The Howler [Harry Potter, Ron/Draco] Pt. 1
“Unnnh, Weasley,” groaned the pale, slim man sprawled on the emerald and silver bed covers, his legs spread and lifted salaciously. “Don’t stop, you wanker, do that again.”
Ron rolled his eyes, his nose bumping the other man’s scrotum as Draco shifted, writhed, rather desperately. Even in this position, the prat was giving commands. Ron obeyed, anyway-it was the way he moaned, Ron was certain-and tilted his head slightly, sticking out his tongue and pressing the tip of it against Draco’s puckered entrance, then lapping. Draco whined, his voice going a bit high and his legs shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron can see Draco’s pale hands turning even paler as they grip at the covers; he would smirk if he wasn’t busy pushing his tongue as far inside the other man as it can possibly go. He loved doing this. He loved making Draco Malfoy writhe.
“Mm, I always knew there were much better uses for your tongue, Weasley,” Draco murmured, voice a little hoarse and laden with lust, as Ron pulled back and sat up on his knees. His lips curved upward into something that lay somewhere between a smirk and a smile and he lifted his arms, reaching out and slipping his hands around Ron’s neck as the redhead’s body covered his.
“I still think we could do without yours, Malfoy,” Ron teased fondly, cutting off any retort Draco might’ve had by kissing him soundly. Draco responded favorably, the fingers of one hand sifting into fiery hair, the others tracing the back of freckled shoulders.
If someone had told Ron six months ago that he would be kissing Draco Malfoy again, he would’ve laughed in their face and then probably would’ve hexed them. Sure, he’d fooled around with the Slytherin back at Hogwarts during fifth year, when they’d both decided that finding a release for their frustrations-frustrations with O.W.L.S., with Quidditch, with each other-was more important than finishing their prefect rounds. But that had been it, partly due to complications in sixth year, mainly due to the fact that they still rather passionately disliked one another. After the war ended, they’d exchanged only brief nods and glances for a couple of years, until the winter when Ron and Hermione broke up and he sought solace at the nearest pub. He ended up shagging Malfoy in an alley. A week later, he progressed to shagging Malfoy in his manor, which was much better. And now, six months later, he was still shagging Malfoy in his manor. Which wasn’t exactly a bad thing-far from it-but it wasn’t much of a progression. But, then, Ron supposed he had something to do with that.
“Weasley.” Draco’s moan and his manicured fingernails digging into the flesh of his ass brought Ron back into the moment. “Move your bloody prick and fuck me already!”
“Yeah,” Ron breathed, grabbing Draco’s legs and guiding them to wrap around his waist. He was in with one thrust and Draco arched against him, a pleased whimper escaping him as he clutched Ron’s shoulders tightly; his grey eyes were alight when he looked up at Ron and Ron tried to smile at him, but when he was fucking Draco Malfoy it was hard for him to keep any sort of expression on his face that wasn’t one of utter lust-addled awe. Sex with Draco was always so much better than Ron expected it to be. Smirking, Draco pulled Ron down into a kiss and Ron groaned, feeling something in his chest explode like fireworks.
“You’re embarrassed by me, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not!”
“Don’t lie to me, Weasel! Hell, if anyone should be embarrassed, believe me, it shouldn’t be you!”
They had this fight every few weeks or so. They always said the same thing and it always went the same way, but each time their voices grew crueler, their gestures grew sharper, the hexes they threw at each other grew harsher.
“You’ve got it wrong, Malfoy!”
“Oh, I do? Then why is this all we do?!” Draco motioned angrily toward the rumpled bedcovers he was sitting on, knees bent underneath him, emerald robe untied and slightly open.
“You weren’t complaining when I was fucking you, were you?” Ron snapped.
“Because I love you fucking me,” Draco shot back, “but I want more than that! I’m ready for more than that!”
“Well, what if I’m not?”
“It’s been six bloody months!”
Ron a hand through his unruly hair, irritated. He turned his back to the man on the bed, tugging exasperatedly on the loose pair of Gryffindor boxers he had on; he’d lost some weight now that he was having sex on a regular basis. Draco was wrong. He wasn’t embarrassed. Not exactly. He just wasn’t sure how he was going tell everyone that he was shagging Draco Malfoy, the man he’d hated for years. The man they’d all hated for years. He knew that Harry and Hermione-and hell, almost everyone he knew and cared about-would have a hard time accepting it. Or, well, he assumed. But he felt pretty safe in assuming so.
But he didn’t want to lose this thing with Malfoy. Whether it was because he actually liked the guy or just liked his arse, he wasn’t sure. But it was a good thing they had. It made him feel good, and it made Malfoy feel good, too, he knew. But this-this arguing and making excuses and knowing he was hurting the arrogant prat-didn’t make him feel good at all.
He knew what he had to do.
This was where he was supposed to say that six months wasn’t really as long as it sounded and he needed more time to ponder things, etc. And then Draco would say something clever like, “Ponder this, you freckled toad,” and he would jellify his limbs.
Instead, Ron said, “All right. Then let’s go out.” He looked back at the other man, whose eyebrows were raised in interest, but who ultimately looked unconvinced. “Next week,” he continued, “we’ll go out. In public. The two of us. We can go to one of those stupid fancy restaurants you’re always talking about-as long as you pay. I mean, I don’t care where we go, I just wanna do this.”
“You do?” The corner of Draco’s mouth was turning slightly upwards, and Ron could tell he was trying hard not to get too excited. “Are you sure?”
“What, you’ve changed your mind already?”
“No.” Draco crossed his legs and Ron’s eyes went to an exposed sliver of pale thigh. “I’m just suspicious of why you’re actually giving in.”
Ron walked over to him, kneeling in front of the bed and sliding his hands up Draco’s legs. “I’m giving in because I know you want this. And I-want to want this.” Draco rolled his eyes and tried to swat Ron’s hands away, but the redhead just took a firm hold of his hands instead. “No, I want to try this, okay? This can be a sort of test. You know? To decide just what our-relationship is.”
Draco stared at him for a moment and Ron waited for him to say something about what a stupid sap he was; but then Draco grinned and leaned down to kiss him, and their fingers laced together.
[~]
Ron’s intention was to spend the week before his date of Utmost Importance preparing what he would say if they ran into someone he knew while they were out. And what he would tell roommates Harry and Neville if Malfoy somehow managed to get Ron to bring him to his flat instead of going to the manor. He hoped he would have a little more time before having to tackle that one, but he knew it was on Draco’s to-do list. And, really, he should probably tell his best mates about Draco before actually bringing the guy to the flat. And somehow he had to tell Hermione. And his family, a thought which terrified him immensely.
But anyway, that was Ron’s intention.
He ended up spending the week helping Harry and the other Aurors to track down and go after a rising dark wizard who was using the Imperius Curse on Muggles in Liverpool. It took the whole week for them to catch the guy and when he finally got sent to Azkaban, everyone in the department was exhausted, but happy, and celebrated Friday night with some firewhiskey and loud wizard rock.
It wasn’t until one in the morning, when their impromptu party ended, that Ron realized he was supposed to meet Draco hours ago.
He knew he was in deep shit when he and Harry headed home that night, but he resolved to visit Draco at the manor first thing when he woke up and he would make up it to him, if Draco was willing to give him a chance to. He hoped he would. He really did.
[~]
Ginny and Hermione came over for breakfast in the morning, putting Ron’s plans on hold for just a little bit. He couldn’t just go off without saying hello, and it would be awfully suspect for him to skip breakfast. And he had to think up a good excuse to be going anywhere when they knew it was his day off and he really had nowhere to be.
Draco was going to be pissed. But he tried not to think about that. Which was a surprisingly easy thing to do with the gang all there and a breakfast feast spread out on the kitchen table.
But then the owl came. And with it, the Howler.
Ron thought he might’ve been seeing things when Malfoy’s owl came flying in through the window; he was just glad that no one else recognized it. They did, however, recognize the little red envelope it had strapped to its talons.
“A Howler, Ron?” Hermione asked, sounding admonishing but not terribly surprised.
“This oughta be good,” Ginny chuckled, setting down her cup of coffee eagerly.
Ron hurried to untie the already violently quivering envelope and grabbed it, nearly tripping over his own chair in his haste to leave the table.
“It’s no use, mate,” Neville sympathized, shaking his head.
“Yeah, Ron,” Harry said, obviously trying to hold back his amusement. “We’ll hear it no matter what you do.”
Of course, Ron realized, that prat did this for just that purpose! His panicked eyes widened as the envelope burst open and out of his hand, his secret beau’s enraged voice exploded from within for all to hear: “Weasley, you son of a bitch! I can’t believe you stood me up! You said it would be the date that decided our-ha-relationship, and I suppose you were right about that, but you didn’t have to be such an arse about it! And who the hell do you think you are, messing with a Malfoy?! Six bloody months I wasted and this is all they meant to you, you bastard?! You’re going to regret this, you hear me?! You’re going to regret it! And then you can go to hell for all I bloody well care!”
And then the enveloped exploded into little, tiny, itty, bitty bits of paper, destroying itself just like Ron had destroyed his chance with Draco Malfoy.
But he didn’t have much time to mourn that fact. Not when he felt four pairs of stunned eyes on the back of his red head.
“Oh, bugger.”
Ron rolled his eyes, his nose bumping the other man’s scrotum as Draco shifted, writhed, rather desperately. Even in this position, the prat was giving commands. Ron obeyed, anyway-it was the way he moaned, Ron was certain-and tilted his head slightly, sticking out his tongue and pressing the tip of it against Draco’s puckered entrance, then lapping. Draco whined, his voice going a bit high and his legs shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron can see Draco’s pale hands turning even paler as they grip at the covers; he would smirk if he wasn’t busy pushing his tongue as far inside the other man as it can possibly go. He loved doing this. He loved making Draco Malfoy writhe.
“Mm, I always knew there were much better uses for your tongue, Weasley,” Draco murmured, voice a little hoarse and laden with lust, as Ron pulled back and sat up on his knees. His lips curved upward into something that lay somewhere between a smirk and a smile and he lifted his arms, reaching out and slipping his hands around Ron’s neck as the redhead’s body covered his.
“I still think we could do without yours, Malfoy,” Ron teased fondly, cutting off any retort Draco might’ve had by kissing him soundly. Draco responded favorably, the fingers of one hand sifting into fiery hair, the others tracing the back of freckled shoulders.
If someone had told Ron six months ago that he would be kissing Draco Malfoy again, he would’ve laughed in their face and then probably would’ve hexed them. Sure, he’d fooled around with the Slytherin back at Hogwarts during fifth year, when they’d both decided that finding a release for their frustrations-frustrations with O.W.L.S., with Quidditch, with each other-was more important than finishing their prefect rounds. But that had been it, partly due to complications in sixth year, mainly due to the fact that they still rather passionately disliked one another. After the war ended, they’d exchanged only brief nods and glances for a couple of years, until the winter when Ron and Hermione broke up and he sought solace at the nearest pub. He ended up shagging Malfoy in an alley. A week later, he progressed to shagging Malfoy in his manor, which was much better. And now, six months later, he was still shagging Malfoy in his manor. Which wasn’t exactly a bad thing-far from it-but it wasn’t much of a progression. But, then, Ron supposed he had something to do with that.
“Weasley.” Draco’s moan and his manicured fingernails digging into the flesh of his ass brought Ron back into the moment. “Move your bloody prick and fuck me already!”
“Yeah,” Ron breathed, grabbing Draco’s legs and guiding them to wrap around his waist. He was in with one thrust and Draco arched against him, a pleased whimper escaping him as he clutched Ron’s shoulders tightly; his grey eyes were alight when he looked up at Ron and Ron tried to smile at him, but when he was fucking Draco Malfoy it was hard for him to keep any sort of expression on his face that wasn’t one of utter lust-addled awe. Sex with Draco was always so much better than Ron expected it to be. Smirking, Draco pulled Ron down into a kiss and Ron groaned, feeling something in his chest explode like fireworks.
“You’re embarrassed by me, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not!”
“Don’t lie to me, Weasel! Hell, if anyone should be embarrassed, believe me, it shouldn’t be you!”
They had this fight every few weeks or so. They always said the same thing and it always went the same way, but each time their voices grew crueler, their gestures grew sharper, the hexes they threw at each other grew harsher.
“You’ve got it wrong, Malfoy!”
“Oh, I do? Then why is this all we do?!” Draco motioned angrily toward the rumpled bedcovers he was sitting on, knees bent underneath him, emerald robe untied and slightly open.
“You weren’t complaining when I was fucking you, were you?” Ron snapped.
“Because I love you fucking me,” Draco shot back, “but I want more than that! I’m ready for more than that!”
“Well, what if I’m not?”
“It’s been six bloody months!”
Ron a hand through his unruly hair, irritated. He turned his back to the man on the bed, tugging exasperatedly on the loose pair of Gryffindor boxers he had on; he’d lost some weight now that he was having sex on a regular basis. Draco was wrong. He wasn’t embarrassed. Not exactly. He just wasn’t sure how he was going tell everyone that he was shagging Draco Malfoy, the man he’d hated for years. The man they’d all hated for years. He knew that Harry and Hermione-and hell, almost everyone he knew and cared about-would have a hard time accepting it. Or, well, he assumed. But he felt pretty safe in assuming so.
But he didn’t want to lose this thing with Malfoy. Whether it was because he actually liked the guy or just liked his arse, he wasn’t sure. But it was a good thing they had. It made him feel good, and it made Malfoy feel good, too, he knew. But this-this arguing and making excuses and knowing he was hurting the arrogant prat-didn’t make him feel good at all.
He knew what he had to do.
This was where he was supposed to say that six months wasn’t really as long as it sounded and he needed more time to ponder things, etc. And then Draco would say something clever like, “Ponder this, you freckled toad,” and he would jellify his limbs.
Instead, Ron said, “All right. Then let’s go out.” He looked back at the other man, whose eyebrows were raised in interest, but who ultimately looked unconvinced. “Next week,” he continued, “we’ll go out. In public. The two of us. We can go to one of those stupid fancy restaurants you’re always talking about-as long as you pay. I mean, I don’t care where we go, I just wanna do this.”
“You do?” The corner of Draco’s mouth was turning slightly upwards, and Ron could tell he was trying hard not to get too excited. “Are you sure?”
“What, you’ve changed your mind already?”
“No.” Draco crossed his legs and Ron’s eyes went to an exposed sliver of pale thigh. “I’m just suspicious of why you’re actually giving in.”
Ron walked over to him, kneeling in front of the bed and sliding his hands up Draco’s legs. “I’m giving in because I know you want this. And I-want to want this.” Draco rolled his eyes and tried to swat Ron’s hands away, but the redhead just took a firm hold of his hands instead. “No, I want to try this, okay? This can be a sort of test. You know? To decide just what our-relationship is.”
Draco stared at him for a moment and Ron waited for him to say something about what a stupid sap he was; but then Draco grinned and leaned down to kiss him, and their fingers laced together.
[~]
Ron’s intention was to spend the week before his date of Utmost Importance preparing what he would say if they ran into someone he knew while they were out. And what he would tell roommates Harry and Neville if Malfoy somehow managed to get Ron to bring him to his flat instead of going to the manor. He hoped he would have a little more time before having to tackle that one, but he knew it was on Draco’s to-do list. And, really, he should probably tell his best mates about Draco before actually bringing the guy to the flat. And somehow he had to tell Hermione. And his family, a thought which terrified him immensely.
But anyway, that was Ron’s intention.
He ended up spending the week helping Harry and the other Aurors to track down and go after a rising dark wizard who was using the Imperius Curse on Muggles in Liverpool. It took the whole week for them to catch the guy and when he finally got sent to Azkaban, everyone in the department was exhausted, but happy, and celebrated Friday night with some firewhiskey and loud wizard rock.
It wasn’t until one in the morning, when their impromptu party ended, that Ron realized he was supposed to meet Draco hours ago.
He knew he was in deep shit when he and Harry headed home that night, but he resolved to visit Draco at the manor first thing when he woke up and he would make up it to him, if Draco was willing to give him a chance to. He hoped he would. He really did.
[~]
Ginny and Hermione came over for breakfast in the morning, putting Ron’s plans on hold for just a little bit. He couldn’t just go off without saying hello, and it would be awfully suspect for him to skip breakfast. And he had to think up a good excuse to be going anywhere when they knew it was his day off and he really had nowhere to be.
Draco was going to be pissed. But he tried not to think about that. Which was a surprisingly easy thing to do with the gang all there and a breakfast feast spread out on the kitchen table.
But then the owl came. And with it, the Howler.
Ron thought he might’ve been seeing things when Malfoy’s owl came flying in through the window; he was just glad that no one else recognized it. They did, however, recognize the little red envelope it had strapped to its talons.
“A Howler, Ron?” Hermione asked, sounding admonishing but not terribly surprised.
“This oughta be good,” Ginny chuckled, setting down her cup of coffee eagerly.
Ron hurried to untie the already violently quivering envelope and grabbed it, nearly tripping over his own chair in his haste to leave the table.
“It’s no use, mate,” Neville sympathized, shaking his head.
“Yeah, Ron,” Harry said, obviously trying to hold back his amusement. “We’ll hear it no matter what you do.”
Of course, Ron realized, that prat did this for just that purpose! His panicked eyes widened as the envelope burst open and out of his hand, his secret beau’s enraged voice exploded from within for all to hear: “Weasley, you son of a bitch! I can’t believe you stood me up! You said it would be the date that decided our-ha-relationship, and I suppose you were right about that, but you didn’t have to be such an arse about it! And who the hell do you think you are, messing with a Malfoy?! Six bloody months I wasted and this is all they meant to you, you bastard?! You’re going to regret this, you hear me?! You’re going to regret it! And then you can go to hell for all I bloody well care!”
And then the enveloped exploded into little, tiny, itty, bitty bits of paper, destroying itself just like Ron had destroyed his chance with Draco Malfoy.
But he didn’t have much time to mourn that fact. Not when he felt four pairs of stunned eyes on the back of his red head.
“Oh, bugger.”