Eight Days a Week

Chapter 7 - Saturday

Ron is settled between Draco's spread thighs on the ground as the two of them gasp for air. There's very little room on the floor of the overstocked closet, but neither man seems inclined to complain. Ron is nuzzling Draco's pale neck underneath him, and if the Slytherin is put off by the uncharacteristically gentle gesture between them, he says nothing. Ron reflects, somewhat amazed by the ease with which he managed to corral Draco into such a shamelessly submissive position beneath him. And yet, at the same time, Ron doubts very little that Draco is anywhere but exactly where he wants to be.

That morning, Ron had been adventurous and forgone the necessity of underwear himself. A decidedly brilliant decision on his part upon the feeling of a pair of spent and satisfied cocks between them. Draco had been pleasantly surprised by Ron's brazenness, rewarding the man with an especially gratifying orgasm. Ron marvels at the short-sightedness of whomever had invented the practice of wearing underwear, gloating internally that they clearly had never managed to seduce a Malfoy. Or been seduced by a Malfoy. Whatever.

Draco bucks up against him, nibbling on his ear, as if already eager to start again. Ron finds himself unable to help pushing back, although he does maintain the wherewithal to pull away as Draco leans up to kiss him. The blond blinks up at him, confused. "I... I have to tell you something," Ron manages to his own credit, stopping himself from rocking the smaller man into the ground.

"Oh?" Draco's voice is as carefully neutral as possible.

"Yeah, I... It's Harry." Draco stills beneath him. "He's been discharged from the hospital for two days now."

The Slytherin allows a relieved laugh to escape his lips. "Is that all? I figured as much yesterday."

Ron blinks down at him, surprised. "You did? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why did you come back today after you found out I don't have a girlfriend?" Draco counters.

"Yeah, alright," Ron concedes, sucking on Draco's collarbone.

"What was The Boy Who Lived to Torment Me sick with anyway?" Draco wants to know even as he presses himself up against Ron, pleasurably.

"Wizard Pox," Ron answers, hands on Draco's hips as he continues to move.

"Oh, is that all? Wait, what?"

Ron pulls back, staring down at the blond, perplexed. "What? What is it?"

"I've never had Wizard Pox, Weasley. So help me, if you've given me Potter's germs, I'll-"

"Relax," Ron chuckles. "He hasn't been contagious for days. Long before we started..." He lets that last statement drop.

"Filthy, muggle-born diseases," Draco mutters.

"Sorry you came?" Ron's tone is amused, but the insecurity in his voice is genuine.

"No," Draco insists. "Malfoys aren't in the habit of harboring regrets."

"Right. Because Malfoys can do no wrong."

"I didn't say that. We just don't tend to dwell on past mistakes. We prefer to make new ones."

Ron laughs despite himself. "Happy to oblige in your latest error."

"Are you? Are you really?" Ron's silence tells him all he needs to know. "Good. Merlin knows what it would do to my fragile conscience to have the misery of a Weasley on my hands."

"You're such a brat, Malfoy."

"Some things never change," the blond concedes.

"And some things do," Ron retorts, running his hands up Draco's sides.

"Mmm," the blond squirms. "Nothing's changed. You've just finally gotten a clue."

"Oh, so it's my fault for not interpreting all those years of open hostility and persecution as undisguised lust? Silly me."

"Yes, silly Gryffindor. Never knowing a good thing until it reaches up and bites him in the neck."

Draco leans up as if to repeat the gesture and Ron pulls back at once. "Don't you dare."

The Slytherin has the audacity to pout at the rejection. "Can't fault me for marking my territory."

"Just so long as you don't piss on my leg."

"Gross," Draco complains.

"Priss," Ron chuckles.



"Uncultured swine."



"Wanna go again?"

"Yeah, alright."




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