Round 5: - Injury - Team A - "Bend Me, Break Me"
Title: Bend Me, Break Me
LJ username: Anonymous
Team: Anonymous
Prompt: Injury
Length: 7,753 words
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: PWP. Sexual situations, fighting, biting, elements of breath & blood play.
Notes: Thank you, S. and A., for your mad beta’ing skillz -- you helped tremendously in making it all come together. You’re wonderful!
Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.
“But at this point in time, at every point in time to date in fact, we have fought and fucked to excess and with reckless abandon. Which could almost be admirable, if it weren't so destructively over the top.“ ~ Peter Goffin
Bend Me, Break Me
Draco lingered against the wall between classes, flanked by his oafish companions, Crabbe and Goyle. He’d come up with a nasty little joke during his drudging Charms class, and he was waiting for his favourite target, Ron Weasley.
“He’s coming now,” Goyle announced, giving him a hard jab in the shoulder.
Draco leaned forward and looked past the larger boy to see down the corridor. Indeed, the redhead was walking toward them looking sullen, preoccupied, and best of all, without Potter and the Mudblood.
The blond hissed at Ron through clenched, white teeth as the other boy passed him.
“Hey, Weaslebee!”
Ron stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“Didn't you hear me, Weasel?” Draco yelled at Ron's back. “Or are you poor and deaf now, too?”
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron asked, looking over his shoulder. “I’m really not in the mood for your shite.”
“Listen here,” the blond said, his tone oily, “I heard about your father’s accident at the Ministry. Peculiar thing, that…I mean, snakes? Though I suppose down in the little hole that he works out of, there could be all kinds of vermin lurking about. Anyway, I reckon that he’ll be out of work for the foreseeable future, and I thought your family could use this.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out three Galleons, and tossed them at the other boy. They clattered to the floor, making a hollow sound against the stone pavers. Goyle and Crabbe snickered.
The redhead did turn around then, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Fuck you,” he growled.
The two brutes jeered -- Draco turned and put up his hand, shushing them.
“No need to be so nasty, Weasel.” Draco moved closer to Ron, toeing at the discarded coins on the ground. ”I’m sure your fat pig mother could use a little help taking care of your wretched lot. That should pay the taxes on that shed you call a home for a few months, at least.” A poorly concealed smirk hovered over his mouth.
Ron's blue eyes turned dark, and a feral snarl curled his upper lip. Draco waited for a retort, but none came. Instead, the eerily quiet Weasley pulled back his arm and violently rammed a blunt fist into the other boy's cheek.
The force of the blow knocked Draco off of his feet, and a bolt of pain seared through his hip as he crashed to the stone floor. He looked up for Crabbe and Goyle, but they had disappeared. He moaned miserably and tried to reset his hazy focus as Ron fell on him, punching him hard in the mouth. With no small amount of effort, Draco worked his aching jaw and conjured an amount of bloody saliva that he promptly spat in Ron's face.
“You bastard!” Ron screamed in disgust, backing away reflexively.
Draco seized the opportunity and struck the side of Ron’s head. His signet ring cut into the thin skin, and a trickle of blood rolled down Ron's temple. The redhead was stunned for a moment and Draco sat up and grinned at him, his mouth full of blood-stained teeth. “You shouldn't've done that, Weasel. Have you forgotten who I am? My father will see to it that you're tossed out of Hogwarts before nightfall!”
“Then I've got nothing to lose,” Ron spat back, and with a force Draco wasn't prepared for, he lunged forward, shoving the blond back down to the floor. He straddled Draco's hips and curled his large hands around his throat, banging Draco's head against the floor as he screamed something about hate and kill and die.
Pain flooded Draco's skull. Watery bursts of black, like inky flowers, began to flood his vision as the flow of oxygen to his brain became dangerously slow. He wrenched against Ron, tugging and clawing at the freckled hands that aimed to kill him.
Ron pushed down, and Draco's grey eyes widened -- not at the pressure around his delicate throat, but at the hard, familiar line pressing against his thigh through the crotch of Ron's worn trousers. That, and the dull thump it triggered in his own libido. Draco's mind reeled as carnal need began to ache through his body, spreading into his every nerve, and his fingers slowed against Ron's hands, both excited and terrified by the wave of unmistakable want that crested over him.
If Ron realised what was happening, he never let on. His face was flushed with hate, and he squeezed his neck harder. Noise dimmed away to nothing around Draco -- the only sound he was aware of was the thunder of blood in his veins and the way his breathing had turned to desperate gasps. His hips arched up of their own volition, desperate for more. “Come on, Weasley,” he said, his voice rough and barely there, “I dare you...”
Ron licked his cracked lips. “I will,” he mouthed.
Suddenly, the redhead looked up. Dismay flickered across his features, and the pressure around Draco's neck was no more -- sounds and lights and smells came flooding back to his senses with alarming speed. He turned his head and saw the cause: hurried footfalls were coming toward them and then Ron was across the room.
Draco pulled himself up slowly until he was standing again, albeit wobbly. He sneered and bared his teeth at Ron, who was still on his knees, wiping at the sticky track of blood at the side of his face. The blond charged forward -- he wanted to punch and kick and bite at him, to feel the hard, bony press of Ron's body against his.
McGonagall however, the person who had succinctly ended the brawl with a Revulsion Jinx stood squarely between them - her wand was aimed at the centre of Draco's chest. “Don’t move, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, pushing the tip of the wood harder to his sternum for emphasis. “You,” she said, “both of you -- my office, at once!”
Ron muttered something that Draco couldn't hear as he walked past them, and McGonagall finally took her wand away from Draco's chest. She cast a Cleansing Charm and the spots on the floor disappeared as if they'd never been spilled.
Draco felt an odd sense of loss at that, and swallowed hard.
~*~*~
“What happened?” McGonagall prodded, her voice shrill. “Who started this?”
“I didn't lay a hand on Weasley, Professor,” Draco said with a mean grin, even though it made his jaw ache to do so. “I was only offering him a bit of...help.”
“You rotten, lying bastard.” The redhead was seated in the wooden chair next to Draco, seething at the boy.
“Did you strike first, Mr. Weasley?” a new voice questioned from the rear of the room.
Both boys turned at the familiar voice. Snape was standing with his arms folded, his face twisted into its customary look of disgust and disapproval. “Well?”
“He deserved it,” Ron started. “He--”
“So you did cast the first blow?”
“Yeah, but--he! He had it coming! Professor?!” The boy gave McGonagall a pleading look. “He's a snot-nosed little imp, everyone knows that!” Ron's jugular vein pulsed dangerously beneath his skin, and Draco eyed it cautiously, half-expecting it to burst.
“Mr. Weasley.” McGonagall clasped her wrinkled hands and pursed her lips so tightly that Draco thought they might disappear into the rest of her face. “I know all too well of the bad blood that has existed between your family and the Malfoys. I taught both of your fathers, and I seem to remember that the two of them also came to blows on more than one occasion.”
Draco and Ron exchanged a brief, surprised glance.
“Regardless of history,” Snape offered, “behaviour such as that which you displayed today will not go unpunished. In that vein, Mr. Weasley, fifty points shall be deducted from Gryffindor.”
Ron frowned. “Of course,” he muttered sardonically. “Slimy git.”
“And fifty from Slytherin House as well,” McGonagall added.
The blond gritted his teeth. “I don't see why I am being penalised for any of this. The weasel admitted that he started it.”
“And I would've finished it if she hadn't come in and saved your pathetic arse, you pillock!”
“Quiet!” The order had come from both professors, and the two boys fell silent.
“That may be,” McGonagall said. “But I doubt that he would've taken a swing at you unless you'd provoked him, Mr. Malfoy.”
Snape walked toward them, his footsteps making a hollow, ominous clack on the floor. “There will also be detention for the pair of you. My class of bungling first-years had an especially disastrous attempt at learning how to concoct a boil cure potion this morning -- there are caked remains of botched results and melted cauldrons all over. The two of you will report to the Potions classroom after classes today and clean every single inch of the room. By hand.”
“You can't be serious,” Ron said.
Draco smirked. “What's the matter? Cleaning pots and pans -- I'd imagine you know a great deal about that, Weasley.”
The redhead leaned toward him. ”Shut your mouth, Ferret.” He was close enough that Draco could see the tip of his tongue slip over his teeth when he spoke, and the sight sent a shiver down his spine.
“Make me,” Draco replied, feeling inexplicably bold.
“Gladly.“ Ron's hands were at his sides, balling into tight fists.
“Will that be all, Professor McGonagall?” Snape asked, breaking up the fight before it had even begun. Draco thought the man sounded bored.
The old woman turned her beady eyes to Snape. “Yes -- thank you, Severus. I think I can handle these two on my own.”
The Potions Master gave his colleague a curt nod, turned on his heel and left.
“Now then.” McGonagall scanned both boys from head to toe. “Go to the Hospital Wing, both of you, so that Madam Pomfrey can have a look at you. You're dismissed.”
Ron turned and glared at Draco briefly, and then he stormed out, knocking hard into the blond's shoulder as he did so, as if he were trying to get in one last hit.
“Weasley!” Without thinking, Draco reached out and grabbed the other boy by the sleeve of his greying robe.
The redhead spun around angrily and snatched his arm away from Draco's grasp. “What the hell do you want?”
At that, a dozen and one things flooded Draco's mind, not the least of them Ron's tongue and teeth licking and gnashing against his neck until his skin was burning hot with the rush of blood underneath. He buried the searing thought. “I'll get you for this.”
Ron grinned. “I'd love to see you try, you little shit. Come on, I'll even let you have a free go.” He held his arms out, leaving his midsection unguarded.
“It'd be monumentally stupid to get into another row, what with us being right outside of McGonagall's office and all. I would think that would be obvious...but then again, you never were all that bright, were you?” Draco straightened to his full height - not much shorter than the redhead - and glared at him. “You'll never see it coming, Ron Weaselbee.”
“You're all talk, Malfoy. Always were.” Ron leaned in close, so close that Draco could feel his breath on his face. “You're a fucking coward, and if I'd had my way, I would've smashed you to a pulp by now.” Without another word, he turned away and stalked off down the corridor.
Draco stood alone in the hall, his every nerve vibrating like a plucked violin string. His face felt moist and flushed. He put a palm to his cheek and realised that he was sweating. The touch sent a shockwave of pain through his jaw, and his mind flew back to the hallway floor -- with Ron straddling his hips, leaning over him with his hands around his throat and white-hot hate in his eyes. The place where Ron's erection had rubbed against his thigh began to tingle, and despite the fact that Draco suddenly felt warm all over, he shivered at the goose flesh he felt prickling along his arms.
~*~*~
Madam Pomfrey dabbed at a cut on Draco's cheek with a cool cloth. “I would have guessed you'd have been here sooner, Mr. Malfoy. Your injuries appear to be relatively minor, however.”
Draco, lying shirtless on the small bed, lifted himself up and shrieked at the Healer. “Minor?! Weasley tried to crush my throat! Or perhaps you missed that detail in your half-arsed assessment of my multitude of injuries?”
“I couldn't possibly imagine why he would want to do you bodily harm,” Pomfrey said, frowning at the ill-tempered youth. She handed him a small jar filled with a paste that smelled strongly of pineapple. “Rub that on your bruises, it will help them heal more quickly. Well then, you're certainly well enough to leave -- the wound healing potion should be working already.” With that, she gathered her materials and left the room.
Pomfrey out of his sight, Draco shifted to a sitting position. The potion was indeed starting to work its magic: he winced at the nagging itching sensation under his skin as fibres and nerve endings were knitted back together and gritted his teeth as he fought the urge to dig his fingernails into the healing lacerations. He took his wand from the bedside table and charmed the gauzy partitions around him to close.
Draco got to his feet and hissed at the sharp pain that shot through his right side. He craned his head to investigate and saw a large, bluish bruise forming on his bony hip, marring his creamy skin. ”Bloody fucking...” he muttered to himself. Draco reached for the pineapple concoction and dipped his fingers into it, scooping some out. He applied it to the injury, rubbing the cool-feeling paste gingerly into his skin. From there, he moved up his bare torso to the other bruises and bumps, adding more paste as he moved along.
Draco's hand came to his throat and he touched it lightly. His breath hitched at the soreness over his larynx and all at once, he wanted to see it. He glanced around his cubicle, searching for a mirror. He knew that they were kept in the hospital wing from previous visits, and he quickly found one in the drawer of the bedside table.
He held the mirror and adjusted the angle so that he could see his neck in its reflection. His skin was marked, faintly but unmistakably. Draco could make out the pattern on his throat -- finger traces around the sides and reddened thumb prints over his Adam's apple. Reflexively, Draco put his own hand over the print that Ron's had made and, on impulse, squeezed.
The same low heat that he'd experienced during their fight began to simmer through his body, and he pressed harder. The warmth ascended from his toes and settled itself between the blond's legs, forcing him to sit back down on the bed. The mirror slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor, but Draco scarcely heard it over the roar of rushing blood in his ears. He clamped his legs together and tried to will it away, but it paid no heed -- his prick swelled between his thighs and he felt a small spot of wet spreading at the front of his pants.
Draco's skin tingled all over and, as titillating as the pressure around his neck was, his body's need for oxygen won out and he took his hand from his throat. Eyes shut tight, he fell back onto the cot and eased a hand down into his trousers and between his legs to knead at his erection. He shuddered, releasing a gasping breath that felt warm and moist, hovering just over his lips.
Somewhere, dimly, Draco remembered where he was - that a flimsy cotton partition wouldn't keep someone from discovering him, but that dread couldn't reach his cock: he was hard and aching, the need for release a terrible itch. His mind involuntarily flickered to Ron. Thoughts of his bruised and freckled hands moving over his body with far from murderous intentions and the sound of his voice, low and husky, pushed him closer to the edge and his body curled into itself, his long fingers working around his length with building intensity.
Ron. The name was a plaintive whimper in his throat, and he folded his lips into his mouth before it could escape. His hand tugged harder, and Draco's hips bucked into it in a frenzied, uneven rhythm. He opened his eyes briefly and his gaze fell on his shirt - spatters of blood had soaked into the material, drying to a dark maroon, and Draco imagined the sharp bite of Ron's white teeth on his collarbone, leaving his mark and then licking the hurt away.
The thought was more than Draco could bear, and the world was blotted out as his orgasm rushed through him, singeing him from the crown of his head to his long, and now curling, toes. Hot, slick fluid leaked out of his prick and all over his slowing hand and he breathed heavily, his chest heaving from exhaustion.
Several muzzy minutes later, Draco brought his sticky hand to his face and flicked a damp piece of hair out of his eyes. His body felt leaden and weary -- he could've easily curled up into the covers and slept for days, but instead he rolled over onto his back.
The pain that stabbed at the back of his head brought him back to reality, and Draco shot up on the bed. He held his hand in front of his face, looking at the thin filmy layer that coated several of his fingers, feeling shaky and uncertain in his own body.
In the short span of a few hours, Draco was feeling something new and foreign and completely impossible...
He wanted Ron Weasley -- not under his thumb or foot, but under his body - both of them naked, twisting and fighting like a pair of feral animals.
Poor, dirty, stupid, spotted, male Ron Weasley.
And in a few hours, he was going to have to spend detention with him.
The mere thought of being alone with the other boy sent a shiver down his spine and, ridiculously, he felt his cock slowly reviving.
What in the name of Salazar was happening to him?
Draco stood up in a rush, as if he could escape his unsettling desires by doing so. He cast a Cleansing charm on himself and his bloody shirt, got dressed and darted out of the partitioned space, nearly tripping over the broken shards of glass from the mirror.
~*~*~
The blond was late getting to the dungeons; he'd been hiding away in his room, hoping against hope that some sort of catastrophic event would take place -- the castle catching fire, being overrun with those Nargles that daffy Loony Lovegood insisted were real, Weasley getting carried off into the Forbidden Forest by a wave of hungry spiders. The last thought made him chuckle to himself, but it also put the redhead at the forefront of his mind again.
Draco looked at the clock -- classes had ended ten minutes ago, not that he'd bother going to any of them -- and life at Hogwarts was, unfortunately, as settled as it had ever been. He sighed as he levered off the overstuffed chair in the Slytherin common room. He adjusted the signet ring on his finger and winced when he unwittingly re-opened a small cut hidden under it.
A thin trickle of blood ran down his finger, and Draco watched the sanguine fluid thread into the lines of his knuckle. He licked his lips at the sight, felt his belly turn in on itself as the desire to taste flooded through him. Draco gave in, putting the bony joint to his lips and sucking the blood away. It was a sweet sort of taste, tinged with something metallic but not unpleasant and he continued to suck, forcing more out onto his tongue. The taste also brought back the memory of Ron's mouth, bloody and slick with Draco's spit, and his stomach flipped again, but for a darker, more carnal reason.
Draco took the finger from his mouth and wiped it dry on his robes, a smug smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He'd been worrying over nothing, he'd realised. The blond could be considered a great many things -- none of them especially flattering -- but it couldn't be denied that he was a young man who got what he wanted, whether with saccharine-sweet flattery, delegated brute force or incessant whining.
Now, at this moment, the one thing he wanted more than anything else was Ron Weasley. He wanted him, and he meant to have him.
With that resolution, the blond left for the Potions classroom with a single-minded determination and an arrogant stride.
~*~*~
“You're late, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape drawled as Draco approached.
“My apologies, Professor,” Draco replied, trying to disguise the fact that he wanted nothing more than the man to get out of his way and let him at Weasley. “I had something I had to take care of.”
The sallow-skinned man folded his arms over his chest. “Oh? Then please accept my apology for putting a wrinkle in your schedule,” he said, his voice oily with sarcasm. He gestured to the classroom with a tilt of his head.
Draco stepped forward. “What about Weasley?”
“He's already here.”
The blond's mouth twitched. He moved toward the entrance, and Snape held out his hand.
“Your wand, Mr. Malfoy,” he reminded him.
“Oh. Right,” Draco muttered, pulling his wand from the pocket of his robes and dropping it in the professor's hand. His wand relinquished, Snape stepped out of his way.
“It will be returned to you once the task is completed to my satisfaction.”
The young man nodded and went inside, ducking slightly under the too-low threshold.
Ron was indeed already there, gnawing at his bruised lip and scrubbing a steel brush against a cauldron covered in what looked like regurgitated pea soup. He looked up at the blond, glowered briefly, and then went back to scouring the pot harder than before.
“Be warned -- I've cast a special ward on this door,” Snape informed them. “If either of you try to leave before your task is complete, I will be alerted immediately.” He tapped the tip of his own wand to a small clasp that fastened the collar of his robe.
The redhead was incredulous. “You're...you're locking us in?”
“Yes. Get to work,” he answered curtly, and with that, the professor left Draco and Ron alone in the classroom, shutting the heavy door behind them.
Ron mumbled something under his breath and then looked at Draco. “I see you finally decided to show up.”
“I haven't missed anything exciting, have I?” The blond flicked an imaginary speck of fluff from his shoulder.
Ron stopped scrubbing for a moment; Draco watched his fist clench hard around the brush's wooden handle. “Yours are over there,” he said, his mouth tight, and he tilted his head at a pile of filthy cauldrons on the table beside the one he was working at. He'd already finished a few of them: four clean pots sat on the floor in a haphazard stack, the one at the top had oily soap bubbles around its rim.
Draco frowned at the table. It looked as though the Weasel had shoved the nastiest of the mess to his side. He touched one of the cauldrons with his fingertip -- it was slimy and he pulled his hand back in disgust. “I won't touch those,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “They're absolutely putrid.”
Ron made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “Of course you won't -- you're too dainty for that, aren't you, Malfoy? Just shut up so I can finish and get the fuck out of here.”
“How long is it going take you to clean all of these?” Draco asked, ignoring the dig. “I don't plan to spend the entire evening locked down here with you.” He watched Ron’s hands as they worked and remembered how tight their grip around his throat had been -- he imagined those large, warm hands pressed to either side of his face and felt his cheeks grow hot.
“What? I'm not doing all of them.” The redhead glared at him, turning a bright shade of red. He went back to his work after a few seconds - steel bristles scraped hard against iron.
Draco swirled his tongue around in his mouth. It was always so delightfully easy to rile Weasley. “Well, I don't see any other way out of here, seeing as we can't leave until they're done, and I'm not touching them.”
“I--you--fine.” Ron shook his head angrily. “Whatever I have to do so I won't be trapped in here with you one more second longer than I have to be.” His hands were shaking so badly that soapy water sloshed out of the cauldron he was cleaning and onto the table.
“Why is that?” Draco walked to the table where Ron was working and leaned against it. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”
Ron stiffened. “I'm ignoring you now, Malfoy.”
The blond sniggered. “That's a change.”
“A change from what?”
“From earlier today. You certainly couldn't ignore me then -- you were all over me.”
The redhead's blue eyes narrowed. “Go. Away.”
“All over me...and you had... Well, you should know what you had - you were there.” An impish grin bloomed on Draco's lips. “You were practically trying to hump me there in the alcove today. Truly, I feared for my very virtue.”
Ron set the brush on the table. “I don't know what you're on about,” he began, his voice strained with concentrated calm, “but I want you to shut your ferrety little face.”
The redhead was teetering on the edge, Draco thought. All he needed was a little push.
Ron interrupted his brainwork. “What?! Why do you keep staring at me?!”
“I realised something today,” Draco declared. “You're a pouf, Weasley.”
The redhead's mouth dropped open. “I-I am not!” he stuttered. “Shut up!”
Draco chuckled. “And if I don't?” he teased, closing in. He could feel Ron's warm breath on his face.
Ron gnashed his teeth - the blond could hear them grinding against each other. “Get the fuck away from me!” he shouted suddenly, stomping hard on Draco's foot.
The other boy immediately jumped back, hobbling in pain. “Sonofabitch!” he roared, instinctively lunging at an unguarded Ron and sinking his fist into his stomach. He punched again and again, loving the solidity of Ron's flesh and bone against his abraded knuckles.
Draco had only gotten a few punches in before Ron used his height and weight to his advantage and struck back, pinning Draco against the other table and grabbing him by his slim, bruised throat. “Shut up, shut up, shut your fucking mouth!” His voice cracked with bitter anger.
The pulse of blood roared and rushed at the blond's ears. Ron's full weight was on him, and Draco wanted to tear at him, to rip away his shoddy clothes and feel his blood-hot skin pressing against his own. “Make me,” he said again -- this time, though, it was more of a croak.
Ron's eyes flickered for a moment and then, with his hands still around Draco’s neck, he pushed forward and smashed his mouth against Draco's.
Draco whimpered as their teeth clacked together, but he quickly pushed away the pain and gave himself over to Ron's perseverant mouth. The kiss was rough and hungry and sloppy and perfect and his numb, trembling fingers scrabbled up to Ron's shoulders, digging into him and pulling him closer.
The hold around Draco's throat went slack -- Ron ran his thumbs along either side of his larynx, and then he broke the kiss, staggering backward. “The hell?”
“It's called a kiss, Weasley,” Draco said evenly, though his heart was knocking about with such force that he thought it might break through his chest and leap into his throat. “Though with that silly tart Lavender Brown being your only experience, I suppose you wouldn't know how to recognise a real one.”
Ron chewed at his lip for a moment before his calloused fingers curled against the back of Draco's neck. “Then show me,” he said.
Draco grunted and pushed Ron back into a worktable behind them, meeting him a second later for another feverish kiss. He slid his hands up Ron's chest and rubbed his palms over his nipples. The nubs had drawn up so tight under his thin shirt that Draco could feel them straight through and it ratcheted his wild desire up another notch.
“Why are we doing this?” the redhead asked, though he didn't appear to be particularly interested in the answer. He was busy trying to wrench Draco's shirttail out of his trousers.
The blond shimmied out of his robes and pushed his hands up the back of Ron's untucked shirt. “Because,” he answered plainly.
“Because?“ Ron pulled Draco to him and pinched his nipples through his shirt. Dipping his head a little, he mouthed Draco's bobbing Adam's apple, sucking at the bruised skin.
“Yes, because,” he panted, digging his nails into Ron's back. “Now bite me.”
Ron only nipped lightly at his throat, and Draco growled in frustration.
“No, you clod -- can't you do anything right? I said, 'bite me.'“
The redhead paused for a moment. “Fuck you, Malfoy,” he said, his voice muffled on his skin. Then he grunted softly and sank his teeth into Draco's tender flesh, biting hard.
Draco cried out against the pain as it sent a bolt of hot arousal straight to his cock. He moved one hand back down and around to the front of Ron's trousers. He dug into them, fingers clawing to get to the erection he could feel thick and throbbing against his own. “Give it to me,” he whined, mentally scolding himself for sounding so wretchedly desperate.
Ron must have heard it, too. He pulled away from Draco's neck, his lips stained with blood, and smirked. “And what if I don't?”
The blond's sense of entitlement reared its head at that. Malfoys got everything they wanted, and Draco couldn't remember having ever wanted anything as badly as this.
“Consider it a favour, Weasel. Who else would want you? Scarhead?”
Ron's body tensed immediately, the heated look in his eyes burned a flush on Draco's pale cheeks as he shrugged out of his own robes. “You shut up about Harry -- don't even think about him,” he ordered, breathing wetly over Draco's mouth.
Draco felt a barb of jealousy at Ron's reflexive protectiveness of Potter. “Fine,” he ground out. “I won't if you won't.”
Ron nodded, dabbing at his bloody lower lip with his tongue.
The blond leaned hard into the taller boy and resumed his quest for Ron's prick. He curled his slightly trembling fingers around the length of it and squeezed. For as gangly as Ron was, his cock was heavy in Draco's hand. “Fuck,” he moaned, his lips pressed to Ron's collar. “Floor.”
Ron removed Draco's hand from his trousers as he licked the shell of his ear and then bit it. “Right.”
Draco backed away just long enough for Ron to move, but he didn't give the redhead anymore time than that -- in a rush, he tackled the redhead to the stone. He straddled his hips, relishing the fact that he was on top this time. He pushed his palms flat against Ron's chest and grinned at the hard thud-thump his heart was making beneath his ribs. He felt like a hungry cat with a mouse trapped under its paw.
“You're wearing far too many clothes, Weasley.”
“My name is Ron.”
“I know your fucking name, We--”
Ron gave him a stern look. “Look, if we're going to do...whatever we're going to do, I reckon we should at least call each other by our given names.”
Draco rolled the idea in his head for a few seconds before replying, “I will if you will.”
“See how simple that was, Draco?”
The blond's heart tripped a beat at the sound of his name on Ron's lips. “Whatever,” he covered. “You're still wearing too many clothes, Ron.”
Ron chuckled softly and brought his hands up to fumble with the buttons of his dingy shirt. He wasn't moving quickly enough to suit the impatient blond, though, and Draco began to unbutton with him, their fingers struggling with each other as they both sought to undress him. The shirt popped open bit by bit, a few of the buttons breaking away from their slack threads and flying off into the unknown.
The plackets of the shirt fell against either side of Ron's torso, exposing pink-pale and freckled skin. Draco's vision hazed for a second as he canvassed Ron's half-nude body -- he could already see the beginnings of bruises: formless, red blotches appearing on his skin. He reached out and skimmed his fingertips over them and watched Ron’s body arch and flex in response.
Draco situated himself so that he could lie down, ignoring his aching erection for the moment. He stretched forward, sucked one of Ron's taut nipples into his mouth and then pulled back, allowing it to pass between his teeth and lips.
“Oh...oh Merlin,” Ron gasped.
Draco's hand moved across Ron's not-quite-hairless chest and twisted the neglected nipple between his thumb and index finger. Ron, he discovered, was deliciously vocal and responsive -- writhing and moaning while his body arced against Draco's mouth -- and his lips curled into a sneer around Ron's tender areola. He was winning.
He continued his path down Ron's body, stopping every now and again to lick or bite his skin before settling himself between Ron's thighs. A red line - a fresh scratch - had been carved into the redhead's skin below his navel, and Draco resolved to find out where it led. He unfastened Ron's trousers and pulled them, along with his pants, down just past his hips. The scratch continued on a diagonal path over to the right side of his pelvis. Leaning forward, Draco licked the wound, following its line even through the curly thatch of gingery pubic hair and savouring the faint taste of blood on his tongue.
Ron arched his skinny hips into the air, murmuring something that Draco couldn't make out. “What?” he said, looking up from his task.
“I...oh fuck, I don't know,” Ron said helplessly, his full, kiss-bruised lips slack and wet. “It's just good.”
He'd said that last word with such wantonness that Draco's prick, already frighteningly hard, curved upward to an obscene degree, threatening to break through his clothes. With a bit of effort, he scooted away from Ron, and pushed up to his knees to ease some of the pressure.
Ron sat up and snaked an arm around Draco's waist, pressing their chests together -- Draco could feel their ribs knocking as they connected. The redhead rubbed his thumb of his free hand over the discolouration on Draco's throat. “I did this?” he asked.
“Proud of yourself, you lout?”
A dark laugh rumbled in the young man's chest. “I am, actually.” He pressed the digit harder to the tender skin, and Draco moaned, the sound seemed otherworldly, as if it hadn't come from him at all. “Are there more?” Ron asked in a hushed voice.
“See for yourself.” The blond puffed his chest a little.
Ron smoothed his hand down Draco's neck to the knot in his tie, working at a maddeningly slow pace to pull it loose. He proceeded to undo his shirt buttons, showing more care than Draco assumed he would be capable of. Ron opened the shirt, but didn't remove it. To his credit, he didn't shrink away from the menagerie of bruises that decorated Draco's chest -- he merely reached out and touched him as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Draco moved forward. He took Ron's hand and pressed the palm flat against the large mark on his right hip. He hadn’t used the pineapple unguent that Pomrey had offered him again -- he didn’t want it to heal too quickly -- and the bruise had darkened to a rather turbulent shade of bluish purple. “Harder,” he said simply.
The redhead, who had been lost in the sight of Draco's abdomen, looked up at him and nodded. He curled his fingers into a fist against Draco's side and pushed into the bruise.
Draco hissed. “Yes, Ron. Merlin, give me more,” he said, his back arching. “More.”
Ron pushed and clamped his mouth over the blond's, swallowing the thick moan that came from his mouth. From there, he moved down Draco's torso, biting and sucking hard at the cuts and scrapes that he had caused earlier. His attentions opened a wound just over Draco's nipple. Blood formed in a thin line of claret rolling down over the nub and Ron latched onto it, lapping at it hungrily.
“Fuck-yes,” Draco gasped. His cock ticked within his trousers and he cupped his hand over his groin, rubbing at it.
Ron lifted his head, grinning at the blond. “That would probably feel better out of your trousers,” he said, then undid them for him, tugging them down with his pants until the spongy flesh jutted out from its nest of coarse, blondish hair. He closed his meaty fingers around it and pulled at it for him, coaxing droplets of fluid to its head.
Draco groaned with pleasure, his body pushing forward into Ron's pumping fist. He could've easily let himself slip off into a haze of carnal oblivion if it hadn't been for an unpleasant thought that had wormed its way into his brain. Ron was too good at all of this. He clasped his hand, stilling it.
The redhead looked at him, his eyes glassy and dazed. “Why--”
“Who've you done this with?” Draco's voice sounded tighter than he'd intended. That ugly, covetous feeling had resurfaced.
Ron shrugged, his shirt slipped down his arm, revealing a freckle-spattered shoulder. “Why do you care? What--are you jealous?”
“Of course not,” he lied, affecting his tone with an appropriate note of superiority. “I just don't like used things.”
Ron flinched at that and backed away from the blond. “Fuck this! Fuck you, you little-- fuck this!”
Draco laughed. In spite of his trousers still being around his ankles, he moved surprisingly fast, crawling to Ron's side. “Where are you going to go?” he reminded him, whispering hot against his ear. “We can't leave until we're finished, remember?” He snickered. “What--did you think I was going to be sweet?” Draco clasped his hand over Ron's crotch - his cock was hard as ever, solid and reassuring beneath his trousers.
Ron moaned and shook his head quickly, wriggling under Draco's touch. “God, I fucking hate you.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” He squeezed the hard mound and Ron swallowed audibly. “And I hate you and everything you stand for -- how many times are we going to have this conversation?”
The other boy was quiet -- he looked almost thoughtful. “I hate you,” he began, reaching out to run the pads of his fingers over the head of Draco's prick, and then took them away. “As long as I keep hating you, it's alright.”
Draco cocked his head, confused, but he kept silent as he watched Ron awkwardly fiddle with the buttons of his trousers. His hands were shaking. Once his slacks were undone, he reached inside, his fingers snagging on some of the curly, ginger hair that peeked out from the lowered waistline, and pulled out his own length. He sucked in a breath as he stroked the flesh, so stiff and flushed pink that Draco couldn't help but wonder if it hurt.
“I've not been with anyone before,” he murmured offhandedly, his body slightly swaying as he continued to touch himself. ”I just...I did you the way I do myself.”
Draco's heart knocked in his chest again, but not from desire. Ron's admission had been strangely affecting and his mouth was filled with a sudden rush of truths he'd never realised existed. He held his mouth shut, though, pulled off his trousers and pants and climbed into the other boy's lap instead.
“Then do it,” he said, pushing forward in a tortuously slow rhythm, letting the head of his cock slide wetly against Ron's each time they drew close.
“Right.” Ron sat up and circled his hand around both of their lengths. He looked up at Draco, unflinching as he began to pull at them both. ”I hate you,” he said again, and then grazed the tip of Draco's chin with his teeth.
Draco breathed a broken sigh and let his head fall forward onto Ron's bare shoulder, pushing his hips into the boy's firm clutch. ”I h-hate you, too.” He shuddered when he said the words, feeling something break deep inside of him. Ron squeezed their lengths together and he groaned thickly and nuzzled his sweaty face against Ron's neck, his breath coming from his mouth in harsh puffs.
“Hate's easier, isn't it?” Ron gasped near his ear.
“Yes,” the blond answered, lifting his head again to look Ron in the face. Every inch of his skin was stinging with heat and the dank dungeon air felt dangerously thin as Ron stroked him harder and faster. ”Oh fu--Ron, I...” he panted, his body convulsing as it worked towards his climax. His hands skittered all over Ron's back; he didn’t know what to do with them anymore.
Ron wrapped his free arm around Draco's waist and snatched him closer. ”What?” he grunted against his lips. ”You don't know what to do with yourself, do you?”
Draco realised the other boy was right. He didn't.
He'd fancied himself in control of this from the beginning, carefully choosing the perfect things to say and do to steer Ron to this moment, but now, Ron had undoubtedly usurped his power. Had he been in more rational state of mind, Draco might've cared, but Ron's hand felt so good grasping and pulling at his cock in ways he'd never dared, and he was so close...
His hands finally settled on either side of Ron's face - Draco could feel stubble rubbing against his palms. Ron's lips were slack and swollen, a small bit of spittle had leak out of the corner of his mouth and Draco rushed to it, licking it away. He then dragged his lips over Ron's and kissed him, his mind was spinning with heady desire.
Ron increased his pace exponentially -- their pricks rubbed against each other with delicious friction, and everything was suddenly too hot and too sweet and too much... Draco's breath snagged in his throat and he wailed against Ron's mouth as he came, his semen spilling out of him in thin ropes, wet and hot, over both of their hands.
“I knew...you'd lose it...first,” the redhead said, his own breath coming in staccatoed bursts. He caught Draco's bottom lip between his teeth and bit while his own orgasm tore through him, roaring like some beast.
For countless moments, neither boy said anything. Draco was strangely content, nursing the sweetly-sore spot on his lip and feeling the rhythm of Ron's heartbeat against his. Finally though, he pushed away. The blond closed his eyes and wiped away the thin sheen of sweat on his face with his sleeve. ”Ron...”
Ron shook his head. ”What's to say, Malfoy?”
The reversion to his surname turned Draco's skin cold, but he did his best not to show it. ”Right.” Draco stood up quickly, turned away from Ron and started to pull himself together, vaguely aware that he was doing it with angry, jerking movements.
The redhead seemed to be following his lead -- he'd climbed back to his feet and pulled up his trousers. ”We hate each other -- that's not going to suddenly change because...because we're hot for one another.”
“Right,” Draco repeated.
“Hate's just easier, you know? You don't have to muck about with feelings. It's just...it's easier. But...” Ron walked behind Draco and put his mouth to the blond's ear. ”I've always been stubborn.”
Draco couldn't help the small smile that curled at the corner of his mouth. ”Yes, Weasley, I'm well aware of that.”
“I mean, I'm so stubborn that...that I probably won't finish any of this tonight,” he said, hinting at the dirty cauldrons around them, ignored. ”And of course, you're such a prick that--”
“That I wouldn't help,” Draco finished for him.
Ron chuckled. ”Snape will probably give me detention again.”
“To the both of us.” Draco turned around to face the other boy. His mouth was close enough to kiss, but he didn't make a move. ”I suppose I'll be forced to waste another evening down here with you.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, tipping Draco's chin upward with his finger. ”I reckon you will.”
Finis
LJ username: Anonymous
Team: Anonymous
Prompt: Injury
Length: 7,753 words
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: PWP. Sexual situations, fighting, biting, elements of breath & blood play.
Notes: Thank you, S. and A., for your mad beta’ing skillz -- you helped tremendously in making it all come together. You’re wonderful!
Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.
“But at this point in time, at every point in time to date in fact, we have fought and fucked to excess and with reckless abandon. Which could almost be admirable, if it weren't so destructively over the top.“ ~ Peter Goffin
Bend Me, Break Me
Draco lingered against the wall between classes, flanked by his oafish companions, Crabbe and Goyle. He’d come up with a nasty little joke during his drudging Charms class, and he was waiting for his favourite target, Ron Weasley.
“He’s coming now,” Goyle announced, giving him a hard jab in the shoulder.
Draco leaned forward and looked past the larger boy to see down the corridor. Indeed, the redhead was walking toward them looking sullen, preoccupied, and best of all, without Potter and the Mudblood.
The blond hissed at Ron through clenched, white teeth as the other boy passed him.
“Hey, Weaslebee!”
Ron stopped, but didn’t turn around.
“Didn't you hear me, Weasel?” Draco yelled at Ron's back. “Or are you poor and deaf now, too?”
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron asked, looking over his shoulder. “I’m really not in the mood for your shite.”
“Listen here,” the blond said, his tone oily, “I heard about your father’s accident at the Ministry. Peculiar thing, that…I mean, snakes? Though I suppose down in the little hole that he works out of, there could be all kinds of vermin lurking about. Anyway, I reckon that he’ll be out of work for the foreseeable future, and I thought your family could use this.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out three Galleons, and tossed them at the other boy. They clattered to the floor, making a hollow sound against the stone pavers. Goyle and Crabbe snickered.
The redhead did turn around then, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Fuck you,” he growled.
The two brutes jeered -- Draco turned and put up his hand, shushing them.
“No need to be so nasty, Weasel.” Draco moved closer to Ron, toeing at the discarded coins on the ground. ”I’m sure your fat pig mother could use a little help taking care of your wretched lot. That should pay the taxes on that shed you call a home for a few months, at least.” A poorly concealed smirk hovered over his mouth.
Ron's blue eyes turned dark, and a feral snarl curled his upper lip. Draco waited for a retort, but none came. Instead, the eerily quiet Weasley pulled back his arm and violently rammed a blunt fist into the other boy's cheek.
The force of the blow knocked Draco off of his feet, and a bolt of pain seared through his hip as he crashed to the stone floor. He looked up for Crabbe and Goyle, but they had disappeared. He moaned miserably and tried to reset his hazy focus as Ron fell on him, punching him hard in the mouth. With no small amount of effort, Draco worked his aching jaw and conjured an amount of bloody saliva that he promptly spat in Ron's face.
“You bastard!” Ron screamed in disgust, backing away reflexively.
Draco seized the opportunity and struck the side of Ron’s head. His signet ring cut into the thin skin, and a trickle of blood rolled down Ron's temple. The redhead was stunned for a moment and Draco sat up and grinned at him, his mouth full of blood-stained teeth. “You shouldn't've done that, Weasel. Have you forgotten who I am? My father will see to it that you're tossed out of Hogwarts before nightfall!”
“Then I've got nothing to lose,” Ron spat back, and with a force Draco wasn't prepared for, he lunged forward, shoving the blond back down to the floor. He straddled Draco's hips and curled his large hands around his throat, banging Draco's head against the floor as he screamed something about hate and kill and die.
Pain flooded Draco's skull. Watery bursts of black, like inky flowers, began to flood his vision as the flow of oxygen to his brain became dangerously slow. He wrenched against Ron, tugging and clawing at the freckled hands that aimed to kill him.
Ron pushed down, and Draco's grey eyes widened -- not at the pressure around his delicate throat, but at the hard, familiar line pressing against his thigh through the crotch of Ron's worn trousers. That, and the dull thump it triggered in his own libido. Draco's mind reeled as carnal need began to ache through his body, spreading into his every nerve, and his fingers slowed against Ron's hands, both excited and terrified by the wave of unmistakable want that crested over him.
If Ron realised what was happening, he never let on. His face was flushed with hate, and he squeezed his neck harder. Noise dimmed away to nothing around Draco -- the only sound he was aware of was the thunder of blood in his veins and the way his breathing had turned to desperate gasps. His hips arched up of their own volition, desperate for more. “Come on, Weasley,” he said, his voice rough and barely there, “I dare you...”
Ron licked his cracked lips. “I will,” he mouthed.
Suddenly, the redhead looked up. Dismay flickered across his features, and the pressure around Draco's neck was no more -- sounds and lights and smells came flooding back to his senses with alarming speed. He turned his head and saw the cause: hurried footfalls were coming toward them and then Ron was across the room.
Draco pulled himself up slowly until he was standing again, albeit wobbly. He sneered and bared his teeth at Ron, who was still on his knees, wiping at the sticky track of blood at the side of his face. The blond charged forward -- he wanted to punch and kick and bite at him, to feel the hard, bony press of Ron's body against his.
McGonagall however, the person who had succinctly ended the brawl with a Revulsion Jinx stood squarely between them - her wand was aimed at the centre of Draco's chest. “Don’t move, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, pushing the tip of the wood harder to his sternum for emphasis. “You,” she said, “both of you -- my office, at once!”
Ron muttered something that Draco couldn't hear as he walked past them, and McGonagall finally took her wand away from Draco's chest. She cast a Cleansing Charm and the spots on the floor disappeared as if they'd never been spilled.
Draco felt an odd sense of loss at that, and swallowed hard.
~*~*~
“What happened?” McGonagall prodded, her voice shrill. “Who started this?”
“I didn't lay a hand on Weasley, Professor,” Draco said with a mean grin, even though it made his jaw ache to do so. “I was only offering him a bit of...help.”
“You rotten, lying bastard.” The redhead was seated in the wooden chair next to Draco, seething at the boy.
“Did you strike first, Mr. Weasley?” a new voice questioned from the rear of the room.
Both boys turned at the familiar voice. Snape was standing with his arms folded, his face twisted into its customary look of disgust and disapproval. “Well?”
“He deserved it,” Ron started. “He--”
“So you did cast the first blow?”
“Yeah, but--he! He had it coming! Professor?!” The boy gave McGonagall a pleading look. “He's a snot-nosed little imp, everyone knows that!” Ron's jugular vein pulsed dangerously beneath his skin, and Draco eyed it cautiously, half-expecting it to burst.
“Mr. Weasley.” McGonagall clasped her wrinkled hands and pursed her lips so tightly that Draco thought they might disappear into the rest of her face. “I know all too well of the bad blood that has existed between your family and the Malfoys. I taught both of your fathers, and I seem to remember that the two of them also came to blows on more than one occasion.”
Draco and Ron exchanged a brief, surprised glance.
“Regardless of history,” Snape offered, “behaviour such as that which you displayed today will not go unpunished. In that vein, Mr. Weasley, fifty points shall be deducted from Gryffindor.”
Ron frowned. “Of course,” he muttered sardonically. “Slimy git.”
“And fifty from Slytherin House as well,” McGonagall added.
The blond gritted his teeth. “I don't see why I am being penalised for any of this. The weasel admitted that he started it.”
“And I would've finished it if she hadn't come in and saved your pathetic arse, you pillock!”
“Quiet!” The order had come from both professors, and the two boys fell silent.
“That may be,” McGonagall said. “But I doubt that he would've taken a swing at you unless you'd provoked him, Mr. Malfoy.”
Snape walked toward them, his footsteps making a hollow, ominous clack on the floor. “There will also be detention for the pair of you. My class of bungling first-years had an especially disastrous attempt at learning how to concoct a boil cure potion this morning -- there are caked remains of botched results and melted cauldrons all over. The two of you will report to the Potions classroom after classes today and clean every single inch of the room. By hand.”
“You can't be serious,” Ron said.
Draco smirked. “What's the matter? Cleaning pots and pans -- I'd imagine you know a great deal about that, Weasley.”
The redhead leaned toward him. ”Shut your mouth, Ferret.” He was close enough that Draco could see the tip of his tongue slip over his teeth when he spoke, and the sight sent a shiver down his spine.
“Make me,” Draco replied, feeling inexplicably bold.
“Gladly.“ Ron's hands were at his sides, balling into tight fists.
“Will that be all, Professor McGonagall?” Snape asked, breaking up the fight before it had even begun. Draco thought the man sounded bored.
The old woman turned her beady eyes to Snape. “Yes -- thank you, Severus. I think I can handle these two on my own.”
The Potions Master gave his colleague a curt nod, turned on his heel and left.
“Now then.” McGonagall scanned both boys from head to toe. “Go to the Hospital Wing, both of you, so that Madam Pomfrey can have a look at you. You're dismissed.”
Ron turned and glared at Draco briefly, and then he stormed out, knocking hard into the blond's shoulder as he did so, as if he were trying to get in one last hit.
“Weasley!” Without thinking, Draco reached out and grabbed the other boy by the sleeve of his greying robe.
The redhead spun around angrily and snatched his arm away from Draco's grasp. “What the hell do you want?”
At that, a dozen and one things flooded Draco's mind, not the least of them Ron's tongue and teeth licking and gnashing against his neck until his skin was burning hot with the rush of blood underneath. He buried the searing thought. “I'll get you for this.”
Ron grinned. “I'd love to see you try, you little shit. Come on, I'll even let you have a free go.” He held his arms out, leaving his midsection unguarded.
“It'd be monumentally stupid to get into another row, what with us being right outside of McGonagall's office and all. I would think that would be obvious...but then again, you never were all that bright, were you?” Draco straightened to his full height - not much shorter than the redhead - and glared at him. “You'll never see it coming, Ron Weaselbee.”
“You're all talk, Malfoy. Always were.” Ron leaned in close, so close that Draco could feel his breath on his face. “You're a fucking coward, and if I'd had my way, I would've smashed you to a pulp by now.” Without another word, he turned away and stalked off down the corridor.
Draco stood alone in the hall, his every nerve vibrating like a plucked violin string. His face felt moist and flushed. He put a palm to his cheek and realised that he was sweating. The touch sent a shockwave of pain through his jaw, and his mind flew back to the hallway floor -- with Ron straddling his hips, leaning over him with his hands around his throat and white-hot hate in his eyes. The place where Ron's erection had rubbed against his thigh began to tingle, and despite the fact that Draco suddenly felt warm all over, he shivered at the goose flesh he felt prickling along his arms.
~*~*~
Madam Pomfrey dabbed at a cut on Draco's cheek with a cool cloth. “I would have guessed you'd have been here sooner, Mr. Malfoy. Your injuries appear to be relatively minor, however.”
Draco, lying shirtless on the small bed, lifted himself up and shrieked at the Healer. “Minor?! Weasley tried to crush my throat! Or perhaps you missed that detail in your half-arsed assessment of my multitude of injuries?”
“I couldn't possibly imagine why he would want to do you bodily harm,” Pomfrey said, frowning at the ill-tempered youth. She handed him a small jar filled with a paste that smelled strongly of pineapple. “Rub that on your bruises, it will help them heal more quickly. Well then, you're certainly well enough to leave -- the wound healing potion should be working already.” With that, she gathered her materials and left the room.
Pomfrey out of his sight, Draco shifted to a sitting position. The potion was indeed starting to work its magic: he winced at the nagging itching sensation under his skin as fibres and nerve endings were knitted back together and gritted his teeth as he fought the urge to dig his fingernails into the healing lacerations. He took his wand from the bedside table and charmed the gauzy partitions around him to close.
Draco got to his feet and hissed at the sharp pain that shot through his right side. He craned his head to investigate and saw a large, bluish bruise forming on his bony hip, marring his creamy skin. ”Bloody fucking...” he muttered to himself. Draco reached for the pineapple concoction and dipped his fingers into it, scooping some out. He applied it to the injury, rubbing the cool-feeling paste gingerly into his skin. From there, he moved up his bare torso to the other bruises and bumps, adding more paste as he moved along.
Draco's hand came to his throat and he touched it lightly. His breath hitched at the soreness over his larynx and all at once, he wanted to see it. He glanced around his cubicle, searching for a mirror. He knew that they were kept in the hospital wing from previous visits, and he quickly found one in the drawer of the bedside table.
He held the mirror and adjusted the angle so that he could see his neck in its reflection. His skin was marked, faintly but unmistakably. Draco could make out the pattern on his throat -- finger traces around the sides and reddened thumb prints over his Adam's apple. Reflexively, Draco put his own hand over the print that Ron's had made and, on impulse, squeezed.
The same low heat that he'd experienced during their fight began to simmer through his body, and he pressed harder. The warmth ascended from his toes and settled itself between the blond's legs, forcing him to sit back down on the bed. The mirror slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor, but Draco scarcely heard it over the roar of rushing blood in his ears. He clamped his legs together and tried to will it away, but it paid no heed -- his prick swelled between his thighs and he felt a small spot of wet spreading at the front of his pants.
Draco's skin tingled all over and, as titillating as the pressure around his neck was, his body's need for oxygen won out and he took his hand from his throat. Eyes shut tight, he fell back onto the cot and eased a hand down into his trousers and between his legs to knead at his erection. He shuddered, releasing a gasping breath that felt warm and moist, hovering just over his lips.
Somewhere, dimly, Draco remembered where he was - that a flimsy cotton partition wouldn't keep someone from discovering him, but that dread couldn't reach his cock: he was hard and aching, the need for release a terrible itch. His mind involuntarily flickered to Ron. Thoughts of his bruised and freckled hands moving over his body with far from murderous intentions and the sound of his voice, low and husky, pushed him closer to the edge and his body curled into itself, his long fingers working around his length with building intensity.
Ron. The name was a plaintive whimper in his throat, and he folded his lips into his mouth before it could escape. His hand tugged harder, and Draco's hips bucked into it in a frenzied, uneven rhythm. He opened his eyes briefly and his gaze fell on his shirt - spatters of blood had soaked into the material, drying to a dark maroon, and Draco imagined the sharp bite of Ron's white teeth on his collarbone, leaving his mark and then licking the hurt away.
The thought was more than Draco could bear, and the world was blotted out as his orgasm rushed through him, singeing him from the crown of his head to his long, and now curling, toes. Hot, slick fluid leaked out of his prick and all over his slowing hand and he breathed heavily, his chest heaving from exhaustion.
Several muzzy minutes later, Draco brought his sticky hand to his face and flicked a damp piece of hair out of his eyes. His body felt leaden and weary -- he could've easily curled up into the covers and slept for days, but instead he rolled over onto his back.
The pain that stabbed at the back of his head brought him back to reality, and Draco shot up on the bed. He held his hand in front of his face, looking at the thin filmy layer that coated several of his fingers, feeling shaky and uncertain in his own body.
In the short span of a few hours, Draco was feeling something new and foreign and completely impossible...
He wanted Ron Weasley -- not under his thumb or foot, but under his body - both of them naked, twisting and fighting like a pair of feral animals.
Poor, dirty, stupid, spotted, male Ron Weasley.
And in a few hours, he was going to have to spend detention with him.
The mere thought of being alone with the other boy sent a shiver down his spine and, ridiculously, he felt his cock slowly reviving.
What in the name of Salazar was happening to him?
Draco stood up in a rush, as if he could escape his unsettling desires by doing so. He cast a Cleansing charm on himself and his bloody shirt, got dressed and darted out of the partitioned space, nearly tripping over the broken shards of glass from the mirror.
~*~*~
The blond was late getting to the dungeons; he'd been hiding away in his room, hoping against hope that some sort of catastrophic event would take place -- the castle catching fire, being overrun with those Nargles that daffy Loony Lovegood insisted were real, Weasley getting carried off into the Forbidden Forest by a wave of hungry spiders. The last thought made him chuckle to himself, but it also put the redhead at the forefront of his mind again.
Draco looked at the clock -- classes had ended ten minutes ago, not that he'd bother going to any of them -- and life at Hogwarts was, unfortunately, as settled as it had ever been. He sighed as he levered off the overstuffed chair in the Slytherin common room. He adjusted the signet ring on his finger and winced when he unwittingly re-opened a small cut hidden under it.
A thin trickle of blood ran down his finger, and Draco watched the sanguine fluid thread into the lines of his knuckle. He licked his lips at the sight, felt his belly turn in on itself as the desire to taste flooded through him. Draco gave in, putting the bony joint to his lips and sucking the blood away. It was a sweet sort of taste, tinged with something metallic but not unpleasant and he continued to suck, forcing more out onto his tongue. The taste also brought back the memory of Ron's mouth, bloody and slick with Draco's spit, and his stomach flipped again, but for a darker, more carnal reason.
Draco took the finger from his mouth and wiped it dry on his robes, a smug smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He'd been worrying over nothing, he'd realised. The blond could be considered a great many things -- none of them especially flattering -- but it couldn't be denied that he was a young man who got what he wanted, whether with saccharine-sweet flattery, delegated brute force or incessant whining.
Now, at this moment, the one thing he wanted more than anything else was Ron Weasley. He wanted him, and he meant to have him.
With that resolution, the blond left for the Potions classroom with a single-minded determination and an arrogant stride.
~*~*~
“You're late, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape drawled as Draco approached.
“My apologies, Professor,” Draco replied, trying to disguise the fact that he wanted nothing more than the man to get out of his way and let him at Weasley. “I had something I had to take care of.”
The sallow-skinned man folded his arms over his chest. “Oh? Then please accept my apology for putting a wrinkle in your schedule,” he said, his voice oily with sarcasm. He gestured to the classroom with a tilt of his head.
Draco stepped forward. “What about Weasley?”
“He's already here.”
The blond's mouth twitched. He moved toward the entrance, and Snape held out his hand.
“Your wand, Mr. Malfoy,” he reminded him.
“Oh. Right,” Draco muttered, pulling his wand from the pocket of his robes and dropping it in the professor's hand. His wand relinquished, Snape stepped out of his way.
“It will be returned to you once the task is completed to my satisfaction.”
The young man nodded and went inside, ducking slightly under the too-low threshold.
Ron was indeed already there, gnawing at his bruised lip and scrubbing a steel brush against a cauldron covered in what looked like regurgitated pea soup. He looked up at the blond, glowered briefly, and then went back to scouring the pot harder than before.
“Be warned -- I've cast a special ward on this door,” Snape informed them. “If either of you try to leave before your task is complete, I will be alerted immediately.” He tapped the tip of his own wand to a small clasp that fastened the collar of his robe.
The redhead was incredulous. “You're...you're locking us in?”
“Yes. Get to work,” he answered curtly, and with that, the professor left Draco and Ron alone in the classroom, shutting the heavy door behind them.
Ron mumbled something under his breath and then looked at Draco. “I see you finally decided to show up.”
“I haven't missed anything exciting, have I?” The blond flicked an imaginary speck of fluff from his shoulder.
Ron stopped scrubbing for a moment; Draco watched his fist clench hard around the brush's wooden handle. “Yours are over there,” he said, his mouth tight, and he tilted his head at a pile of filthy cauldrons on the table beside the one he was working at. He'd already finished a few of them: four clean pots sat on the floor in a haphazard stack, the one at the top had oily soap bubbles around its rim.
Draco frowned at the table. It looked as though the Weasel had shoved the nastiest of the mess to his side. He touched one of the cauldrons with his fingertip -- it was slimy and he pulled his hand back in disgust. “I won't touch those,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “They're absolutely putrid.”
Ron made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “Of course you won't -- you're too dainty for that, aren't you, Malfoy? Just shut up so I can finish and get the fuck out of here.”
“How long is it going take you to clean all of these?” Draco asked, ignoring the dig. “I don't plan to spend the entire evening locked down here with you.” He watched Ron’s hands as they worked and remembered how tight their grip around his throat had been -- he imagined those large, warm hands pressed to either side of his face and felt his cheeks grow hot.
“What? I'm not doing all of them.” The redhead glared at him, turning a bright shade of red. He went back to his work after a few seconds - steel bristles scraped hard against iron.
Draco swirled his tongue around in his mouth. It was always so delightfully easy to rile Weasley. “Well, I don't see any other way out of here, seeing as we can't leave until they're done, and I'm not touching them.”
“I--you--fine.” Ron shook his head angrily. “Whatever I have to do so I won't be trapped in here with you one more second longer than I have to be.” His hands were shaking so badly that soapy water sloshed out of the cauldron he was cleaning and onto the table.
“Why is that?” Draco walked to the table where Ron was working and leaned against it. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”
Ron stiffened. “I'm ignoring you now, Malfoy.”
The blond sniggered. “That's a change.”
“A change from what?”
“From earlier today. You certainly couldn't ignore me then -- you were all over me.”
The redhead's blue eyes narrowed. “Go. Away.”
“All over me...and you had... Well, you should know what you had - you were there.” An impish grin bloomed on Draco's lips. “You were practically trying to hump me there in the alcove today. Truly, I feared for my very virtue.”
Ron set the brush on the table. “I don't know what you're on about,” he began, his voice strained with concentrated calm, “but I want you to shut your ferrety little face.”
The redhead was teetering on the edge, Draco thought. All he needed was a little push.
Ron interrupted his brainwork. “What?! Why do you keep staring at me?!”
“I realised something today,” Draco declared. “You're a pouf, Weasley.”
The redhead's mouth dropped open. “I-I am not!” he stuttered. “Shut up!”
Draco chuckled. “And if I don't?” he teased, closing in. He could feel Ron's warm breath on his face.
Ron gnashed his teeth - the blond could hear them grinding against each other. “Get the fuck away from me!” he shouted suddenly, stomping hard on Draco's foot.
The other boy immediately jumped back, hobbling in pain. “Sonofabitch!” he roared, instinctively lunging at an unguarded Ron and sinking his fist into his stomach. He punched again and again, loving the solidity of Ron's flesh and bone against his abraded knuckles.
Draco had only gotten a few punches in before Ron used his height and weight to his advantage and struck back, pinning Draco against the other table and grabbing him by his slim, bruised throat. “Shut up, shut up, shut your fucking mouth!” His voice cracked with bitter anger.
The pulse of blood roared and rushed at the blond's ears. Ron's full weight was on him, and Draco wanted to tear at him, to rip away his shoddy clothes and feel his blood-hot skin pressing against his own. “Make me,” he said again -- this time, though, it was more of a croak.
Ron's eyes flickered for a moment and then, with his hands still around Draco’s neck, he pushed forward and smashed his mouth against Draco's.
Draco whimpered as their teeth clacked together, but he quickly pushed away the pain and gave himself over to Ron's perseverant mouth. The kiss was rough and hungry and sloppy and perfect and his numb, trembling fingers scrabbled up to Ron's shoulders, digging into him and pulling him closer.
The hold around Draco's throat went slack -- Ron ran his thumbs along either side of his larynx, and then he broke the kiss, staggering backward. “The hell?”
“It's called a kiss, Weasley,” Draco said evenly, though his heart was knocking about with such force that he thought it might break through his chest and leap into his throat. “Though with that silly tart Lavender Brown being your only experience, I suppose you wouldn't know how to recognise a real one.”
Ron chewed at his lip for a moment before his calloused fingers curled against the back of Draco's neck. “Then show me,” he said.
Draco grunted and pushed Ron back into a worktable behind them, meeting him a second later for another feverish kiss. He slid his hands up Ron's chest and rubbed his palms over his nipples. The nubs had drawn up so tight under his thin shirt that Draco could feel them straight through and it ratcheted his wild desire up another notch.
“Why are we doing this?” the redhead asked, though he didn't appear to be particularly interested in the answer. He was busy trying to wrench Draco's shirttail out of his trousers.
The blond shimmied out of his robes and pushed his hands up the back of Ron's untucked shirt. “Because,” he answered plainly.
“Because?“ Ron pulled Draco to him and pinched his nipples through his shirt. Dipping his head a little, he mouthed Draco's bobbing Adam's apple, sucking at the bruised skin.
“Yes, because,” he panted, digging his nails into Ron's back. “Now bite me.”
Ron only nipped lightly at his throat, and Draco growled in frustration.
“No, you clod -- can't you do anything right? I said, 'bite me.'“
The redhead paused for a moment. “Fuck you, Malfoy,” he said, his voice muffled on his skin. Then he grunted softly and sank his teeth into Draco's tender flesh, biting hard.
Draco cried out against the pain as it sent a bolt of hot arousal straight to his cock. He moved one hand back down and around to the front of Ron's trousers. He dug into them, fingers clawing to get to the erection he could feel thick and throbbing against his own. “Give it to me,” he whined, mentally scolding himself for sounding so wretchedly desperate.
Ron must have heard it, too. He pulled away from Draco's neck, his lips stained with blood, and smirked. “And what if I don't?”
The blond's sense of entitlement reared its head at that. Malfoys got everything they wanted, and Draco couldn't remember having ever wanted anything as badly as this.
“Consider it a favour, Weasel. Who else would want you? Scarhead?”
Ron's body tensed immediately, the heated look in his eyes burned a flush on Draco's pale cheeks as he shrugged out of his own robes. “You shut up about Harry -- don't even think about him,” he ordered, breathing wetly over Draco's mouth.
Draco felt a barb of jealousy at Ron's reflexive protectiveness of Potter. “Fine,” he ground out. “I won't if you won't.”
Ron nodded, dabbing at his bloody lower lip with his tongue.
The blond leaned hard into the taller boy and resumed his quest for Ron's prick. He curled his slightly trembling fingers around the length of it and squeezed. For as gangly as Ron was, his cock was heavy in Draco's hand. “Fuck,” he moaned, his lips pressed to Ron's collar. “Floor.”
Ron removed Draco's hand from his trousers as he licked the shell of his ear and then bit it. “Right.”
Draco backed away just long enough for Ron to move, but he didn't give the redhead anymore time than that -- in a rush, he tackled the redhead to the stone. He straddled his hips, relishing the fact that he was on top this time. He pushed his palms flat against Ron's chest and grinned at the hard thud-thump his heart was making beneath his ribs. He felt like a hungry cat with a mouse trapped under its paw.
“You're wearing far too many clothes, Weasley.”
“My name is Ron.”
“I know your fucking name, We--”
Ron gave him a stern look. “Look, if we're going to do...whatever we're going to do, I reckon we should at least call each other by our given names.”
Draco rolled the idea in his head for a few seconds before replying, “I will if you will.”
“See how simple that was, Draco?”
The blond's heart tripped a beat at the sound of his name on Ron's lips. “Whatever,” he covered. “You're still wearing too many clothes, Ron.”
Ron chuckled softly and brought his hands up to fumble with the buttons of his dingy shirt. He wasn't moving quickly enough to suit the impatient blond, though, and Draco began to unbutton with him, their fingers struggling with each other as they both sought to undress him. The shirt popped open bit by bit, a few of the buttons breaking away from their slack threads and flying off into the unknown.
The plackets of the shirt fell against either side of Ron's torso, exposing pink-pale and freckled skin. Draco's vision hazed for a second as he canvassed Ron's half-nude body -- he could already see the beginnings of bruises: formless, red blotches appearing on his skin. He reached out and skimmed his fingertips over them and watched Ron’s body arch and flex in response.
Draco situated himself so that he could lie down, ignoring his aching erection for the moment. He stretched forward, sucked one of Ron's taut nipples into his mouth and then pulled back, allowing it to pass between his teeth and lips.
“Oh...oh Merlin,” Ron gasped.
Draco's hand moved across Ron's not-quite-hairless chest and twisted the neglected nipple between his thumb and index finger. Ron, he discovered, was deliciously vocal and responsive -- writhing and moaning while his body arced against Draco's mouth -- and his lips curled into a sneer around Ron's tender areola. He was winning.
He continued his path down Ron's body, stopping every now and again to lick or bite his skin before settling himself between Ron's thighs. A red line - a fresh scratch - had been carved into the redhead's skin below his navel, and Draco resolved to find out where it led. He unfastened Ron's trousers and pulled them, along with his pants, down just past his hips. The scratch continued on a diagonal path over to the right side of his pelvis. Leaning forward, Draco licked the wound, following its line even through the curly thatch of gingery pubic hair and savouring the faint taste of blood on his tongue.
Ron arched his skinny hips into the air, murmuring something that Draco couldn't make out. “What?” he said, looking up from his task.
“I...oh fuck, I don't know,” Ron said helplessly, his full, kiss-bruised lips slack and wet. “It's just good.”
He'd said that last word with such wantonness that Draco's prick, already frighteningly hard, curved upward to an obscene degree, threatening to break through his clothes. With a bit of effort, he scooted away from Ron, and pushed up to his knees to ease some of the pressure.
Ron sat up and snaked an arm around Draco's waist, pressing their chests together -- Draco could feel their ribs knocking as they connected. The redhead rubbed his thumb of his free hand over the discolouration on Draco's throat. “I did this?” he asked.
“Proud of yourself, you lout?”
A dark laugh rumbled in the young man's chest. “I am, actually.” He pressed the digit harder to the tender skin, and Draco moaned, the sound seemed otherworldly, as if it hadn't come from him at all. “Are there more?” Ron asked in a hushed voice.
“See for yourself.” The blond puffed his chest a little.
Ron smoothed his hand down Draco's neck to the knot in his tie, working at a maddeningly slow pace to pull it loose. He proceeded to undo his shirt buttons, showing more care than Draco assumed he would be capable of. Ron opened the shirt, but didn't remove it. To his credit, he didn't shrink away from the menagerie of bruises that decorated Draco's chest -- he merely reached out and touched him as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Draco moved forward. He took Ron's hand and pressed the palm flat against the large mark on his right hip. He hadn’t used the pineapple unguent that Pomrey had offered him again -- he didn’t want it to heal too quickly -- and the bruise had darkened to a rather turbulent shade of bluish purple. “Harder,” he said simply.
The redhead, who had been lost in the sight of Draco's abdomen, looked up at him and nodded. He curled his fingers into a fist against Draco's side and pushed into the bruise.
Draco hissed. “Yes, Ron. Merlin, give me more,” he said, his back arching. “More.”
Ron pushed and clamped his mouth over the blond's, swallowing the thick moan that came from his mouth. From there, he moved down Draco's torso, biting and sucking hard at the cuts and scrapes that he had caused earlier. His attentions opened a wound just over Draco's nipple. Blood formed in a thin line of claret rolling down over the nub and Ron latched onto it, lapping at it hungrily.
“Fuck-yes,” Draco gasped. His cock ticked within his trousers and he cupped his hand over his groin, rubbing at it.
Ron lifted his head, grinning at the blond. “That would probably feel better out of your trousers,” he said, then undid them for him, tugging them down with his pants until the spongy flesh jutted out from its nest of coarse, blondish hair. He closed his meaty fingers around it and pulled at it for him, coaxing droplets of fluid to its head.
Draco groaned with pleasure, his body pushing forward into Ron's pumping fist. He could've easily let himself slip off into a haze of carnal oblivion if it hadn't been for an unpleasant thought that had wormed its way into his brain. Ron was too good at all of this. He clasped his hand, stilling it.
The redhead looked at him, his eyes glassy and dazed. “Why--”
“Who've you done this with?” Draco's voice sounded tighter than he'd intended. That ugly, covetous feeling had resurfaced.
Ron shrugged, his shirt slipped down his arm, revealing a freckle-spattered shoulder. “Why do you care? What--are you jealous?”
“Of course not,” he lied, affecting his tone with an appropriate note of superiority. “I just don't like used things.”
Ron flinched at that and backed away from the blond. “Fuck this! Fuck you, you little-- fuck this!”
Draco laughed. In spite of his trousers still being around his ankles, he moved surprisingly fast, crawling to Ron's side. “Where are you going to go?” he reminded him, whispering hot against his ear. “We can't leave until we're finished, remember?” He snickered. “What--did you think I was going to be sweet?” Draco clasped his hand over Ron's crotch - his cock was hard as ever, solid and reassuring beneath his trousers.
Ron moaned and shook his head quickly, wriggling under Draco's touch. “God, I fucking hate you.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” He squeezed the hard mound and Ron swallowed audibly. “And I hate you and everything you stand for -- how many times are we going to have this conversation?”
The other boy was quiet -- he looked almost thoughtful. “I hate you,” he began, reaching out to run the pads of his fingers over the head of Draco's prick, and then took them away. “As long as I keep hating you, it's alright.”
Draco cocked his head, confused, but he kept silent as he watched Ron awkwardly fiddle with the buttons of his trousers. His hands were shaking. Once his slacks were undone, he reached inside, his fingers snagging on some of the curly, ginger hair that peeked out from the lowered waistline, and pulled out his own length. He sucked in a breath as he stroked the flesh, so stiff and flushed pink that Draco couldn't help but wonder if it hurt.
“I've not been with anyone before,” he murmured offhandedly, his body slightly swaying as he continued to touch himself. ”I just...I did you the way I do myself.”
Draco's heart knocked in his chest again, but not from desire. Ron's admission had been strangely affecting and his mouth was filled with a sudden rush of truths he'd never realised existed. He held his mouth shut, though, pulled off his trousers and pants and climbed into the other boy's lap instead.
“Then do it,” he said, pushing forward in a tortuously slow rhythm, letting the head of his cock slide wetly against Ron's each time they drew close.
“Right.” Ron sat up and circled his hand around both of their lengths. He looked up at Draco, unflinching as he began to pull at them both. ”I hate you,” he said again, and then grazed the tip of Draco's chin with his teeth.
Draco breathed a broken sigh and let his head fall forward onto Ron's bare shoulder, pushing his hips into the boy's firm clutch. ”I h-hate you, too.” He shuddered when he said the words, feeling something break deep inside of him. Ron squeezed their lengths together and he groaned thickly and nuzzled his sweaty face against Ron's neck, his breath coming from his mouth in harsh puffs.
“Hate's easier, isn't it?” Ron gasped near his ear.
“Yes,” the blond answered, lifting his head again to look Ron in the face. Every inch of his skin was stinging with heat and the dank dungeon air felt dangerously thin as Ron stroked him harder and faster. ”Oh fu--Ron, I...” he panted, his body convulsing as it worked towards his climax. His hands skittered all over Ron's back; he didn’t know what to do with them anymore.
Ron wrapped his free arm around Draco's waist and snatched him closer. ”What?” he grunted against his lips. ”You don't know what to do with yourself, do you?”
Draco realised the other boy was right. He didn't.
He'd fancied himself in control of this from the beginning, carefully choosing the perfect things to say and do to steer Ron to this moment, but now, Ron had undoubtedly usurped his power. Had he been in more rational state of mind, Draco might've cared, but Ron's hand felt so good grasping and pulling at his cock in ways he'd never dared, and he was so close...
His hands finally settled on either side of Ron's face - Draco could feel stubble rubbing against his palms. Ron's lips were slack and swollen, a small bit of spittle had leak out of the corner of his mouth and Draco rushed to it, licking it away. He then dragged his lips over Ron's and kissed him, his mind was spinning with heady desire.
Ron increased his pace exponentially -- their pricks rubbed against each other with delicious friction, and everything was suddenly too hot and too sweet and too much... Draco's breath snagged in his throat and he wailed against Ron's mouth as he came, his semen spilling out of him in thin ropes, wet and hot, over both of their hands.
“I knew...you'd lose it...first,” the redhead said, his own breath coming in staccatoed bursts. He caught Draco's bottom lip between his teeth and bit while his own orgasm tore through him, roaring like some beast.
For countless moments, neither boy said anything. Draco was strangely content, nursing the sweetly-sore spot on his lip and feeling the rhythm of Ron's heartbeat against his. Finally though, he pushed away. The blond closed his eyes and wiped away the thin sheen of sweat on his face with his sleeve. ”Ron...”
Ron shook his head. ”What's to say, Malfoy?”
The reversion to his surname turned Draco's skin cold, but he did his best not to show it. ”Right.” Draco stood up quickly, turned away from Ron and started to pull himself together, vaguely aware that he was doing it with angry, jerking movements.
The redhead seemed to be following his lead -- he'd climbed back to his feet and pulled up his trousers. ”We hate each other -- that's not going to suddenly change because...because we're hot for one another.”
“Right,” Draco repeated.
“Hate's just easier, you know? You don't have to muck about with feelings. It's just...it's easier. But...” Ron walked behind Draco and put his mouth to the blond's ear. ”I've always been stubborn.”
Draco couldn't help the small smile that curled at the corner of his mouth. ”Yes, Weasley, I'm well aware of that.”
“I mean, I'm so stubborn that...that I probably won't finish any of this tonight,” he said, hinting at the dirty cauldrons around them, ignored. ”And of course, you're such a prick that--”
“That I wouldn't help,” Draco finished for him.
Ron chuckled. ”Snape will probably give me detention again.”
“To the both of us.” Draco turned around to face the other boy. His mouth was close enough to kiss, but he didn't make a move. ”I suppose I'll be forced to waste another evening down here with you.”
“Yeah,” Ron said, tipping Draco's chin upward with his finger. ”I reckon you will.”
Finis