of rainwater slammed relentlessly against the poorly-hung panes of glass. The details were unimportant, as either way, Ron's fingers tightened around Draco's, nosing his hair with a sigh, oddly unsurprised as Draco kicked his foot back and hooked it around Ron's calf, almost as if to keep him from moving away. As if he had been planning to go anywhere.
The fact remained that it may have been the first time, but it was obviously far from the last.
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