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.
"Beast."
"Dandy."
"Uncultured swine."
"Slytherin."
"Gryffindor."
"Wanna go again?"
"Yeah, alright."
