Eight Days a Week

Chapter 8 - Sunday Again

By some coincidence, they arrive at St. Mungo's at the same time. Standing at the front entrance together, they eye each other warily. "Look," Ron breaks the silence. "Do you want to go somewhere else? Try this - whatever 'this' is - outside of a hospital closet?"

Draco looks thoughtful, then amused. "Asking me out on a date?"

"Err..." Ron runs his hand through his hair, uncertainly. "Well, yeah. What if I am?"

"Interesting. I accept. A hotel it is, then?"

"What? No! I just thought we could... I don't know... grab a bite to eat or something."

The blond seems thoroughly entertained now. "And do what, catch up? Reminisce about old times?"

"Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be."

"It is difficult. That's the challenge. That's the fun."

"So what do you propose, then? We just keep meeting in strange places to shag and then go our separate ways as if nothing is different?"

Draco cocks his head, intrigued. "Is something different?"

"Seeing as how I was never in the habit of fooling around with old school rivals before this week, I'd have to say yes. A lot's different."

Draco takes a step closer to the redhead. "Different how?" he wants to know.

"I..." Ron appears to be at a loss for words. "I'd just like to get to know you now. Is that so hard to understand?"

"Think I've changed somehow?"

"No, probably not. But seeing as how I was never allowed to get to know the real you in the first place, I'd say it's all undiscovered terrain anyway."

"Curiouser and curiouser," Draco murmurs, enigmatically, taking another step forward.

"Look, maybe this is all a bad idea. I'll just return to my life of forced celibacy and you... you go back to whatever it was you were doing before you followed me in here."

"Is that what you really want?"

"What difference does it make what I want? You clearly can't imagine a relationship with me outside my trousers, and that's not... that's not why I keep coming back here."

Draco raises an eyebrow at the use of the term 'relationship,' but refrains from comment. Instead, he comes a last step closer, finally near enough to wrap his slender fingers around Ron's wrist and stroke the pulse point there. Ron looks shocked that a Malfoy would ever willingly touch a Weasley in public (outside a physical fight), but makes no move to take his hand back. The touch is concealed between their robes anyway, it's not like anyone's going to stop and stare.

"Why do you keep coming back here?" Draco presses.

"I... I'm getting really sick of being the one to answer all the difficult questions. Why don't you try telling me whatever's going on in that infuriating blond head of yours for once."

"Alright," the Slytherin consents with surprising ease. He tilts his head to whisper in Ron's ear, lips grazing agonizingly over his skin. "I want you naked and hard above me. I want your hands to burn trails over my skin where they touch and your mouth to leave marks on my flesh to brand where it's been. I want to walk around knowing what it's like to have you come inside me, heady with the knowledge that you're too much of a goody-goody Gryffindor to be with anyone else so long as I have you under my thrall."

Ron shuts his eyes against the onslaught of imagery. Pretty words, but not quite what he is looking for. "And in the morning," Draco continues. "I want to wake up and find you still there, snoring as you are probably wont to do, so that I can't pretend nothing ever happened. So that I can't forget for a moment - even though you're you and I'm me - that it was real. Because I don't want to forget, don't want to keep on unless you're there beside me. Irritating the fuck out of me."

Ron's eyes spring open. "Malfoy..." he breathes.

"Does that answer your question?"

The redhead turns his face into Draco's impossibly soft cheek. "I really want to kiss you right now."

"So do it."

"You don't care that people might see? That people might recognize us?"

"Should I? I've never been in the habit of explaining my romantic interests to anyone before. Any reason I might start now?"

Ron gulps. Romantic... "I... no. Malfoys don't answer to anybody."

"Exactly," Draco confirms, nibbling on Ron's earlobe. "Neither do those a Malfoy chooses to associate with."

Again, Ron's eyelids seem to fall closed against his will. Taking a slow breath, Ron reaches up with his arm that isn't still in Draco's grasp and wraps it around the smaller man's waist, pulling him against his body. "I guess I'll find that out then, won't I."

"I guess you will."

Ron kisses him then, leisurely, enjoyably, prepared to pull back and tell the entire world to fuck off if they don't like the fact that Draco's tongue is in his mouth, intertwined with his own assertive one. Ron feels Draco's fingers around his wrist move down to take his hand. It's the most tender expression Draco has made towards him so far. It shouldn't please him so much, but it does. He's standing in front of the most famous wizard's hospital in Britain, holding hands with Draco Malfoy, and he couldn't give less of a damn what anyone might have to say about it.

"Now," Draco's lips move faintly against his own. "Do you still want to get something to eat or can we go find that hotel?"

Despite himself, Ron hears his own laughter. It's a close call. Food sounds really good right about now. On the other hand, nibbling on Draco for the next several hours sounds even better. "What if we meet in the middle and order room service?" he tries.

"Such a Gryffindor," Draco sighs, mouth ghosting down his neck. "Always thinking with your stomach."

"Such a Slytherin," Ron ripostes. "Always thinking with your dick."

"I'll have you know," Draco protests, his free hand touching Ron in completely inappropriate places for such a public venue, "I have only the best interests of both our dicks at heart."

"Glad to know someone's got my... back."

"I'll have you on your back alright," Draco shifts against him, trying to ease his own arousal. "Now take me somewhere nice, before I go down on you right here and now."

"You would," Ron retorts, but the thought of Draco's mouth anywhere on his body makes the rejoinder come out sounding weak.

"Are you aware," Draco continues, "that Malfoys have insatiable sexual appetites?"

"That tells me a little bit more about your father than I ever needed to know, but no, I was not aware. I am, however, a very fast learner."

"Good, then I won't have to waste my time breaking you in."

"You might be surprised at how well I can keep up with you."

"I might be. Why don't we find out right now?"

Ron chuckles, gripping Draco's robes where they fall at the small of his back and kissing his temple. Again, the soft gesture seems completely incongruous to their 'relationship,' but neither man says a word about it. "So eager," Ron marvels. He would never admit as much aloud, but the blond's demanding lust for him makes him feel so good. So needed. And by this, of all creatures.

"So horny," Draco whines.

"I can feel that."

"So stop fucking teasing me already, and let's go."

"I'm teasing you?" Ron inquires, humored. "You're practically humping my leg and I'm expected to have the self-control to find us a hotel before I can do anything about it? Fuck that, let's go back to the closet."

"I want to feel you poking me, not some misplaced broom."

Draco's pouting, openly. Ron finds it beyond adorable (and not a little bit of a turn on) but doesn't risk getting his balls ripped off by pointing that out. "Alright, there's a nice hotel just two blocks down," Ron concedes. "Think you can make it that far?"

The Slytherin pulls away from him, at once completely calm and composed, and offers a suspiciously serene smile. "Of course."

Draco skips down the steps, blithely, not waiting for Ron to follow. Blinking and coming back to himself, Ron shakes his head, amazed, and trails the blond down the street. In the hotel lobby, Ron hangs back, watching intrigued at the ease with which Draco procures them a room. The young woman at the reception desk appears defenseless against the Malfoy's charms, slipping them a key to a penthouse suite rather than to the regular one-bedroom Draco had absently requested. Ron scowls, jealously. Must the man attract so much attention to himself?

Of course, neither Ron nor Draco take much notice of the benefits to the upgraded room as they enter it, the latter divesting them of their clothes swiftly as soon as the door is shut behind them. Ron trips clumsily over the trail of their discarded garments as Draco ushers them into the bedroom. Once inside, Draco pushes the tall redhead down on the bed none too gently, climbing up into his lap with impatience. Ron's palms move instinctively to Draco's hips as the blond takes his painfully hardened cock in hand. "W-wait. Don't we need...?"

"You really don't get out much, do you," Draco awes.

A biting reply finds its way to the forefront of Ron's brain but before he can voice it out loud, he gasps and lets his head fall back to the bed as Draco mutters a spell and his cock is instantly slicked over with some sort of sweet-smelling lubricant. "How... did you do that?" Ron asks, impressed. "Since when do you know wandless magic?"

"Trick of the trade, Weasley."

"Trade...?" he queries, absently, shutting his mouth abruptly at the feel of Draco sinking himself down onto his slippery dick. "Oh God..."

"Not God," Draco grits his teeth, squirming until he's comfortable. "Draco Malfoy."

Ron's hands dig deeply into Draco's hips where they're sure to leave fingertip-shaped bruises. Draco is so hot and so tight and so... so perfect that Ron finds himself wondering how it is his brain hasn't completely shut down yet. Then the Slytherin begins to move, slowly at first, then finally - finally - with more urgency, until Ron is quite sure something in his mind has in fact completely snapped.

Draco has one hand braced against Ron's taut stomach, the other pulling mindlessly on his own cock, as he rides the hapless man beneath him. Ron's erection is long and fulfilling inside him, sliding easily in and out of Draco's ass as the blond moves up and down. Unable to keep still, Ron hauls himself up off the bed and wraps his arms around Draco's hips. This slight change in position is enough to cause Draco to bite his lip and tremble in his arms.

Wrapping his free arm around Ron's neck, Draco kisses the redhead deeply, moaning his enjoyment into Ron's mouth. Ron grips Draco's ass and begins helping him move faster and faster over his dick. Legs braced on either side of Ron's legs, Draco clenches down on the shaft plunging inside of him, eager to feel the other man's release inside his body. But Ron isn't ready to come yet. Swatting Draco's hand away from his own cock, Ron proceeds to pump the Slytherin for all he is worth.

Both arms now free, Draco clutches Ron's shoulders in his palms, thumping up and down, seating and reseating himself in the taller man's lap. Ron growls and sucks hard on Draco's long, exposed neck, as he continues tugging on the blond's seeping erection. After a while, Draco thrashes and keens, and Ron knows he's won this round. Draco's coming all over them, thick release spilling out and over Ron's fisted hand. Only when the Slytherin's completely spent does Ron thrust up brutally and let himself loose.

Hot come fills Draco's body as the lithe man buckles and falls into Ron's embrace. Shuddering, jerking up with his hips roughly, Ron holds Draco to him as they ride out the last of his orgasm together. Draco's arms are supple around Ron's neck and the redhead kisses the shoulder below his mouth with a reverence he didn't realize he was feeling. Collapsing back against the bed, Ron brings Draco down on top of him and holds him to his chest.

"Have you... Do you do this a lot?" he manages to ask after a moment's hesitation.

"I've done it enough," Draco replies, evasively.

"I'm not... That is to say, I haven't..."

"Weasley, I couldn't care less about the extent to your sexual experience. Or lack thereof, as the case may be. In case you missed it, that was mind-blowingly good sex. I'm not complaining about your performance."

Ron bucks and rolls them, so that he's pinning the blond to the mattress. "You're not to let anyone else touch you this way. Not anymore."

"Proposing marriage, already?" Draco laughs, unmercifully.

"No, I just... I don't share well."

"Lucky for you, neither do I. That means if Potter so much as lays a finger on you, I'll-"

Ron growls. "What is with you about me and Harry?"

"I'm not stupid, Weasley. I know that you're in love with him."

The redhead stares down at him, astonished. "I... Maybe I was once, alright? But I got over the fact that Harry would never love me that way and I moved on. You should too."

"Hmm," Draco replies, noncommitally. "Kind of hard to when you're thinking about him while your dick is inside me."

"I wasn't-! Lord, Malfoy, who would ever have suspected you of all people could be so bloody insecure?"

"I'm not insecure," the blond denies, hotly.

"Yes, you are. By some bizarre twist of fate, I'm here with you. You. Somehow, in the span of one week, you've managed to completely take over my brain. I can't move two steps without thinking about you. Wanting you. Then you finally get me into bed, and what do you do? Fuck me into oblivion, then accuse me of thinking about someone else - who I'm not with, mind - while you do it!

"Don't you get it? I can't even think straight when you're around! I wouldn't have the resources to be fantasizing about anyone else now, even if I wanted to. Which I don't. Shockingly enough, you're more than enough for one person to handle. You're demanding and obnoxious and you can barely manage to open you mouth without making me want to tear my hair out in frustration, but despite all that I keep coming back for more, because I can't get enough.

"You're like some sort of venom in my veins that I can't even begin to fight off. How could I even try to think about another person - any person - when I've got a hungry, maddening, beautiful man in my lap who wants nothing more from me than whatever sexual release I can provide? Gods, Draco! It's like you're not used to being with someone who just wants you for you. In fact, come to think of it, I'm quite sure you aren't."

Draco watches him end his tirade with a guarded eye. "Are you quite finished?"

"Yes," Ron breathes, "I can't think of anything more to say."

"What makes you think all I want from you is sexual release?"

Ron blinks, taken aback. "What?"

"You said how could you think about anyone else when you have a man in your lap who wants nothing more than the sexual release you offer. I'm asking you why you think that's all I want you for."

"Isn't it?"

"Do I look desperate to you, Weasley? If all I wanted was a quick fuck, I could get that anywhere. I've got men and women by the hoards trying to bang my door down, I can promise you that."

"So why...? I don't understand."

Draco rolls his eyes. "I'm here because they're not you. They don't manage to get under my skin, they don't know how to make my blood boil with fury and excitement, and they don't act that interested in getting to know the 'real me' as you - for Merlin only knows what reason - seem so dead-set on doing. Is it so hard to believe those things about you might be attractive to me? Do you really think me so inhuman?"

"No! Of course not!" Draco raises an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe I might have once, but I don't now. Despite all your bluster and talk, you're not the same person you were when we were in school together. And I... I can't get over it. I find it bloody fascinating. It's just... it's still hard for me to believe that you've changed so much that you've managed to find something desirable about me. I'm just... me. The same regular, boring Ronald Weasley I've always been."

"Now who's being insecure?"

"Okay, I deserved that. But I... God, I hate asking you this, but... What on earth do you see in me?"

Draco settled his arms on Ron's shoulders, clasping his hands behind his neck. "Didn't I make that clear? I want you because of the ways in which you want me. Ways no one else ever has. I'm with you - I feel you - and it's like all those things I've been trying my whole life to convince other people about me are actually true. That I'm beautiful, desirable, deserving, worthy. Not because of my name and not because of my money, but simply because I'm all those things to you.

"I didn't fight with you in school because I really cared that you were poor or a Weasley or Harry Potter's best friend. I fought with you because you gave me your full attention and it felt good. Even when you were pissing me off, it felt good. Like I must really be somebody besides my magic, besides my father's heir, to earn so much consideration. Spiteful or otherwise. It didn't matter that you hated me, because I was still in your system. Somewhere I have no intention of leaving."

"God. I mean, wow... I just... wow."

"Yeah."

"This is... this is a really good thing, this you-and-me thing. I like it a lot."

"Good to know."

"Do you think you might... I mean, maybe you could like it too?"

"You don't see me pulling on my clothes and racing out the door, do you? I want to be here with you, Ron."

Ron shivers, startled by how good his name sounds coming from Draco's lips. "I don't want to be anywhere else either," surprising himself with his own admission.

"Now that we've established that neither one of us is leaving any time soon, do you think we might move on to more... gratifying... activities?" He wriggles underneath him as if to illustrate his demand.

The Gryffindor swallows, heavily. "You can't be serious. Wait, strike that. Of course you're serious. But we just finished."

"Yeah, finished. Don't deny you're ready to go at it again, I can feel you half-hard inside me."

"I'm not denying anything."

"So what's the problem? Round two, let's go."

Ron can't suppress the broad grin from stretching across his face. "Insatiable sexual appetite, indeed."

"I warned you."

Slipping his arms up from under him, Ron moves Draco's long limbs over his shoulders and begins to push a little. "And I believe I promised to keep up."

"You did," Draco shuts his eyes as Ron's length is once again filled to its capacity with blood, stretching him in absolutely sinful ways. "And a Gryffindor's word is as good as gold."

"Draco, open your eyes and look at me." After a hesitant moment, the blond obeys. "Keep them locked on mine. I'm not going to fuck you now."

"You're not?" the Slytherin sounds tremendously disappointed.

"No, I'm not."

"But you're-"

"Inside you. And I'm going to stay that way. I'm not going anywhere. When I really start to move, it won't be to take you or claim you or mark you mine. You're not someone to be held down that way. I want you to feel how I feel. Scared and uncertain and heady with desire. All because of you. And I don't mind. I really don't mind. I'm here because you're letting me be inside you, and God if that doesn't make me feel like the most powerful man on earth."

"Ron..." Draco sounds awed, breathing becoming borderline erratic. Too fast... Everything is moving too fast. It isn't supposed to be this way. Rather, it is supposed to be this way, but not for him. Not for Draco Malfoy. It's too soon. He isn't prepared to feel so... strange. So necessary and wanted.

The redhead starts to rock against him. Despite his good intentions, Draco's lids slip shut, his bottom lip disappearing beneath his teeth, as he clenches down on Ron's solid cock. Ron's control on the situation falters a little, while he re-situates himself within Draco's body and begins pumping harder. Draco mewls, helplessly, hands scrambling for purchase on Ron's sweat-slicked skin as the feeling of being completed invades his senses.

For his part, Ron is caught between the desire to take things slow - make it so good for Draco - and the undeniable need to thrust as deep inside the man as he can get, as fast and as hard as he can. Draco is quivering around him and Ron risks slipping into an early release with every drive inside the man's body. Draco is no less hot or tight around him than before, though he is pleasantly stretched enough by now to welcome home Ron's every plunge.

"Don't... don't hold back," the Slytherin manages to gasp.

"I'm not," Ron grunts, ramming inside harder and harder. "I just... I want..."

"You won't break me," Draco promises, pushing up against the hard body above him to grant it easier access within him.

"No one could break you," Ron swears, suddenly mindful enough to take Draco's neglected dick in hand and fist it several times.

Draco cries out at the abrupt sensation of being touched from the inside out. Clasping Ron's head between his shaking hands, Draco makes sure he's kissing the other man, granting his tongue eager admittance into his mouth, before he starts to come. Wave after wave of orgasm tears through him as he moans, his body shattering and reforming from a million tiny tremors. Overwhelmed by the sudden feeling of his cock being milked for all it's worth, Ron tumbles after him, shooting a hot flood of come deep inside his lover's body.

Ron eats away at the tiny sobs spilling from Draco's mouth as the pair ride out the tsunami of release, continuing to fondle Draco's cock even as it spends its last. The blond is a jittery mess beneath him, hands clinging desperately to his hair. As if he might actually be going anywhere. As if Ron could even begin to remember how to use his legs after that experience. Ron watches, mindfully, as Draco's head drops back to the bed and his lips emit one final, contented sigh.

Before the blond can come into awareness, Ron slips out from his body. Draco makes a small noise of protest, but otherwise lets him go. Ron can't think when he's buried to the hilt inside the pliant Slytherin, and right now he really, really needs to be able to think. What just happened here? What had he just let happen? That wasn't fucking. He had said as much himself from the start. He had just made love like it meant something. And it did. To him at least, it did. Ron waits with baited breath for any sign of a reaction from the relaxed man underneath him.

When the reaction comes, it is somehow both unexpected and entirely, completely right. Long, blond lashes flutter open and soft, coral lips turn up into a smile that is so genuine, so blindingly sincere, that Ron can't help but crush his mouth against it. Draco welcomes him eagerly, sucking at his lip as his tongue slides up the roof of his mouth. Ron's hands somehow find themselves entangled in the fine, silky strands of Draco's hair and he wonders how he could only be discovering that joy now.

"Mmm," Draco licks at Ron's lips once more before pulling away. "That was..."

"God, yeah," Ron exhales.

"It's never been like that before."

"It's never been like that before for me either. I wonder what that means."

"Does it have to mean something?"

"No, I guess not. Wouldn't mind if it did, though."

"I guess I don't really mind either, then."

"What do we do now?"

Draco slips his legs off Ron's shoulders and lowers them down to the bed. "Well, I didn't have anything else planned for today," he says, yawning. "I think I might actually use this bed to sleep in. I'm knackered."

Ron laughs a little. Maneuvering a seemingly boneless blond under the covers with him proves challenging in more ways than one. Once settled, however, Draco appears content to rest his head on Ron's chest and close his eyes. "Weren't you going to order in food or something?"

"Yeah, well, I was. But, see, the phone's all the way over there and my clothes are in the other room and you're so warm under these covers..."

"Lazy..." Draco grins.

"I'm just not hungry anymore. I'm... satisfied."

"Ronald Weasley not hungry? I have heard it all." Draco gets pinched for that one. "Ouch! Hey, don't get mad at me. You Gryffindors have notorious stomachs."

"Oh, really? And what are Slytherins notorious for?"

"Sexual stamina. Obviously."

"Obviously."

Ron kisses Draco's nose, curious to test out the ever-changing waters of their dynamic. Draco's eyes open and cross as they stare at the pointed appendage as if it might suddenly now fall off. Ron laughs at the sight and Draco shoots him a glare. "Sentimental Gryffindors," he complains.

"Stubborn, emotionally handicapped Slytherins."

"Me stubborn? How about you, you pigheaded, foolhardy..."

"...devious, slippery-minded..."

"...witless, bleeding heart..."

"...immoral, shameless..."

"...guilt-ridden, martyr-loving..."

"...devastatingly handsome..."

"...annoyingly charming..."

"...Slytherin."

"...Gryffindor."

"Yeah, I think that just about covers it."

"Quite."

"Hey, Malfoy?"

"Hmm?"

"Who's going to tell my parents?"

"Who's going to tell mine?"

"Point. Maybe we should keep, uhh... this... on the down-low for now."

"You can tell Granger."

"Why her?"

"Because I really want to see her face when you do."

"Evil. Pure, concentrated evil."

"You love it."

Ron doesn't say anything to that. His arms have settled comfortably around the blond, their legs a tangled jumble under the covers. He meant what he said earlier. About being satisfied. Something about the Slytherin quiets him inside. Calms a storm he never realized had been raging. He hopes Draco feels a similar serenity because of him. He doesn't pretend to know the layered depths of damage done to the man in his embrace, but he aspires to salve the wounds all the same.

"Stop thinking so hard, you'll give yourself a headache."

"Shut-up and go to sleep already, you brat."

"But then what will you do without my fetching conversational skills to keep you company?"

"Live a life of peace, comfort, and tranquility?"

"Boring, boring, and more boring. Life's better when it's messy and hard and exciting."

"So says the big, bad Slytherin."

"Yes, and the big, bad Slytherin goes on to say that if you ever want to get laid again, you'll shut your yap and let me get some sleep."

"You started it," Ron grumbles.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"I thought so. You should really rest up too, you know."

"Why's that?"

"Round three. The clock's ticking."

"Good Lord, Malfoy."

"That's the second time you've referred to me as some sort of deity. I'm beginning to feel flattered."

"You can't keep me in this bed forever. I have a job. I have friends. I have a life."

"Yeah, but they were all dull before I came along."

That's almost true, Ron thinks, but doesn't dare say it aloud. "And your life was so grand this time last week?"

"Sure. Fast cars, fast women. You know, all that."

"Why do I get the feeling you wouldn't know how to operate a fast car or a fast woman?"

"Maybe because you're dependent Gryffindor brain doesn't want to picture me inside of either?"

Touché, Ron grouches. "Maybe I will order something to eat. You're not really so warm after all."

"Ring me up a salad, would you? Might as well keep my strength up."

"With a salad? Eat something, for the love of Merlin, Malfoy. You're too skinny as it is."

"I'm lithesome. And anyway, since when did my body cease to be attractive enough for you?"

"Who said it wasn't? I just think you could stand to gain a few pounds. Wouldn't want to accidentally bruise your delicate body should I start to get a little rough."

Draco takes one of Ron's hands in his and lowers it to his hip under the covers. "Too late."

Ron looks down to see five blossoming fingerprints on Draco's otherwise unblemished skin. "Oh my God, I did that?"

Draco nods against his chest. "Quite grabby, you are."

"Draco, I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."

The blond snorts, amused. "It's not a big deal, Weasley. You didn't do it on purpose. Besides, I've had plenty worse done to me."

That remark floats in the air with all the lightness of a lead balloon. "What?"

Ron's voice is very still and very deep, and it causes Draco to open his eyes, wondering at what he could have said that might incite such a reaction. Oh. Yeah. "Forget it. It's nothing."

But Ron's not forgetting it. He rolls them over and begins to inspect Draco's body for bruises that might pre-date their last tussle. "Who's hurt you, Draco?"

The Slytherin's body shivers, unwillingly, with the force of Ron's whispered words. His mother had always warned him not to get involved with a Gryffindor. They have a nasty habit of trying to save you. "Look, it's nothing, really. Just... recreational hazard. You know."

Ron gives up his search for marks on Draco's skin and props himself up on his elbows to glare down at the blond. "No, I really don't know. What are you talking about, recreational hazard?"

Draco's beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable with this line of questioning. "I know you're not in the habit of sleeping with everything that moves - like everyone seems to believe I am - but one of the downsides to sleeping with other men is that they can get a little rough at times. Sometimes I like it, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I come back for more, and sometimes I don't. It's really not worth your energy getting concerned about."

Apparently, Ron disagrees. In fact, he looks downright murderous. "How can you...? You let people hurt you and you like it? What, do you think you need to be punished for something?" Ouch. That one stings. Draco doesn't reply. "You do, don't you. You think you deserve it. You think you have the pain coming."

"Just shut-up, Weasley. No one's asking you to play head doctor here."

"That's why you're so damned demanding. Trying to push me into getting rough with you?"

"Yeah, well, it didn't work, did it," Draco gripes. "I've never had anyone be so gentle with me in all my life. Never had anyone..."

"What? Never had anyone, what? Say it."

"Be so damned eager to make me feel good," he finishes, bitterly. "Like it really meant something to you. Which we both damn well know it didn't, seeing as how just a week ago you wouldn't have spat on me if I had fallen at your feet on fire."

"Don't you dare turn this around like I'm the culprit here, like I should feel bad for the way things used to be between us."

"Used to be?"

"Yeah, a week ago, I might not have cared so much if you were starving or on fire or... or letting men hurt you for their pleasure. Who knows. But I do know you're not about to start claiming the opposite is true from your end, so there's really no point in talking about how things were last week. Things are different now. Damned if I know how or why, I just know they are. And that means, the thought of another guy - any guy - laying a hand on you with the intent to do harm is going to piss me off, whether you like it or not.

"And don't you dare try to tell me what we just did meant nothing to me. You may think you know me, Malfoy, but you don't. You don't know the kind of person I am. You're right, I'm no psychologist. I barely have a clue as to what's going on in my own head, let alone somebody else's. But I know how I feel. I know that for some godforsaken reason, I enjoy being with you - when you're not being an insufferable prick - and that how I felt when I was... when I was inside you just now... I've never felt like that in my whole, entire life.

"I don't have half the sexual experience you apparently do, but I know when something feels different. You feel different to me than the other blokes I've been with. What that means, I don't know, except I'd kind of like to find out before you get tired of me like you surely do all the other guys you sleep with and kick me to the curb. And I'm sorry - honestly, I feel terrible - that you've gone and involved yourself with a Gryffindor like me, because guess what? That means I'm going to care about you. It means you are not allowed to be alone anymore.

"It means that if you ever let another man hurt you, I'm going to find out who he is and I'm going to fucking kill him."

Draco stares up at the huffing redhead, wide-eyed and speechless. "Okay," he manages, desperate to appease the incensed man above him. "No one hurts me with you around. Got it."

Ron doesn't appear very pacified. What does he want to hear? Draco's mind scrambles to come up with something. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to... to get you so worked up. I just... if I seem blasé about all this it's only because I've gotten used to the idea that... that sometimes things just hurt. But maybe you're right, maybe they don't have to. For all my... experience, I still don't know.

"And... I'm not sorry I've gotten myself 'involved' with you, Gryffindor or no. I have no intention of... 'kicking you out.' Not when I had to go through so much trouble just to get you this far in the first place. I guess I don't really know you, you're right. But I... I can tell this is different too, and I don't want you to leave just because I sometimes piss you off. I'll probably be pissing you off a lot, even when I don't intend to.

"Just... don't be angry anymore, alright? I wasn't trying to upset you."

Ron's eyes shut tight of their own accord. Hearing Draco ask him so plaintively not to be angry with him - the sheer irony of the fact - takes the wind out of his sails like nothing else could. This is all so wrong. A Draco Malfoy who panics at the very implication of Ron's wrath? What the hell had been done to him in those seven years since they'd last seen each other at Hogwarts? Who dared make this proud and ruthless survivor know what it's like to cower?

Ron isn't sure he's prepared to have that question answered for him. Draco's hands are clutching his biceps, anxiously, waiting for some sort of response from the redhead above him. So Ron says the first thing that comes to mind. "I'm not leaving you, Draco. Even if you piss me off. You can't get rid of me that easily. You never could."

The Gryffindor opens his eyes to stare down at the wide and limpid silver pools beneath him. Draco's quiet and uneasy, completely taken out of his element. So Ron kisses him, hoping that might somehow bring him back around. Bring back the impossible, insolent boy that Ron had grown up despising, and now... what? Desired? Needed? Surely not. Yet, here they were. A Malfoy and a Weasley. Fighting, yes. Bickering, yes. But also touching and kissing and wrestling each other naked. Had the entire world gone insane? Since when was everything in life that seemed to make sense suddenly so topsy-turvy? Ron isn't sure, but he thinks maybe he likes things better a little askew.

Draco's sweaty palms grip Ron's arms tightly, closing his eyes and granting the redhead's tongue access to his mouth. Draco isn't sure what brings about this sudden change in Ron's demeanor, but he's grateful for it nonetheless. A Ron Weasley who well and truly seems to care about him is completely outside the realm of his experience. He doesn't know how to behave around this new man. Falling back on old habits, Draco attempts to be flippant. "Ready for round three?" His lips smile but his eyes aren't really into it.

"No," Ron says, firmly. "I want to lie here and hold you awhile, and I want you to let me."

"What? Why?" Draco is alarmed.

"Because I'm pretty sure no one's done that for you before. At least, not for a long while. I want you to know what it feels like. To be touched with no one expecting anything of you. No one wanting anything from you except your own contentment."

"I... alright."

Ron wraps his arms around Draco's slender body and sighs, content, as Draco envelops his own body in his. Draco's warm and willing in his embrace, and Ron questions why it never occurred to anyone before how anxious this body was to be held. Then again, Draco probably never let anybody get this close to him before. It makes Ron wonder why him? Why now? But he doesn't ask. Doesn't press the issue.

"This is... nice," Draco ventures.

"I know it is."

"I've never..."

"No, I figured you hadn't."

Ron kisses under Draco's jaw, and the blond-haired man murmurs his approval. But Ron doesn't take it any further than that. He needs Draco to understand that this isn't about sex. This isn't about showing up, taking what you need from the closest willing person, and then leaving. Ron doesn't know what this is, but he knows it's right, knows it's good. Knows he doesn't want to be without it anytime in the foreseeable future.

"I want you," Ron admits, quietly.

Draco pushes up against the other man, instinctually. "I'm here," he offers.

"No. Not like that."

"Like what then?"

"Like this. Just like this. You. Me. No distractions, no expectations, no people who might disapprove. Just... this. Every day."

Draco swallows. What is he saying? "Ron, I can't-"

"Make promises, I know."

"It's not that. I just... I don't trust myself not to screw this up somehow. I don't know how to... how to be whatever it is you see when you look at me."

"Just be you, Draco. That's all I ask."

"I can't see that being enough."

Ron growls. "There's that exasperating insecurity again. Don't you believe me when I say you won't be able to just push me away so easily?"

"I believe you. I think you'd stay long after you should have gone. You're obstinate and you're caring and those can be dangerous traits to have. They can make you miserable."

"God, what the hell's been done to you? If I wasn't obstinate and caring, I wouldn't be here with you now. I wouldn't have made love to you like... like we're really in a relationship or something. I wouldn't have let you drag me into this weird thing we have going on here. I wouldn't have kept coming to the stupid hospital after Harry was discharged just so I could see you again and hope I might be able to come up with some rational reason why I might be able to keep seeing you.

"But there is no rational reason for any of this. You're here and I'm here, and none of it makes any sense, and yet there it is. You're too scared to go and I'm not eager to leave."

"I'm not scared!"

"You're fucking terrified. Of me. Of yourself. Of whatever the fuck is going on. You should have seen yourself when I was inside you. The second time I was inside you. You were too jacked up on emotion to even know where to put your hands. You probably followed me into St. Mungo's that day thinking, 'There's Ron Weasley. He's not a bad looking bloke and I always love a good challenge. I bet I could get him to fuck me in eight days time.' That's what you were thinking, wasn't it."

"Well, to be honest, I didn't think it would take eight days."

The quip falls on deaf ears. "Yet, you didn't count on all these alien feelings inside. You came looking for a proper lay and what you got was me."

Draco can't help it. That makes him laugh. "Don't beat yourself up, Weasley. You're a pretty decent lay."

"Screw you, Malfoy."

"No, we already played that game. First, we played a round of good, old-fashioned carnality, like I wanted. Then, it was the round of I-love-you, you-love-me, Gryffindor sentimentality that you wanted. Now we seem to be engaged in an endless cycle of who can psych the other one out first by behaving like there is actually some sort of connection here when there's not. How am I doing so far?"

"That's it, I'm out of here. I don't have to take this kind of crap from you of all people. You petrified, conceited, little twit."

"Oh, so now I'm little?"

Ron ignores the crack, hurdling out of bed and out the bedroom door, slamming it behind him. Draco jumps a little when it bangs shut, shoving the covers down to his waist angrily and propping himself up in bed. For a long time, he just sits there staring at his hands. Pale, refined hands that are - okay - a little on the small side. His mother's hands. Draco scowls. He's a thoroughbred Malfoy, there's no doubt about that. But sometimes... sometimes... those pesky Black qualities - like an unquenchable passion for following one's heart - pop up and remind him even purebloods can be a little tainted.

Ignoring the low rumbling in his stomach that indicates he once again hasn't eaten enough today, Draco flops back down on the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, and falls asleep. The room's paid up for the night, he figures he might as well take advantage of it. Better than going back to that oppressively oversized house he likes to call Malfoy Manor. Draco means to get his own apartment soon. There's nothing more than tradition stating that he has to live in the house of his birth. It doesn't feel like he really lives with his parents - he never sees them anymore, not even at mealtimes - but still a smallish, manageable flat somewhere might be nice.

Draco doesn't dream. At least, he doesn't remember dreaming. In actuality, his mind is awash with images of potions boiling over, of practicing his latest kissing technique on girls he'll never fancy, of Quidditch sixth year when they finally made him captain. He envisions being at work, trying and failing to stay awake while his father drones on and on about the latest Malfoy investments to their board of trustees. Draco imagines the apartment he might get if he ever moved out of the Manor, maybe he'll get a cat, he thinks, or at least some sort of tall plant. Draco does not dream of red hair or freckles or men who don't know how to see things for how they really are.

By the time Draco wakes up, it's dark outside. His stomach is loudly protesting his recent neglect of it, but Draco is too pissed off to bother doing anything about it. It takes him a moment to recollect why. His pillow smells like Weasley. Like aftershave and musk and, for some strange reason, imported chocolate. The sheets he's been sleeping on reek of sex and Draco represses the sudden urge to be sick. It was just sex. Nothing more. He has just-sex all the time. No reason to get worked up about it now.

Walking over to the adjoining bathroom, Draco relieves himself quickly and stares at his reflection in the mirror. Usually he likes what he sees, but tonight his eyes look hollow, his cheekbones a little too defined. Maybe he really doesn't eat enough, Draco muses, then puts that thought to bed. No one ever notices what he does or doesn't eat. For the most part, they're not interested in the daily things he has to do to maintain living. Well, Ron had been interested. But now Ron was gone, just like the rest. No reason to dwell on that.

Draco leaves the bedroom, stumbling a bit in the dark before reaching the blinds, pulling the hanging chain until they swivel open. He has a pretty nice view, actually. The penthouse suite turned out to be good for something after all. London is bright and active at night, and Draco looks out over the city wondering if maybe someday he'll have the courage to lose himself in it. Just save up a little money and disappear. He could leave everything he's ever known and start anew. Try living like a muggle, even. See what all the fuss is about. Maybe then he'd know what true freedom tasted like.

That's when he glimpses the image in the glass. Pivoting on his heel, he turns to glare at the man sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room. Ron's hunched over gracelessly, as is the Weasley wont, elbows on his knees, gaze intently following Draco's every movement. Apparently, he had gotten as far as his trousers before giving up on his clothes, as he is shirtless and wearing no socks or shoes. His eyes betray absolutely no emotion whatsoever, a detail that Draco can't help but find a little bit impressive. Really, he didn't know Weasley had it in him.

For lack of anything else to do, Draco stalks over to the bar and begins pouring himself a drink. Scotch, naturally. Nothing nearly as nice as what his father has in stock, but enough to do in a pinch. He takes a long swig and regards the redhead, warily. "Why are you still here, Weasley? I thought you were leaving."

"I was," came the immediate reply. "I got as far as my trousers when I realized something."

"Yeah? And what might that be?" Draco starts pouring himself another drink.

"You're an idiot."

"Pardon?" A little of the scotch goes down his throat the wrong way and he has to swallow quickly to keep from coughing.

"You're an idiot," Ron repeats.

"Yes, well, brilliant observation as that may be, I really don't see why you had to deliver it to me personally. An owl to my secretary would have sufficed."

"You have a secretary?"

"All Malfoys have secretaries."

"You're an idiot," Ron states for a third time.

"So you've said. Do you intend on expanding on that thought, or should I just take it and run with it?"

Ron waits for Draco to pour himself yet another drink before he responds. "I was halfway out the door when I had this sudden epiphany. When it came to me, all the anger I felt towards you dissipated into so much nothingness. Almost as if it didn't matter anymore. As if it had never been there."

"And this grand epiphany... this would be the whole thing about me being an idiot?"

"Yes."

"I see." Draco downs his drink in one.

"Here I was thinking I actually cared about what you thought."

"What I thought about what?" Draco reaches for the bottle.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't drink anymore."

Draco raises an eyebrow, challengingly. "Why not?"

"Because I'm trying to talk to you, that's why not."

"I know you're trying to talk to me. Why do you think I'm drinking to begin with? All you ever want to do is talk. Talk, talk, talk. Well, talk and save me. And hear birds singing when we fuck. Apparently."

Ron ignores the jibe. "Reach for that bottle again and I'll smash it where you stand."

For a minute, Draco looks like he wants to put that statement to the test. Ron doesn't appear to be backing down, however, and Draco decides it wouldn't be worth the clean-up bill. He doesn't need liquor to tune Ron out anyway. He can do that well enough on his own. Draco sets his empty glass down on the bar top, carefully. "Do continue with what you were saying. About not caring what I think about anything? I'm most interested in where this is heading. Really."

"I never said I didn't care what you thought about anything. I said I didn't care what you thought about this."

"This? This what?"

"Us."

"There's an 'us' now?"

"Yes, there's an 'us' now."

"Hmm. Seems like I remember with perfect clarity having a life completely Weasel-free until just about a week ago. Can't imagine how that could change so soon."

"Yeah, well, it did. You saw to that yourself."

"So there's an 'us.' And you don't care what I think about it."

"Right."

"And?" Draco motions for him to proceed.

"And you're an idiot. A caged, stunted, fearful, little fool." Draco's trying to figure out which of those adjectives he should be most insulted by when Ron keeps talking. "Why should I care if you don't see anything here worth pursuing? You wouldn't know the potential for a good companion if it bent down and bit you in the ass."

Draco actually turns to look at said ass as if to make sure Ron himself hadn't tried such a thing when he wasn't paying attention. "Go on," he encourages, flippantly. "Please."

"See, what I couldn't figure out was why me, why now. You let me hold you, you let me make love to you, and yet in the end you still threw those things back into my face as if I were no different than any of the other blokes. And it finally occurred to me. I'm not."

"Not what?"

"Not different. I could slap you around like they do and I'd still have as equal a chance of getting through to you as I did today."

"I never said I let anybody slap me around," Draco disputes.

"You didn't bring me here to save you, but neither did you bring me here for an easy fuck. You brought me here to prove a point."

"And that would be?"

"That I could treat you like royalty and you could still turn me away. That you don't need me. And you know what? Congratulations, you probably don't. You could live the rest of your life never knowing someone like Ron Weasley and be perfectly content. Well, as perfectly content as anyone could be being an unfeeling, uncaring, smarmy bastard."

"Smarmy?"

"But that's not even the worst of it. The worst of it... is that you were right not to trust me when I said I wouldn't leave. Because I almost did. I almost left you just like everyone else in your life leaves you, and for exactly the reason you predicted. Because you screwed up and pushed me away. Big. Deal. If I can't grapple with a little bit of Malfoy wrath and resentment, I might as well check out now, right?

"You also predicted I'd be too stubborn to go. Again, you had me pegged. I should leave. I should walk away right now. The last thing I need in my life is some drowning, emotional cripple taking me down with him."

Draco blinks. That actually stung a little. "So I'm enormously screwed up. You said you're not here to save me. So what do you want? What do you want from me, Weasley? This is the best I can do."

"Yeah, you're enormously screwed up. More screwed up, probably, than anyone I've ever met in my life. But you know what occurred to me? I'm enormously screwed up too. Screwed up in ways I haven't even begun to let you see. I mean, I'd have to be a mess to hook up with you in the first place, right? You hate me. And this thing? This... 'us'? That's enormously screwed up too. It shouldn't be. It's all wrong.

"And yet, maybe? The two of us... being enormously screwed up together? Is the only way things can ever be right. In my mind, I know this is a high-stakes gamble. You'll hurt me. I'll hurt you. It could become a never-ending circus of misery. And yet, everything in my heart... my heart - you know the organ, the one you long ago ripped out from your own chest and staked to the wall just to see if it was really ever beating to begin with? - screams at me not to let this go. That there really is something here.

"And yeah, it's really fragile and really scary and the odds are so against us, it's in the same realm of unfunny as your tasteless jokes, but it's here. It's not going away unless we shove it away, and I, for one, am not prepared to do that. Color me masochistic, but maybe I just want to see how this inevitable train wreck will end. With you and me flailing on the ground on fire? Or the both us hauling ourselves out of the ashes to begin anew."

Anew. There's that word again.

Draco briefly considers mocking Ron's comical phoenix metaphor when he stops. Instead, he finds himself walking over to stand in front of the redheaded man, unabashed by his own nakedness, and staring him down. "You're really serious about this." It's a stated fact, not a question.

"Yes, I'm really serious about this."

"You've been sitting here all this time, contemplating this. Thinking about what you would say to me when I walked out that door to find you still here. Wondering how you could pitch your strange, romantic ideals and have me actually go along with them."

"Yes."

"Did it come out like you intended it to?"

"More or less. Did it work?"

Draco pauses, thoughtfully. "More or less."

Ron reaches out and grabs his wrist then, tugging him down until he's sitting on his lap. Draco thinks this is an awfully bold move for someone who had only recently called him 'idiot' and 'cripple' and 'little' again. He thinks this, but he says nothing. Draco isn't sure but he suspects the alcohol in his system is finally catching up with him, because suddenly he feels heavy and heady and oh so tired. Which, strangely enough, reminds him of something.

"My pillow smells like you," he hears himself say. "You made my pillow smell like you."

"Well, apparently, it was my pillow too."

"I don't like to share my pillows."

"Okay. I think I can live with that."

"I also don't like to share my food. Keep your fingers off my plate or I'll bite them off."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"My wardrobe is my wardrobe. You won't be walking around wearing my designer clothing anytime soon."

"I couldn't fit into your small clothes anyway."

"And another thing. I am not small."

At some point, Ron has started to play with Draco's fingers. He looks extremely amused by this last proclamation. Too amused, in Draco's not-so-humble opinion. "Of course not," he indulges. "You're perfect. All Malfoys are perfect, no matter their size, shape, appearance, or quality."

Draco looks at him, dubiously. "So long as that's clear," he says, finally.

The Slytherin's stomach chooses that untimely moment to begin rumbling, violently. Again, Ron looks entirely too amused. "I'm going to order room service," he declares.

"Do whatever you want. It makes no difference to me."

"I'm willing to bet," Ron mulls, "that you have yet to eat today."

"I had coffee this morning."

"Coffee."

"...and a piece of toast."

"Hmm. Looks like I'll be ordering in for two then."

"What, are you pregnant? I'm not hungry."

"You'll eat anyway."

Draco's eyes flash, dangerously. "Going to hold me down and force-feed me?"

"No, that would be childish. I'm just going to withhold sex from you until you have at least one decent meal."

Draco's jaw drops open. The very idea of someone withholding sex from him is almost too absurd to even contemplate. "I thought you said I was perfect," he snaps. "If I'm so bloody perfect, then why are you trying to fatten me up?"

"I'm not trying to fatten you up, you prat. I'm trying to keep you alive. People need to eat to survive. It's an unfortunate side effect to the human condition."

The blond's mouth moves up and down like a landed fish's for a few seconds before he decides on what to say. "Fine. I want a filet mignon, medium-rare. And I do mean medium-rare. That thing better be damn near bloody. I want potatoes, whipped not mashed, and I want string beans."

"Anything else, your majesty?"

"And a roll. No butter."

"For dessert?"

"For dessert I intend to have you. Anywhere I want, as much as I want. So eat while you can."

"Gotcha. Is that all?"

"No."

Draco leans forward then and presses his open mouth to Ron's. He isn't sure he has the guts to do it until it's done. Silly to think of a Malfoy ever becoming shy around a Weasley of all people, but Draco feels a little uncertain as to the reaction he'll receive. His uncertainties are quickly allayed. Ron responds to the touch immediately, slipping his tongue between Draco's teeth and tasting the inside of his mouth, wantonly. Draco moans a little bit as Ron wraps strong arms around his naked waist and tugs him roughly against his chest.

When Draco pulls back, he's pleased to note the somewhat bedazzled and happy look in the redhead's eyes. "Sentimental Gryffindor," he mocks, pushing off of him to stand. "Go order my food before I change my mind about it."

Ron blinks, dazedly, for a moment. "I'm not having room service come here with you walking around like that."

"Why, are you ashamed of my body, Ron?"

The Gryffindor pretends he isn't thrilled with the sound of his first name on Draco's tongue. Instead, he stands up and grabs the blond's hips, pressing them together with his own. "No one gets to see you like this but me," he announces.

Draco looks up at him, amazed. "Merlin, how did I end up with such a possessive boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" Ron smirks.

The Slytherin shoves him away, irritated, bending down to try picking apart his clothing from Ron's on the floor. "Merlin, I can't see a thing in here. Flip a light switch, will you?"

"Malfoy, did you just call me your boyfriend?"

Draco purposefully ignores him. "This is definitely not mine," he says, picking up an offending article and tossing it aside.

"Boy-friend," Ron sing-songs.

"Screw this!" Draco straightens up, frustrated. "If you don't like other people to see me naked, I'll just wait in the other room for the damn food."

"Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend."

Draco whirls on him. "Yes, boyfriend, alright? Let's not make a big bloody deal about it. Boyfriends are what happen when fuck-buddies follow each other home. They end up dating. Are you happy?"

Ron has a huge, silly grin on his face, and Draco thinks he looks decidedly ridiculous. "Boyfriend," he braves, dodging the hand that Draco sends flying in his direction to punch him in the arm.

"I'm going in the other room," the Slytherin states, loudly. "Call me when the food's here and you're prepared to feed it to me by hand."

"I thought I wasn't allowed to touch your food," Ron calls at his retreating back.

"Rule #1 to dating a Malfoy: there's an exception to every rule," Draco shouts back.

"What's Rule #2 then?"

The blond pokes his head back into the room, momentarily. "Rule #2 is hurry up and order the damned food already because I'd like to have sex again sometime this millennium!"

"Sir! Yes, sir!" Ron mock-salutes. Moving towards the phone, Ron pauses, an evil gleam in his eye. "Rule #3?" he hollers, bravely.

Draco storms back into the doorway, glorious in his fury and nudity. Oh, if looks could kill, Ron grins. "Rule #3 is if you ever want a certain Malfoy to give you head again, you'll pick up that bloody phone, dial the number, and order his food, because Malfoys fucking hate to be kept waiting!"

"Geez, Malfoy," Ron snickers. "Kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"No," Draco smiles in a disturbing parody of sweetness. "And I don't kiss obnoxious, tiresome, risking-my-wrath Weasleys with it either."

Ron watches his lover march back into the bedroom with a smirk. Does he dare? "Rule #-"

"RON WEASLEY!"

"Alright! Alright! God, you sound like my mother."

"Oh, I so did not just hear that."

Ron snickers and picks up the phone to dial room service. Ordering Draco's pretentious meal and his own more modest one, Ron hangs up and walks into the bedroom, curious as to what the blond's gotten up to. Draco's sitting on the edge of the bed, still deliciously naked, going one-on-one with the remote control to the telly. "Stupid muggle machinery," he's muttering.

Ron takes the remote from him gently and turns on the box with a single click. "How did you...?"

"Harry and Hermione each have telly sets in their flats. I've spent enough time with them to pick up a trick or two."

"Maybe I should get one."

"Oh yeah, I can see that going over really well with your father."

"Actually, I was thinking about moving out of the Manor. Getting my own place here in London. I don't know. Maybe."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'd kind of like to be out on my own for awhile. I mean, I might as well be living alone in my house, it's so huge, but still. Striking out sounds sort of... exciting." Draco's a little embarrassed by the admission, and he's grateful when Ron doesn't tease him about it.

"I know what you mean. Only the Burrow's not very big, so everybody's always running into each other."

"You still live there?"

"Ginny and I do, yeah."

"Why?"

Ron shrugs. "Same reason you still live at home, I suspect. No real reason to move."

"Weasleys probably enjoy each other's company too."

"Yes, Weasleys do. Are you saying Malfoys do not?"

"I hardly ever see my parents, except my father when we're both at work. It's hard to miss people you don't really know."

Ron tries not to feel sorry for Draco when he says that, but then he thinks of all the warm holidays and raucous birthdays he and his family have celebrated together and he can't help himself. Draco's missed out in the family department. He almost invites him to the next Weasley get-together before kicking himself a harsh reminder that, boyfriend or no, the blond isn't likely to be ready to meet the in-laws anytime soon. "I don't know, sometimes moving out sounds like a good idea to me too," he says instead.

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'we should get a flat together,' I will personally boot you out of the room with my bare foot."

Hmm, Ron hadn't thought of that. Draco was right, though, it would be a terrible idea. He could almost see them living together like the odd couple: Draco anal-compulsively tidy with all his robes and trousers up on hangers and food neatly sequestered to his own side of the fridge; Ron with clothes all over the floor on his side of the bedroom, books and papers overflowing out of his study. On the other hand, having 'a side of the bedroom' does sound awfully nice...

Ron shakes that thought clearly out of his mind. "Actually, I came in here to tell you that the food will be up in about forty-five minutes, but if you're bored I could suck you off while we wait. I mean, seeing as how you're not really doing anything right now but fighting a losing battle with the telly remote."

Draco eyes him, warily, trying to gage the seriousness of his suggestion. He opens his mouth to tell the redhead that if he has to wait for sex, so should Ron, but all that comes out is, "Yeah, alright."

Ron drops to his knees like an obedient puppy and Draco pets his hair appropriately for his charming enthusiasm.

Thirty-nine minutes later, there's a knock at the door. Several, in fact. "Ron... unh... Ron! I think the food's here!"

"...huh?"

"Ooh... yeah... right... no, Ron! Get off me and go answer the door!"

"But they said forty-five minutes," he whines and looks at the clock. "I still have a few more minutes with you left."

"Forty-five minutes is an estimate, Ron," he states, plainly, as though Ron might not already be aware of this fact. "Now, detach your mouth from my neck and go get our food!" The taller man grumbles but obeys. "And put a shirt on! You look positively indecent!"

"Yeah, yeah," Draco hears from the other room.

Waiting until he hears the door to the suite close, Draco exits the bedroom and sits down at the table, picking up the cover to his plate and sniffing delicately. Ron's put a shirt on, as per Draco's request, but he was in an obvious hurry and the buttons are adorably mismatched. "Did you charge the meal to the room?" Draco asks, absently, cutting his meat into tiny squares.

"No."

"No? Why not?"

"You paid for the room. The least I can do is pay for the food."

"Weasley, that's stupid. I can afford this kind of lifestyle. This meal alone probably cost you half your paycheck."

Ron flushes from both anger and embarrassment. Draco's not too far off from the truth. "I have a good job, alright? It might not pay as much as... whatever it is you do for your father pays... but it's plenty for me to treat you to a meal or two every now and then."

The way Ron speaks, one would think he was in the habit of buying meals for Draco regularly. "What do you do, anyway? Last I'd heard, you were working at the Ministry."

"I'm still there. Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"You're an Auror?"

"Not exactly, no. I deal mostly with magical crimes that only affect muggles."

"So, what... you're like a cop or something? That explains how you..."

"How I what?"

"Filled out so much," Draco mumbles into his tea.

Ron curses himself for blushing. "Err... actually, I just work out a lot."

"Work out?"

"You know, lift weights, jog, that sort of stuff. I know the concept of physical activity must be pretty foreign to you."

Draco shrugs, elegantly. "What can I say, some of us were just born with perfect bodies."

"Some of us are a little on the scrawny side and better put their tea down and finish that meat."

The blond rolls his eyes. "Yes, dear."

"Come to think of it, your dad's fairly broad-chested. Maybe some Malfoys do exercise."

Draco chokes on his food. "And just when have you been checking out my father, Weasley?"

"What? I've never checked out your father. I just remember seeing him at Quidditch games and stuff when we were kids. He seemed like a pretty big guy. Then again, now that I'm grown, maybe he wouldn't seem so very big at all. Maybe he just has a looming presence."

"Looming presence, definitely."

Ron grins at Draco's discomfiture. "Looming men aren't really my type, anyway."

"Oh, really? And just what is your type?"

"Brunets, definitely. With tanned, olive skin and warm chocolate eyes."

"Hmm," Draco mumbles, disapprovingly. "To hear you talk, one might almost get the impression you didn't want to get laid tonight."

"Why, you don't think it's too late to find a brown-eyed, olive-complected brunet in the lobby somewhere, do you?"

Draco ignores him, pointedly. "Whom did you have a crush on in school?"

"You mean outside of my doomed obsession with Harry? Seamus, a little."

"Blond."

"And, well, Colin."

"Creepy Creevey? Blond."

"People really called him Creepy Creevey?"

"Who else?"

"Ernie Macmillan."

"Blond."

"Terry Boot."

"Also blond. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"Yeah, alright, you caught me. Me and my blonds, we go way back. Maybe it's a genetic thing. Four of my six siblings are currently involved with blondes."

"And now you are too."

Ron smiles. "And now I am too."

"My tastes have always been pretty much all over the map. Blaise was my first. That was fifth year. That lasted until we realized we were both more involved with our mirrors than we were with each other. Miles Bletchley and I had a tumble. Not bad. Adrian Pucey in the Quidditch locker rooms twice. Oh, and once in the restricted section of the library."

"The library?"

"Special project. Snape thought he might benefit from my expertise."

"And why do I think shagging lessons weren't quite what he had in mind?"

"You don't know Snape."

"Did you ever fool around with any non-Slytherins?"

"Oh, sure. Your friend Terry Boot, for example."

"Huh. Never even knew he was gay."

"He's not. Just wanted to experiment. I thought I would volunteer my services."

"How very thoughtful of you."

"Just as well he didn't take to the lifestyle. He gave terrible head. Then there was... oh yes, Pansy in seventh year."

"Pansy?" Ron sounds surprised.

"Wanted to see what the other guys were always going on about. Either Pansy left a lot to be desired or the other guys liked to blow female desirability way out of proportion."

"Was she the only girl you've ever slept with?"

"Err... no," Draco mumbles. "Why don't we move this to the bedroom? I think I've eaten enough for one night, don't you?"

"Wait, who else was there? I'm curious."

"Just forget it. You don't want to hear about my boring sexual exploits anyway."

"Boring? Malfoy, you shagged half of Hogwarts."

"Really, you give me too much credit. Half of Slytherin, maybe."

"Who else?" Ron asks again.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Draco stands up. "I'm going to go turn on the telly. If I can figure out how."

Ron jumps to his feet. "Wait, what's going on? Why won't you just tell me?"

Draco looks at him, squarely. "Because you don't want to know."

"Yes, I do. Tell me. It wasn't... it wasn't Hermione, was it?"

"No," Draco shakes his head, smiling mirthlessly. "I never slept with Granger."

"Who, then? Who could be worse than her?"

Draco takes a deep breath and looks away. "I wasn't kidding. That day in the hospital... when I said that thing about..." Here goes nothing... "About your sister."

The air in the room is suddenly stifling and oppressive. "Ginny?" Draco gathers enough courage together to look Ron in the eye. "Ginny?" Ron repeats. "Oh no. No no no no no. You so didn't sleep with my baby sister. My sister so would not have slept with the likes of you."

Draco pretends that doesn't hurt. "It was a long time ago, Ron. It's not worth rehashing."

"Don't 'Ron' me. Tell me about it. I want to know."

"No. You don't."

"Yes. I do."

"Look, it was only the one time and-"

"Only the one time? Why, wasn't she good enough for you? Didn't she satisfy you acceptably?"

Draco winces. "It wasn't like that..."

"Don't tell me you actually cared for her."

"No, I didn't care for her."

"So, why then? Why her? And so help me, Malfoy, if you say it was to get at me, I'll-"

"It had nothing to do with you. She came to me, alright? She had this huge crush on some Ravenclaw boy in her year, I don't remember his name. She wanted to sleep with him, but she'd never had sex before and she didn't want their first time together to be painful for her. Wanted it to be special. I never really understood it."

"Why you? Why did she go to you of all people?"

"Because she knew I'd make it good for her. As good as it possibly could be, anyway. She knew I wouldn't be interested in her, being of the female persuasion and all, and that I wouldn't try to use her. Despite my rather public sexual reputation, I was also known to be discreet. She knew that what we did would never become public knowledge. More importantly, that you and Potter would never find out about it. Which was my only condition on the deal. As much as I might have enjoyed rubbing such a 'conquest' in your face, I wasn't suicidal. I didn't need you gunning down my ass for the rest of my natural-born life because I'd dared to sully your sister with my touch."

After a moment of silence, Ron growls, "What did you get out of it?"

Draco looks up at the ceiling. This just keeps getting better and better... "I was going through a rather... rebellious phase, shall we say. Everything my parents wanted me to do, I tried to do the opposite. I couldn't revolt against them openly, of course, so I took the little victories where I could. And I thought having a Weasley to notch into my headboard was just the thing. Even if no one ever knew about it, I would. I knew how much it would piss off my father for me to get involved with a Weasley, however briefly.

"It would still piss him off," Draco adds, almost as an afterthought. "Don't be mad at your sister. She was young and she made a decision and that's all there is to it. It was one time and I made it pleasurable and then we went our separate ways. She never spoke to me again, and I never spoke to her. No one got hurt out of the deal. It just happened. I... get why you'd be angry..."

"You get?"

"Yeah, I do. If I had a kid sister like Ginny, I wouldn't want her hanging around the likes of me, either. Nothing I can do about it now though. What's done is done. Now, if you want to start throwing punches over it, would you get on with it? Because I don't want to go home any later tonight than I already have to, in case all the portraits are already asleep."

Ron's mouth moves silently for a minute. "You think... you think I want to hit you?" he settles on finally.

"Well, don't you? I wouldn't blame you if you did. Hell, if it would make you feel any better, go to it, I say. Start swinging."

"Malfoy, I'm not going to hit you."

"Why ever not? You would have hit me for this two days ago."

"That was two days ago."

"So? Nothing's changed."

"Everything's changed."

"No, I was still the spoiled bully you remember and she was still your sweet and innocent little sister. She wanted to lose her virginity, and I... I got off on who she was."

"Is that what this is, then? You're getting off on having another Weasley notch in your headboard with which to piss off Daddy?"

"No. Lord, I was seventeen when I felt that way. What the hell did I know about anything. That was seven years ago. I'd like to think I've grown up a little since then."

"So this isn't some scheme of yours? Use me to get back at your parents?"

"You really don't get it, do you, Weasley. Think. Think for one second about who my father is. Then remember how much he hates your father. Now try to imagine what would happen to me if he ever found out that I was sleeping with you. Best case scenario, I'd lose my job and my inheritance. Worst case, I'd lose my family, my friends, and the only home I've ever known."

"You'd really... you'd really risk all that just to be with me?"

Draco rolls his eyes. "You practically dared me to! How was I supposed to back away from that? Besides which, you can be surprisingly persuasive for a Gryffindor."

Ron gives him a lop-sided grin. Oh God, Draco thinks, if he tries to say anything romantic, I'm going to be nauseous. Suddenly, Ron's grin slips away. "Wait, what did you mean about not going home any later than you have to? You want to go home?"

"No point in staying here by myself."

"You're kicking me out?"

"What?" Draco looks at him like he's an idiot. "No, you're leaving."

"I am?"

"Aren't you?"

"Hold on. What made you think I was going anywhere?"

"Weasley, I just informed you that I'm responsible for taking away your one and only sister's youthful innocence, and somehow I'm still supposed to believe you're just going to get over it and come back to bed?"

"Well, no, I mean... You're not responsible for what happened, Ginny is. I mean, yeah, you kind of... helped her out and everything, but she knew what she was doing when she went to you. And if it hadn't been you, it would've just been someone else. Maybe someone who wouldn't have made it good for her. Someone who would have turned around and told the whole school about it. I mean... I'm not happy about it. And you were right... I kind of wish now that I hadn't pushed you into telling me about this. But it... it could've been a lot worse."

Draco glances down, unexpectedly relieved. "Maybe she would have been better off losing her virginity to that guy, after all."

Ron frowns. "If you're talking about who I think you're talking about, then no, she wouldn't have. He slept with her twice and then cheated on her. Harry and I spent half an hour hexing him behind the Quidditch pitch."

"Wow. So I'm the good guy in all this? Who saw that coming?"

"I wouldn't go quite that far, Malfoy. I'm just saying... if it had to be someone... I guess... I guess she could have done worse."

"It doesn't bother you to sleep with me knowing that I slept with her?"

"Well, I can't say that it's ever been a particular kink of mine to swap partners with my sister, but you're right. That was seven years ago. Besides, I'm in no position to judge you for your past dalliances. Not with my track record."

"Why, whom did you sleep with?"

"At Hogwarts? Nobody. I didn't lose my virginity until I was nineteen."

Ron doesn't appear the slightest bit embarrassed by this bit of information, and Draco finds that fact disturbingly endearing. "Oh."

"I made up for lost time quickly enough. Let me tell you, my taste in men is theatrically tragic."

"Obviously."

"Present company excluded, of course."

"Uh huh." Draco holds his hand out for Ron to take. "Come on, I'd like to collect on my dessert now."

"Well, you did eat enough. I suppose you've earned it."

"Thanks ever so, Mum."

Ron smiles and allows himself to be pulled into the bedroom. Draco sets to work on his shirt and trousers immediately. "Too many clothes," he mutters to himself.

Once they're both equally naked, Draco and Ron fall into bed together, actually pausing long enough to get under the covers this time before reaching for one another. Draco spreads his legs, invitingly, for Ron to settle between them as the taller man lowers himself down on top of him. They kiss for awhile, taking their time to map out each other's mouths, until Ron hears Draco mumble the lubricating spell and a warmth surrounds his cock. Draco pushes up against him, impatiently, but Ron puts a stop to his movement by holding his hips to the bed. "Don't you want to... I mean, I wouldn't mind if... It seems like you're always..."

"What, Ron? Spit it out."

"Are you always on the bottom when you have sex?" he blurts out, coloring furiously.

"Are you kidding? No way."

"Then why...?"

"I don't know why," Draco looks away, reflective. "But with you it's different. With you, I'm not thinking about who's topping whom or what my father would think if he knew... I mean, it's bad enough for a Malfoy to be gay, but to let another man... I just... I know how I feel when you're inside me now and I want to feel it again. Again and again and again. Until you have to carry me around because I can't walk anywhere without people knowing what we've been doing. Not that I'd really mind. They'd only be jealous."

Ron grins, then appears thoughtful. "Tell me," he nuzzles Draco's cheek with his nose. "Tell me what it feels like when I'm inside you."

Draco closes his eyes and rocks up against him at the very thought. "It feels like you're splitting me apart and putting me back together all at the same time. With you inside me, I feel so warm and filled and... so good. And then I wonder, how could I have ever gone about my life not knowing what this felt like? How could I have ever been content without the experience of you thrusting into me, slowly at first then harder as I feel your fragile control tremble and break?

"Every time you pull back, I want to cry out. I feel so empty. So bereft. But then you come back. You always come back. And I'm whole again. I'm... happy. I'm falling and it feels like my stomach might lurch up into my throat at any given moment, but I know you're with me and I don't really mind so much that I'm dissolving away beneath your touch. It's this bizarre thing that you call 'us.' I don't understand it at all, but I find myself liking it all the same. And yeah, I guess it's a little weird and... scary. But it's the good kind of scary. The kind that makes you stronger. I like the way you make me feel strong.

"Does that answer your question?"

Ron nods, swallowing thickly. Nipping at Draco's earlobe with his teeth, he whispers, "Would you like to know how it feels to be inside you?"

"In a minute," Draco pants. "First, I..."

"Yeah... me too..."

Their hands both stretch down, meeting over Ron's wet and ready dick, and together guide him into Draco's waiting body. Draco lets out a tiny, hitched gasp as Ron sinks inside, and Ron sucks the sound down greedily with his mouth. "Oh God..." he breathes. "You're so... you're so hot. I feel like you're a fever and I... I've caught you."

The redhead slides back out some - he'll die if he doesn't move at least a little - but returns quickly, not wanting to think about Draco feeling empty without him there. "And you're so bloody tight, I almost can't... It's almost more than I can bear. I don't understand how I fit so well..."

Draco's lips are shut, but the moans in his throat are unmistakable. He digs his fingers into Ron's back, wishing his nails were long enough to leave marks. Some physical evidence of what they are doing. He bites down on Ron's shoulder instead, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough so that his teeth leave a perfect circle of indentations around the flesh there. Ron shudders and groans at the feeling.

"I don't want to pull out," he's talking again. "I don't want to, but I must... because if I don't budge, you'll... you'll clench down around me and I won't be able to keep myself from coming. And it's too soon. Too bloody soon. I want this to last... as long as it can. I want to be inside you whenever you'll let me. I want to crawl up into your body and never come out again."

"R-Ron..." Draco croaks, planting his feet on the bed so that he can better push up against the redheaded man. The new shift in angle causes Ron to shove a bit deeper into Draco and they both groan from the heightened sensation.

"Wait... I still have to... Christ, I'm... I'm no good at this..."

"Tell me," Draco pleads. "I want to know... what you're... what you're feeling..."

"I'm feeling like I must have... done something really good... to deserve your attention. At home, I'm just... I'm just one of seven kids, but with you... inside you... I'm special. You've... chosen me. I know you'll probably laugh at me... for saying this, but being with you... incites all these outdated, prehistoric instincts within me. To protect you... take care of you. I... I know you don't need me to, but it... it doesn't stop me from wanting to do it all the same."

"Fuck," Draco wails as Ron's cock nudges the sweet spot within him upon every plunge.

"Shit, I have to... I can't... God..."

Ron takes Draco's aching erection in his grasp and begins pumping it in time with his thrusts. He won't let himself come until Draco does. Until his lover is satisfied. Ron's driving too erratically fast into Draco's body to talk anymore, so he tries to communicate his feelings by kissing the smaller man, roughly. Draco's hands skitter up his back and land in his hair, cupping his face as Ron impels his tongue into the blond's wet mouth.

Draco's muscles clamp down around him and it's only through the sheer force of will that Ron prevents himself from coming right then and there. Mercifully, Draco finally breaks, his shaft spouting streams of hot come between their bodies. Ron immediately lets himself go and releases his own seed deep inside of Draco. An eternity seems to go by as they ride out the last waves of their orgasms, continuing to rock together until every last drop is spent.

Minutes tick by before either one of them can even begin to come to their senses. Draco recovers first, ducking his head underneath Ron's to scatter desperate kisses across his face. Ron tries to respond, but his body is too heavy and it collapses down atop the Slytherin's. Their bellies are stuck together with Draco's come and Ron's still pulsing inside him, but neither shifts to make a move. Both of them are breathing hard, to the point of hyperventilation, and nothing but time can slow the twin beatings of their pounding hearts.

"Holy Merlin, Dray..." Ron gasps when he can speak again. "I don't think I've ever come that hard in my entire life..."

"Mmm," is the blond's intelligent response.

Reluctantly, Ron grasps Draco's waist and begins to draw out of him. Draco tenses instantly, thighs tightening around Ron's hips, hands reaching down to take hold of his ass. "No..." he whines. "Stay..."

"I can't. I'll just get hard again."

"So? Is that so terrible?"

"Draco, I've actually lost count of how many orgasms I've had today. If I come again, I'll die from exhaustion."

The blond sulks, but lightens his grip on Ron's body so he can pull out the rest of the way. Draco shudders as the tip of Ron's cock slips from his ass, and at once he feels that same aching empty sensation. Ron seems to sense this, and slides two fingers into Draco's body easily, massaging the quivering muscles there. "Ooh... that's..."

"I'm not bringing you off again. I'm beginning to worry that your dick might fall off should I dare. I just don't want you to feel like I'm gone from you completely. Even when I'm not inside you, I am, understand?"

Draco nods, eagerly. Ron could be quoting A History of Magic for all he cares, so long as those fingers don't stop moving inside his body. "You called me Dray..." the Slytherin realizes slowly.

"I did?"

"Before... right after you... You called me Dray," he echoes.

"Oh. Sorry."

"No, I... I like it. No one's ever called me that before."

"I'm so tired. Am I... am I hurting you laying on top of you like this?"

Draco shakes his head. "No. Don't move. Just... stay there."

Slowly, Ron brings the fingers in Draco's body to a stop, but leaves them in there anyway. "Oh my God. Tomorrow's Monday. How am I ever going to be able to get up and go to work?"

"Call in sick," Draco suggests.

"Sick? Sick with what? 'Sorry I can't come in today, Tonks, but your cousin's insatiable Slytherin sex drive has me a bit hungover from all the orgasms. Think you can cover for me?'"

Draco snorts. "She'll let you off the hook if I call her personally."

"Yeah, but then the cat's out of the bag."

"Who's she going to tell?"

"Umm, Harry, for starters?"

"Oh, right. They're friends, aren't they."

"What about you? Are you going to make it to work tomorrow?"

"Screw work. I can see myself showing up just to fall asleep at one of my father's tedious board meetings, then shouting your name when someone's stupid enough to try and wake me up."

"That would be bad. I'd rather not have your father show up at my doorstep with a shot-gun in hand, demanding that I marry you."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Sorry. Muggle reference."

Draco spends a moment lapping his tongue over Ron's neck. "I need a shower in the worst way, but I'm so beyond moving."

"Maybe tomorrow morning you'll feel more up to it."

"Yeah, then maybe we could-"

"No."

"But I-!"

"No, Draco."

"You're not even letting me finish!"

"You were going to suggest something along the lines of maybe we could fuck while we're in there?"

"Maybe," Draco admits. "Actually, there's a tub in the bathroom too, and I think it has bubble jets."

"Draco..."

"Bubble jets, Ron. Think of the possibilities."

"You really are insatiable."

"Hey, Slytherins don't lie about everything."

"On the contrary, you've been more truthful with me in one evening than most of my lovers have been during the course of our entire relationships."

"Yeah, that's me. Honest Malfoy."

"Do you think when we get married you'll change your name to Malfoy-Weasley? Or just drop the Malfoy all together and take Weasley."

"...what?"

"Personally, I like the latter option. Hyphenated names are so pretentious. Then again, that's probably why you'd choose one."

"Weasley, if you're joking, this is so incredibly not funny."

"Are you going to keep calling me Weasley around our kids? Because they're going to get awfully confused. You'll yell my name and everyone in the house will come running." Draco glowers at him, rendered completely speechless. "For our first child, do you think Harry could be the godfather?"

"Alright, that's it. I'm sleeping on the couch!"

Draco moves to vault off the bed, when Ron grabs him around the middle and hauls him back against his chest. "Relax, Draco, I was only kidding. You don't want to sleep on the couch."

"You know what? You're right. You sleep on the couch."

Wriggling back to gain momentum, Draco places a foot squarely on Ron's chest and kicks him out of bed onto the floor, taking half the covers with him. "Hey!"

"Move it, Weasley!"

"You can't be serious!"

"Do I look like I'm trying to be funny?"

"Dray."

"No! You will not butter me up with pet names. This is my suite. I paid for it and I say you're sleeping in the other room!"

"Well, I paid for dinner. What do I get for that?"

"You got a mind-shatteringly good orgasm for it, you godless monkey! Now move!"

"Godless monkey?"

"Weasley!"

"Alright! Alright! I'm going. No need to burst a capillary." Ron stands up and turns to leave, but stops at the door. "Can't I at least have a pillow?"

A soft, white object flies through the room and hits him in the chest with a 'thud.' "Thank you, dear."

Dropping down on the cold, lover-less couch, Ron grumbles about his bad luck. Fluffing his pillow several times in a vain attempt to get comfortable, Ron is relieved to find his eyelids drooping and his limbs relaxing against their will. It really had been a full day...

Half an hour later, Ron is woken up by the sight of an infuriated Slytherin standing over him in all his naked glory. "Err... can I help you?"

"Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes I waited for you to call my bluff, until I remembered that Gryffindors suck at poker."

"What are you talking about?"

Draco doesn't say anything, but crawls onto the sofa over him and lays his head down on his chest. "I thought you'd come back," he mumbles, piteously.

"God, Malfoy, you have the mood swings of a pregnant woman."

Draco stifles the urge to prove him right by biting his head off. "Come back to bed," he implores instead.

"What's in it for me?"

"I'll let you hold me. I know how you like to do that."

Ron pretends to be considering the offer. "Hmm. Yeah, alright. I accept those terms."

Stumbling back into the bedroom, they fall into bed and Ron's arms immediately move to hold Draco's body against him. True to his word, Draco lets him do it, even relaxing a little into the embrace. "Ron?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think sometimes we could just fuck the old-fashioned way and leave off all the relationship stuff?"

"Too much for you?"

"Relationships aren't exactly my area of expertise."

"To be honest, they're not really mine either."

"So how will we know if we're doing things right?"

"If I get to hold you like this at the end of every day, then I'll know I did something right."

"Every day?" Draco blinks, startled.

"Well, except maybe on our just-fucking days."

"Oh, I guess that's okay."

"Then I want you to hold me."

"You're teasing me again, aren't you."

"Maybe. Maybe not. You never know with me. Weasleys are infamous pranksters."

"I didn't decide to bed Fred or George. Thank God."

"Lucky for everyone involved."

The room is quiet and still for a moment as they listen to each other breathe. "Draco?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you follow me into St. Mungo's that day?"

"I... it's stupid."

"Tell me."

"I saw you and you looked really good. And I wondered if you still hated me. I wondered if I still hated you. So I thought, to hell with it, I'm going in to find out. And then you were right there in front of me and it felt just like old times. And I loved it. Loved fighting with you, loved getting a reaction out of you. You really are altogether too easy to instigate, Weasley. I think it's the red hair. Does something to your brain."

"Oh."

"Are you sorry I followed you?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"No, I'm not sorry. When I saw you, my first thought was what in the world I could've done to deserve your company again. Then my second thought was wondering if you had looked this good when we were still at Hogwarts. I decided trying to remember would fry my brain, because I knew I was supposed to hate you for the things you said and did back then. You opened your mouth and started spewing your typical Malfoy tripe at me and I thought, yeah, I can do this. He's not really that pretty. But then you kept getting me into that damned closet, insinuating yourself under my skin like you belonged there or something. Everything went downside-up from there."

"I see."

"And I was wrong, anyway."

"About what?"

"You really are that pretty."

"It's a curse, I'm afraid."

"You poor thing."

"Yeah, I know. I'm afflicted with charm and grace as well. It really is dangerous to even let me roam free in society."

"Some poor knight might see you and try to carry you off to his castle."

"I already live in a castle. Castles are overrated."

"So are burrows."

"So what do we do now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Can't go to a castle, can't go a burrow. Where are two modern-day knights supposed to go to shag?"

"This hotel?"

"Too right."

"I guess there's always a middle ground between two extremes when you look for it hard enough."

"Nice platitude there."

"Shut-up, Malfoy."

"Aw, what happened to 'Dray'?"

"I don't know, but if you see him, would you give him my address?"

"I'll see what I can arrange."

"Draco, can we please go to sleep now? I'm going to be dead on my feet tomorrow morning as it is."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Um, yours?"

"Hey, I can't help being this devastatingly handsome and sexy that you would want to jump my bones half a dozen times in the course of one day. I told you good looks like these are an affliction."

"Too bad you're not afflicted with anything else."

"That was below the belt."

"No, this is below the belt." Without preamble, Ron takes Draco's dick in hand and begins to lightly stroke it.

"Ooh..."

"I thought that might shut you up."

"Ron...?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't stop..."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Draco smiles, closing his eyes, contentedly. "I know. I'm glad."

"I'm glad too," he whispers, kissing the blond man's shoulder. "Go to sleep."

"With your hand on my cock?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that."

Ron lets him go and wraps his arm around Draco's middle instead. It's nice, he thinks, sleeping with someone like this. He hasn't done it in awhile. And Draco's warm and pliant in his arms. Even though his body is screaming for rest, Ron finds himself watching Draco for a long while. The blond wastes little time falling asleep, and Ron can't help but chuckle at the sound of the soft snores coming from the smaller man. A Malfoy who snores. Ron makes a mental note to tease him about that later.

Draco really is beautiful. He hadn't been lying about that. So beautiful and so broken. Ron wonders not for the first time if he is really the right man to put him back together. He's splintered enough himself. But then maybe, like he told Draco earlier, that's exactly why it has to be him repairing the things in them that are damaged. That's why it has to be both of them, together. Two wrongs making a right. Or something.

Ron yawns and settles his head down behind Draco's, inhaling the scent of the man's honeysuckle shampoo. He could get used to this all too easily. Best not to dwell on that thought. They still had yet to decide exactly what 'this' was. As long as Draco lets him keep trying to figure it out, Ron reckons he'll be happy. Happy. With Draco Malfoy. The idea is absurd beyond belief. And yet here they are, heads on the same pillow, legs hopelessly entangled.

Happy.

It's a funny feeling, and he knows it won't always last. They'll have spectacular rows, of that he is certain, but then they'll follow them up with equally spectacular make-up sessions and all will be well again. Ron doesn't think too deeply about a future with Draco. There are too many problems on the road ahead, and not enough solutions. It doesn't mean he won't welcome the challenge though.

Eight days. In eight days, Draco Malfoy has taken Ron's entire world in his palm and shaken it up like a Christmas snow-globe. That's okay, he decides. His world needed the upset. By the looks of things, Draco could use a little upset of his own. Ron's more than willing to oblige. He's not going anywhere. He said he's going to stay and that's what he intends to do. No matter how much Draco thrashes and flails against him, he won't give up the man without a fight.

Draco followed him into St. Mungo's that day for a reason. Maybe he knew why, maybe he didn't. Doesn't matter, really. What he came out with was a loyal, stubborn Gryffindor and the slightest whisper of changes to come in the wind. Ron wonders what it would be like to fall in love with Draco. Dangerous, surely. Problematic, without a doubt. Amazing? Quite likely. Unforgettable? Unquestionably.

He realizes he can't wait to find out.

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