New fic: "Crown of Rope," adult, Ron/Draco
Title: Crown of Rope
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Word Count: 40,500
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/kinks: rope bondage/shibari
DH-compiant, EWE genre
Summary: Weeks after the end of the War, Draco was confronted with an attraction to a person that defied all reason, and he fled- to Japan. Three years later, he discovers the appeal was and is mutual, but nothing comes easily between a Malfoy and a Weasley. R/D, DH-compliant ignoring the epilogue. Written in part for the Fire + Ice Deathly Hallows epilogue challenge.
A/N: The creative kernels for this fic came from two discrete sources; the song "I Scare Myself" by Thomas Dolby and a NWS image provided by the always-inspiring liriaen, who gifted the picture to go along with a couple of her drabbles at rondracodrabble. There are lots of resources on shibari out there, and I've looked at many of them, but it was this picture that gave me the initial springboard. My exceeding thanks to mrsquizzical for the beta/insight and to callumjames for the Britpick and thoughtful perspective. My gratitude also to stuckinsea and sexyscholar for letting me send them some snippets along the way. Their enthusiasm gave me permission for this story to be a bit longer than I'd initially anticipated. Cross-posted to the R/D comms I enjoy.
And because I enjoy giving gifts, here are another couple of songs that were inspiring as I wrote this. "Give it Up" by 8mm, which I didn't know until sexyscholar put it on her R/D mix, "Feels Like It Should," and the entire "Kundun" soundtrack by Philip Glass. Here are two selections, "Lhasa at Night" and "Norbu Plays". I'm a huge Philip Glass fan from the late 80s. :)
It wasn't until after the War had come to its decisive and shockingly brief end that Draco truly knew the taste of fear. Terror he had experienced, certainly, the kind that had banished him to crouch over bushes or even in his own bathroom, dry heaving because there was nothing left in his stomach to get rid of. He'd lived with a gnawing dis-ease and panic during his sixth year, as well as the endless frightening days in the Manor the following year while the Dark Lord and those on his side had spent their time planning the demise of Potter and the Order and everyone associated with them. During the fighting itself he'd been too dizzy and strung out on adrenaline and self-preservation to actually feel the horror behind every running step he took. The thundering roar in his ears had overshadowed even Potter's rescue from the all-consuming Fiendfyre and Crabbe's death and the bowels-churning realisation he might never see the sun rise again.
It was only later, in the relative hush of the Hogwarts Great Hall when he looked at his bedraggled, cowering parents that the faintest trickle of fear began its relentless seeping into his body and spirit. Again and again, he relived the moment of pleading with the Death Eater, seeing him rendered helpless by an invisible attacker. He felt the blow to his own face and heard the unmistakable voice of his saviour. Being rescued by Ronald Weasley was perhaps the most frightening thing of all; that and the fact that he wanted to thank him. And then belt him in the jaw for having settled, unasked and certainly unwelcome, into his memories. Weasley's irate yell had been the catalyst that had propelled him onward so that he now found himself alive, and utterly uncertain as to why.
He didn't deign to talk to Weasley at the few ceremonies that they both attended, though Draco did find himself having a lengthy conversation with Potter at one point. He'd thanked Potter for coming back for Gregory and himself when he could easily have left them both for dead.
"You didn't positively identify us when he'd been captured and brought to the Manor," Potter reminded him earnestly. He seemed full of good will and magnanimity now that Voldemort was dead and he spent nearly every waking minute with the Weasley girl.
No, he didn't seek Weasley out. Instead, Ron cornered him away from the crowd after a memorial banquet held on the ruined Hogwarts grounds, pushing Draco against an unforgiving slab of granite, his blue eyes blazing.
"You shouldn't have lived, you spineless bastard," he growled.
Draco's blood pounded in his head before traitorously sinking to throb between his legs. "Too late now," he snarled in return, trying to jerk his arms away.
The wrongness of being turned on by Weasley having him shoved against a wall made his head spin, but he forced himself not to let Weasley know. "Unless you're going to take me out right here. No one's watching- I'm sure you've thought about it. Go ahead," he spat, clinging to his dignity. He jutted out his chin as though he really thought Weasley would hold his wand to his neck and make Draco beg for his life. The scalding fear that Draco really had nothing to live for, nothing to aspire to, and that his prick was practically jumping out of his pants, hoping Weasley would grind against it, frissoned across his skin and came out of him in hot huffs of air.
Weasley's expression changed from loathing to confusion, his gaze eventually raking down Draco's face from his eyes to his slightly open lips. He seemed mesermised for a moment until something inside of him righted itself and his more usual defiant, smug look reasserted itself onto his features.
"'Course I've thought about it," he said menacingly, gripping Draco's wrists in a bruising hold. "Missed two perfectly good opportunities, thanks to Harry."
"So are you always going to do what he tells you to?" Draco sneered, feeling a triumphant jolt as the barb hit its mark. They were eighteen years old, but goading Weasley was still as easy as when they were eleven. He needed to get away, needed to hit him, needed something to happen so they were no longer nearly nose to nose, sharing the same potent air between their open mouths. Draco had resigned himself to the fact that he fancied men, though he didn't know quite how to cope with that. That self-knowledge was nothing compared to discovering that being trapped by a furious Ron Weasley was the most potent sexual maelstrom he'd ever experienced.
"No, Malfoy. I'm my own man," Weasley said in a low voice, glaring at him. Despite the animosity, Draco could tell that Weasley was suffering a similar agonising awareness that caused him to loosen his grip on Draco's aching wrists.
"Prove it," Draco said daringly, hoping beyond hope that whatever the punishment Weasley dealt out didn't involve kneeing him in the balls, which is what he'd do were their situations reversed. Or would he?
"I've lost my fucking mind," Weasley muttered as he bridged the gap, artlessly mashing his lips against Draco's, his tongue commandeering the kiss as Draco's own tongue surged into the fiery cavern of Weasley's mouth. The stubble on Weasley's jaw scraped Draco's skin as he kissed back with all of the ferocity he had until Weasley pulled back, panting. His expression was a shifting kaleidoscope of shock, desire and revulsion, his gaze boring into Draco's as though Draco somehow possessed an answer as to why in Hades they were snogging against a crumbling Hogwarts parapet.
"Why?" Weasley croaked before Draco leaned up, capturing his mouth again as though Ron were an oasis and Draco a dying man in the desert.
Their kiss grew less frenzied and more exploratory until Weasley forced himself back. He stumbled away from Draco with a look of profound bewilderment that normally Draco would have considered laughable. Now he himself was stunned, his chin raw from the copper hairs glinting on Weasley's jaw. As he cleared his throat, Draco wondered why his world had chosen this day to shatter into countless incomprehensible pieces, and he damned Weasley for being the cause. The thought of spending even another second around Weasley was unbearable. The Granger girl would show up, or Draco's common sense would return and be mortified, and he'd still be standing there with desperation in his eyes and an erection straining against his dress slacks.
"I have no fucking idea," Draco said hoarsely, shoving past Weasley with a bruising slam to the shoulder. He stormed off, his mind whirling like a typhoon as he let his feet guide him. After a time he found himself in a neglected loo where, in another lifetime, he'd poured out his heart to the ghost of a girl. Staring at his disbelieving face in the mirror, Draco took in his wild eyes and puffy lips, and realised he didn't recognise himself. Wrenching away from the porcelain, he pondered the only plan of action that made any sense at all.
He fled.
* * * * *
Wizarding London seemed positively spacious compared to Osaka when Draco returned, a little over three years after he'd run from the clutches of his homeland. He'd managed to take out enough of his inheritance from Gringott's before spiriting halfway around the world, so he'd not been forced to work. Still, he'd not been idle, either, learning to the play the slow-moving Muggle sport of golf, fine-tuning his tracking spells so that he wasn't easily found, and indulging in a panoply of erotic exploration that had eventually made him long for home. With his nearly white hair and sharp features, he stood out wherever he went, and he was always a favourite at every house of indulgence that he decided to enter. An avowed sensualist, he was surprised at how long it took him to discover that he got off on being bound. He never felt so free - ironically, so in control and unafraid - when tied up, especially in the complicated restraints of shibari.
And yet, for the parade of almond-eyed men with skin as pale as his whose bodies Draco shared intimately during his self-imposed exile, one man continued to haunt him. It happened most often when he was alone, wanking as he looked out into the sparkling sea of lights from his apartment window. He would close his eyes, and imagine a much larger, sturdy hand on his prick, fantasise the feeling of a growled rumble of possessive noise against the back of his neck. Continuing to think about Weasley at all was a depraved sickness, but Draco couldn't seem to will it away. When news reached him that his mother had come down with Bloodcurdle, he considered that to be the sign he should return home, though he gave himself permission to return to Japan at any point.
He arranged to rent a temporary room in London as he had no wish ever to live at the Manor again. A family Healer from France had been summoned and was staying with Narcissa; the Malfoys had never trusted the staff at St. Mungo's. In the few days it had taken Draco to pack up his life and return to England, she had recovered tremendously, though Draco was still shaken at how frail she appeared as he sat by her bed.
"You're not leaving again anytime soon, are you?" she pleaded with him, and Draco shook his head.
"No, mother."
Disapproval shone in her eyes despite his assurance that he was back for some time. "Your father and I could have used your assistance when the Ministry came to go through our things," she chastised. "So many family heirlooms are now locked away- and they seized well over half of our financial assets."
"But we're not poor," Draco clarified, holding his mother's china-like hand in his, caressing her fingers with the pad of his thumb.
"No, thank Merlin," she said with bite in her voice. "We'll never be that. Though I am worried about my legacy, Draco."
He couldn't help it, but he quailed under her piercing gaze. "I want you to look at me and tell me I have no reason to fear any dark-haired, half-foreign children showing up on my doorstep in seventeen years' time, or at any time," she said sternly.
A flush threatened to rise from the base of Draco's throat at the implication, and how far off the mark she was in her worries. "No, mother, you don't need to worry about that at all. I was very careful."
He knew better than to imply that he'd been celibate, but he also didn't wish to get into a discussion about the fact that the kind of sex he engaged in would never produce an heir, bastard or otherwise. Lingering questions and her need for reassurance hung heavily in the disquiet between them, but Draco remained mute. It was only a matter of time before she and his father would begin a ceaseless, one-sided dialogue about Draco settling down with the right witch. The only reason he'd been spared thus far, he was sure, was due to shock that rivaled his own in that they'd survived the War at all, much less that they'd not been personally escorted by Aurors to an Apparition point and told that returning to England would equate to a lifelong sentence in Azkaban.
After a time, her eyelids began to droop, and the Healer gave Draco a look that he knew to mean that he should let his mother get more rest. He squeezed her hand, turning it over and kissing the palm before he stood up.
"I'm so glad that you're recovering as quickly as you are," he said unreservedly. She'd told him what she had done, lying to the Dark Lord about Potter's death, all so that she could be reunited with her dearest, most beloved son. Draco had been absolutely astonished at her brazen courage, and it pained him with deep agitation that he was going to disappoint her so absolutely. But he would not marry, and refused to be bullied into it, even though he knew it would break her heart. At least he was alive, and maybe as the years went on, she would soften to the idea of an heir outside of conventional society. Though he highly doubted that.
"As am I. Please come and visit again in a few days," she said as the Healer busied himself with some potions at a small table nearby.
Draco agreed, taking his leave and heading outside without passing his father's office. He decided to go and take a walk, to reacquaint himself with the still strange-seeming verdant parks and leaden skies which used to be so familiar. After buttoning up his coat against the chill, he Apparated from the Manor grounds to a spot near Regent's Park. It was a relief to blend in as he was no longer instantly perceived as a foreigner, and he was content to watch the Muggles going about their day. At a small deli he bought a sandwich, crisps and drink, having become used to keeing a certain amount of Mugge currency on him. He took his food to a bench and ate it, chewing quietly as he observed with relative disinterest the mini dramas and happenings around him, decidedly not returning the pointed look from a pair of women as they passed.
An approaching tall bloke with ginger hair did pique his gaze, much to his chagrin. Weasley's distinctive colouring had managed to brand itself into Draco's psyche, and the rarity of red-haired people in Japan had only fueled his impulse to give them a second look. The man coming down the footpath had a young child riding on his shoulder, with another companion of shorter stature and a messy shock of black hair. Draco's tuna salad turned to clay in his mouth when the two men and boy drew close enough for him to see their features clearly. He didn't care about the impish smile beneath the pair of green eyes, but Draco choked, coughing and drawing deep breaths as he looked at the child now riding on the redhead's shoulders, his small hands clasped across the freckled expanse of Weasley's forehead.
"Malfoy?" Potter asked incredulously, stopping a few feet away. He tilted his head, staring, as though examining a new broom in a shop window.
"Still patron saint of the obvious, I see," Draco wheezed before taking a long swallow of lemon squash in an effort to clear his throat.
"Where've you been? You just vanished!" he went on excitedly as Draco took in Weasley's tall form and equally stunned expression.
Draco's lunch began to feel less like nourishment and more like lumpy rocks as he looked at the bushy-haired boy astride Weasley's shoulders. Apparently he and Granger had wasted absolutely no time in propagating the Weasley line, though dwelling on that thought for any period of time made him feel ill.
"Not that it's any of your business," Draco retorted once he could breathe freely again, "but I've been in Japan. Osaka." He forced his gaze to focus steadily on Weasley as he lifted his child up and over his head to place him gently on the ground. "Though I've obviously not been nearly as busy as some people."
Weasley's brows furrowed as he stood back up and shook his head. "You've been-" he began until the child tugged on the leg of his jeans, distracting him. "This is-" Again he shook his head, resembling an Irish setter with an irritating insect that refused to leave it alone. "Teddy," he said, talking to the child, "this man is Draco Malfoy. You're related to him, but I don't know exactly how."
"I'm what?!" Malfoy asked, flabbergasted. He stood up from the bench, his gaze darting from Weasley to the brown-haired child and then over to Potter, whose expression was still one of bemusement.
"First cousins, once removed," Potter said authoritatively, quite pleased with himself. "Teddy, your mum was Malfoy's cousin, so you're first cousins, one generation apart."
Draco gaped, the pieces sluggishly falling into place. "He's not," he said, jabbing his finger at the child while regarding Weasley's befuddled expression. "He's not yours?"
"Mine?" Weasley asked, his eyes widening. "No way! I mean, I love him, but Teddy is Tonks' and Lupin's child. He's Harry's godson."
It was too overwhelming, seeing Weasley after three years, simply strolling down the footpath in Regent's Park, Draco thinking he'd already had a child, only to discover to his tremendous relief that wasn't true. Instead, he was actually related to the rather scared-looking child now being comforted by Potter, who'd squatted down and was whispering something meant to be soothing into his ear.
"You mean to say that the werewolf had a son?" Draco said slowly. He was only too able to relive that moments of mortification when the Dark Lord had told his family and the Death Eaters present that his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and his outcast cousin were married. "But he was killed. How-"
"Teddy was born during the War, obviously," Weasley snapped, though his anger appeared to be short-lived. "And he's not a werewolf, but he knows that only a few werewolves are bad, don't you?" he asked the boy. Teddy nodded, still clutching Potter's tracksuit jacket.
Potter ran his hand through the child's molasses-coloured hair, and Draco noticed the band of gold on his ring finger. No doubt he'd settled down with Weasley's sister; they might already have children of their own. That image set his innards back into an uncomfortable churning.
"Say, Malfoy, do you wanna go get a drink or something?" Weasley asked, fidgeting with the leather band on his watch and seeming almost nervous. "You don't mind, do you, Harry?" he continued on. Potter shook his head, looking as baffled as Draco felt.
"Why?" Draco asked, brushing crumbs off of the front of his coat. He picked up the crinkly paper that held the rest of his sandwich, balling it up and shoving it into the paper bag it had come in. "Don't tell me you missed me," he said snidely, wondering where the bite in his voice had wandered off as he sounded more curious than irritated.
"Because I'm thirsty. And maybe I did, or at least wondered where the hell you went," Weasley replied.
Draco let his gaze flicker to Weasley's hands. When he didn't see any similar jewellery to Potter's, he unclenched his jaw. He'd not realised he's been doing so until the ache eased from his teeth. "I don't drink, but all right," he acquiesced, chuckling to himself at the thunderstruck look stamped on Weasley's face. While Weasley got his bearings, Draco decided to introduce himself to this distant relation, even though he doubted they'd see each other very often.
"I'm Draco Malfoy," he stated, leaning down and holding out his hand. The boy bit down on his lip, but at Potter's encouragement, he grasped a hold of Draco's ring and pinkie fingers and shook them. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Don't drink?" Weasley finally spluttered as Draco rose to full height. Disappointingly, even at six feet tall he was still about three inches shorter than Weasley.
"No. Does the offer still stand?" Draco challenged. It was true; he'd chosen not to drink after several unpleasant experiences involving whisky and getting rather maudlin about a certain nemesis who wouldn't stay out of his system. Besides, Draco liked control, and drinking tended to lead him to feeling things he didn't want to.
"Sure. Um, well, see you later, Harry. Teddy, give me a hug, 'kay?" Weasley crouched down, and the child threw his arms around his neck as Weasley talked about the next time they'd get together. "I'll firecall you later on," he said to Potter, who gave Draco a last skeptical glance before shrugging.
"Okay. See you, Malfoy," he said, taking the child's hand.
After a few moments, Draco and Weasley stood alone, Draco wondering why on Circe's tits Weasley wanted to spend time with him. Not that he minded, if he was being honest; he was drinking in the view of Weasley, who'd filled out in the few intervening years. Just smelling him and the faint aroma of pine was enough to add too much realism into Draco's wanking life. They could go somewhere, Weasley could have his drink, Draco would have a smoke or two, and then they needn't see each other again. That was for the best.
"There's a place not far from here," Weasley said, gesturing vaguely.
"Sounds delightful," Draco said sarcastically.
"Look. If you're going to be a prick-"
"I've always been this way. What the fuck's going on with you? Isn't Granger going to have your bollocks for going out to a pub in the middle of the day with someone who used to be your sworn enemy?" Draco seethed, running his hands through his hair and wishing he'd tied it back.
"No; she's not my keeper," Weasley said, bristling. "Like I told you before you just fucking vanished, I'm my own man. Hermione and Harry are my friends, but I don't ask them permission to do things. I actually wrote to you, y'know," he muttered, his tone laced with self-deprecation. "But the owls came back."
"I didn't want to be found," Draco said smoothly, despite his heart beginning to thud more quickly against his ribcage. "What did you write to me about?"
"Look, you may not drink, but I'm desperate for one," Weasley admitted with a small shrug. "Can we walk while we argue, or whatever it is we're doing?"
"Suits me. And I think it's called having a conversation, which is rather unexpected." Draco was surprised at his own candor, but there was something about having been away for a few years that made their childhood animosity seem almost petty. That, or the faint stirring in his groin was persuading him to spend a bit more time with Weasley in the hope that they'd kiss again- or even more than that. Not that Weasley had given any indication that he'd be interested in such a thing, but as they meandered down the footpath, Draco went through their brief exchange and noted that Weasley hadn't brought up a girlfriend.
Once at the pub of Weasley's choice, they sat down across from each other at a booth, both taking off their overcoats. Weasley ordered a pint of something, while Draco asked for tea. He rummaged around his coat pocket until he found his cigarettes and lighter, lighting one before even thinking to offer the pack to Weasley.
"No thanks. Since when do you smoke?" he asked, appearing genuinely startled at Draco's habit.
"Since a couple of years ago." He took a deep drag, courteously blowing the smoke off to the side.
Weasley ingested that bit of trivia before seeming to come to a resolution inside himself. Draco breathed deeply on his fag, wondering what on Merlin's green earth was going to come out of the other man's mouth. He braced himself for something insensitive and unpleasant.
"I'm afraid I'm going to sound like a bit of a nancy," Weasley said apologetically before taking a deep pull off of his pint.
All of a sudden he just stared at Draco, who used every shred of self-restraint not to pat around the top of his head and make sure he'd not sprouted horns. Instead, he took another drag from his cigarette, returning Weasley's intense look. It gave him an opportunity to recognise just how handsome Weasley had become as a young man and how he, Draco, had again fallen for his physicality with total surrender as that fateful night over three years ago.
"It's really you, right?" Weasley asked, sounding terribly unsure of himself and not at all as Draco remembered him.
"It's really me, what?" Draco replied, exasperated and angry with himself because the fear was returning. It scared him to want Weasley like this. He wanted to need him, which could only lead to bad things like broken trust. He'd imagined this man knowing every inch of him, binding him and bringing him to that exquisite line between pleasure and pain, and Weasley couldn't even get out a single thought.
"Right." Weasley pulled himself together and took another swig before barreling on, newly galvanised. "I think I hated you after that night, after that banquet."
"You hated me for years before that night," Draco reminded him, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette into the ashtray on their table.
"Don't interrupt," Weasley said, glowering. "This is really fucking hard to say."
"Apparently." Draco couldn't resist the jibe, though it felt tinny on his lips.
"I wanted you more than I hated you," Weasley said in a low voice. "It scared the piss out of me. I mean, what the fuck was that? I liked birds! Or thought I did - but nothing was the same after that. After you. And you'd buggered off. Nobody knew where you'd gone. Nobody who would tell me, anyway. I wrote to you to tell you how much I hated you, and "
His voice trailed off as his gaze sank to his glass where he drew a pattern in the condensation. After a few seconds, he raised his head, looking Draco in the eye. "I wanted you to come back. If you were going to ruin everything, turn my fucking world inside out and make me question everything, I wanted to know why."
The ensuing thick silence smothered Draco. The pub itself wasn't all that busy, but there was enough ambient noise to convince him people weren't listening in, which was a relief. He didn't have any answers, only a buzzing increase of panic and bruising hope because Weasley seemed to have been affected as profoundly as he had. Which meant that maybe they could get together again. The heat in his groin felt like a furnace and he shifted, pulling down on his trousers so the tightness was less uncomfortable.
"You fancy blokes?" Draco asked carefully, inhaling deeply on his cigarette before putting it out, mashing the stub in a semicircle.
"Apparently." The word dripped with sarcasm, but Draco could sense the rightful fear behind it.
"So what have you done in the meantime?" Draco picked up his tea, burning with self-awareness under Weasley's greedy gaze.
"What've I done? I've become an Auror." Weasley finished his pint and waved over the server, asking for a glass of scotch for his second round. After it had been placed on the table, Draco decided it was time to quit arsing around.
"Weasley," Draco said in what he believed to be a seductive tone. Given his companion's lean toward him, it appeared to be effective. "I didn't mean your career. I meant what have you done to explore this part of yourself? And before you answer, I want to say one other thing." He placed the cup into its saucer, ridiculously pleased that he'd kept his hands from shaking.
"I've been thinking of you while fucking other men for a long time."
He'd waited until Weasley had swallowed to say that, but Weasley managed to choke for a moment nonetheless. "Now that I've seen you again and discovered you've not, in fact, married and reproducing at an alarming rate of speed, I'd very much like to know what it's like actually to be with you. If you're interested."
Weasley's eyes were huge. The relative dim of the pub had encouraged his pupils to widen, and much of the sky blue was swallowed by black. He nodded solemnly before disbelief flooded his features and he tossed back the rest of his potent beverage.
Draco leaned in, pushing his cup and saucer to the centre of the table so the backs of his fingers bumped into Weasley's. "I'm not sentimental, and I don't date. This is about lust and fucking. And I won't let you near my arse if you're drunk, so I'd not order another round, were I you."
"Okay," Weasley said, his voice raspy with something Draco was pretty sure was arousal. "Fair enough."
Draco eased back, picking up his tea and swirling it around before finishing it. "My current apartment is tiny, and not set up for company."
Weasley's face contorted into a mask of embarrassment. "My flat's a fucking mess," he admitted, his eyes seeming to search for something in Draco's expression.
"Perhaps someplace less personal isn't a bad idea," Draco said silkily, running his tongue across his lips and relishing the imperceptible moan Weasley made as he did. "I'll pay, this time. Let's just see how things go. No expectations. But you have done this before, right?"
It was suddenly very important to Draco that he not be Weasley's first foray into queer sex. It would be awkward enough without Weasley fumbling and nervous because he'd never actually fucked a man before. A rosy hue flared at Weasley's neck as he nodded.
"Yeah. I've done my share of that. Not with any one person. I went to Muggle places. They don't seem to care as much."
The flush finally faded from underneath his freckles. Draco tried not to let his imagination run away with him in the public space of the pub, but in his mind he was already tasting each tawny spot and marking the skin as his own.
"Even better." Draco's cock was stiff, his pulse pounding against his skin. The thought of sinking down on Weasley's rigid shaft caused his mouth to water and he had to press his fingers against the corners of his mouth. "Shall we go, then?"
Thankfully it didn't take long for Draco to get a room for the night at a decently plush hotel, using a Muggle credit card he kept for unexpected expenses. He was also absurdly grateful that it was a Saturday and Weasley didn't need to be at work until the day following. As they took the lift, Weasley tapping his fingers into his palms, Draco turned to him with a leer.
"Are you going to tell Potter what you're up to? You did say you'd firecall," he reminded him, feeling a spark of satisfaction at Weasley's discomfiture. Yes, he wanted Weasley desperately; wanted to be fucked until he was sore and have Weasley spread on a healing salve afterwards, but the appeal to humiliate and torment him was still too delicious to resist.
"I don't know. No, I'm not going to tell him," Weasley groused, scowling. "But he's not stupid. He'll know what's going on."
"Hmmmmm."
The lift deposited them on their floor and Draco briskly walked down the corridor, following the arrows to their room. After getting frustrated with the pointless Muggle plastic card, Draco looked swiftly around them and used his wand to cast an Alohamora, enabling their entrance into the room.
Once inside, Draco found himself pushed bodily against the door, his arms held at shoulder height much as they had several years prior. Weasley's face was inscrutable- lust sizzled beneath the surface, but Draco could just tell some noble Gryffindor-like chivalry was trying to demand its place, too.
"Do you really want this? Really want me?" he rumbled, grinding his hard length into Draco's hip. "Did you really mean what you said in the pub, or do you just want to dick about with my feelings and get a fuck out of it on the side?"
Draco pondered the barrage of questions while rolling his hips against Weasley's, revealing his own trapped erection. Rather than answer, he leaned up, flicking out his tongue to trace along the bow shape of Weasley's top lip before devouring his mouth in a possessive kiss. He savoured the heated taste of him, the residual burn of the alcohol, the fact that their tongues sliding in a sensual dance made his cock so hard it pained him.
He drew back, needing to catch his breath, but also wanting to give Weasley some honest answers. "Yes, I want you. I really, really want this," Draco emphasised, dragging his hands down and grabbing Weasley's arse through far too many layers of fabric. "I won't intentionally mess with your feelings, but if you're hoping this will be some grand romance, I'll just remind you that I'm Draco Malfoy."
Weasley was trying to catch his own breath, and he gave Draco a hard look. It surprised Draco; for all of Weasley's bravado, he'd always seemed like a hanger-on and follower, and someone who would go overboard with sentimental tripe if given half the chance. His gaze was disconcertingly familiar- it was calculated.
"Well, you said no expectations," Weasley murmured, easing his grip on Draco's arms to unbutton his coat and slide his hands down to cup Draco's arse. "I've thought about you, too, while I was, um, trying things out. But I'm my own man."
"So you've said," Draco observed, knowing Weasley could hear the implied 'so prove it' which remained unspoken.
"And I don't know how to date," Weasley went on, "not really. I think it'd bloody stupid to say we'd never do so-"
At that Draco thrust their hips together, reminding Weasley that they were together after these years to shag, not talk. Even if the idea of seeing Weasley on a semi-regular basis wasn't nearly as offensive as it should be.
"Look; don't treat me like shite, and I won't buy you flowers," Weasley growled before bringing their bodies together with a jerk and burying his face into the sensitive skin behind Draco's ear.
Draco moaned at the contact; he wanted out of his clothes and on the bed and Weasley's cock in his mouth and he wanted it NOW. "Deal," he gasped, baring his neck as Weasley kissed and sucked hard, no doubt leaving a lilac trail of bruises as he nipped down the column of skin.
The need for words had passed. Weasley's technique wasn't as clumsy as Draco had feared, though it was very different from the ritualised couplings and triplings that Draco had become used to in Japan. Without much preamble they undressed each other. Weasley cast a silencing charm and laid himself out on the bed, refreshingly at ease in his nudity and even seemingly proud at putting himself out on display. He'd filled out quite a bit since the War, and Draco planned to indulge in every contour and valley of his toned topography. Draco wasn't in bad shape himself; golf wasn't exactly a workout, but he'd also taken up swimming. From the appreciative fires smouldering in Weasley's gaze, Draco felt even more assured.
"C'mere," Weasley demanded, his thick cock bobbing up from its thatch of auburn curls.
It was ridiculous how untroubled Draco felt about crawling on top of Weasley's body; how his blood sang wildly as it coursed through him, all of his senses howling in a chorus of raging desire. He kissed and suckled down Weasley's chest and abdomen, discovering that unlike himself, Weasley actually enjoyed having his nipples teased and tortured with his teeth. Crouched over his prize, Draco inhaled deeply of musk and dry leaves captured in the sweaty realm between Weasley's legs. Saliva rushed into his mouth as he eased back the foreskin, sucking gently around the crimson head. His tongue darted out to the slit, tasting the vinegarsweet fluid like a hummingbird darting into a favourite flower.
Giving head was a skill Draco had spent hours honing. He loved the soft flesh over steel in his mouth, and Weasley's waves of moans and praise made Draco's heart batter happily in his chest. He didn't know why it was so important to please his former enemy, but he did owe Weasley a life debt. That brought Potter to mind, an image which he banished with distaste. Instead, he focussed on widening his jaw, feeling the dome of Weasley's prick at the back of his throat.
"Oh gods, fuck Draco," Weasley chanted again and again until his sounds became tinged with distress. He tugged on Draco's hair, pulling him off. Draco had been so single-minded in his euphoric task that it took him a few seconds of looking at Weasley's yearning expression to realise he'd been called by his first name. It seemed presumptuous - unthinkable, really - but he didn't press the point, not when he was moments away from one of his many fantasies actually coming to life.
"Don't want to come yet," Weasley said plaintively.
"I don't want you to either," Draco agreed, slowly taking himself in hand and rewarding his neglected cock with some friction against his palm. "Though we have all afternoon. And night." He felt the side of his lip curl in anticipation of hours of this kind of activity.
"Do you usually-" Weasley got up onto his elbows and Draco found himself utterly captivated. Despite himself, Draco knew he'd stumbled and was now sliding helplessly down the slope of caring for him. This was just supposed to be about sex. They'd been at each other's throats in school, the passionate anger undeniable. Now the feral attraction remained, but the bite to it had transformed into the raw need to join, not rip apart.
"I prefer to be fucked," Draco said casually. He suspected his bluntness would make Weasley blush. To his credit, it didn't.
"We're a good match, then," he said, a wicked grin of his own easing onto his lips. "You've no idea how many times I've thought about this, and wondered when exactly I'd obviously gone mad," he said with a small snort.
He stroked his prick while Draco Accio'ed his wand to cast a cleansing spell inside his body. All of a sudden he realised a necessary element he'd certainly not thought to put in his coat pocket before going to the Manor to visit his mother. That meeting seemed like a lifetime ago, but he still needed some lubricant.
"I'll bet you never thought of us being this close to your cock in my arse with no lube lying about," Draco sighed heavily. Fuck. There were spells, of course, but he really preferred his own slick, a tea tree oil-infused viscous potion he made himself.
"I'm not bad at spellwork for that," Weasley said unabashedly. "It's not as good as some others, but I really, really don't want to stop now. Next time we'll plan ahead," he promised. He held out his arm, fanning his fingers across Draco's sternum in a gesture that caused tears to prick rebelliously at Draco's eyes.
Draco nodded, not trusting his voice, or really any part of himself, aside from the muscles of his channel. They were clenching and loosening, so very ready to be stretched and filled. Weasley conjured enough lubricant to effectively cover his prick, offering to use his fingers to coat the inside of Draco's entrance as well.
"Just want to ride you," Draco said hoarsely. He loved being rimmed if the other person got into it, but he didn't like being fingered unless faced with someone of extraordinary girth.
"Fuck, Draco " Weasley held his palms up as though to hold Draco's hands, but Draco wanted them on the bed for leverage. "Kiss me, first."
Draco couldn't resist the entreaty. His whole body was taut, nerves sparking in anticipation of feeling Weasley slide inside of him, but the unhindered desire in his new lover's kiss took away some of the edge. Their tongues parried, delving into each other's open mouths with newly learned skill.
"Now," Draco said at last, scooting back and positioning himself over the glistening shaft. He felt the familiar and yet unique seasons of burning heat and muscles pushed apart until he was fully seated, squeezing around Weasley's cock as Weasley let out a barked moan of pleasure.
"So fucking good, and tight, hot, oh gods, Draco, so fucking good " Weasley babbled in a low voice.
Draco was in his own world where all of his sensations had shrunk to the fullness deep below his guts, rising up and down at a heightening pace until his thighs burned at the effort. Weasley was panting and swearing, eventually holding Draco's hips and pulling him down so Draco lay on top of him.
"We're rolling over," he growled.
Though Draco had somehow known he'd respond, a part of him was livid that he complied so readily, and so eagerly. He held his thighs tightly around Weasley's hips as they switched positions. Once Draco was on his back, Weasley leaned down, kissing him with renewed vigour as Draco wrapped his legs around his lover's waist.
"You feel amazing," Weasley said raggedly, pulling out only to slam back into Draco's willing body.
"Fuck, Weasley," Draco groaned, the low fire building again in the stretched muscles of his arse. His feet bumped against the expanse of skin at the base of Weasley's spine as his thrusting regained its deep barrage into Draco's body. Moans and wounded sounds tumbled out of Draco's lips; one arm he threw over his head, sparing a brief thought for one of his silk ropes, his other hand anchored around his throbbing shaft.
Weasley was sublime. He shifted his positioning and began rubbing past the nerves deep inside Draco and he let out a burst of profanity. His hand pistoned on his shaft, his eyes locked on Weasley's, falling further and further into his wild gaze. When Weasley's brow furrowed and he began making rough, pained gasps, Draco knew he was close to coming and tried to squeeze more around him.
The thrusts stopped and Weasley's mouth hung open, sounds of broken relief punctuating the room as Draco felt his cock pulse far inside of him. He'd wondered whether his new lover would be loud or quiet, and he was gratified that Weasley gave his pleasure voice.
Still panting, Weasley lowered his head before returning his attentions to Draco. "What about you?" he asked, licking his dry lips.
"Stay in me," Draco said. Weasley rolled his hips a bit, still hard, at least for a short time. Draco resumed his frantic pulling on his cock, the over-sensitised flesh making indecent squelching sounds as he stroked himself.
"Let go," Weasley said. "Come for me."
The low purr in his voice was enough to take Draco to his edge and crash far beyond. He shut his eyes as the tension roiled up from the tightness in his sacs, bursting out of him in creamy rivulets on his stomach. Flashes of black and white fireworks danced behind his eyes and his shaft jerked in his hand as aftershocks continued to assault him. Subdued normalcy finally drifted around him and he opened his eyes to see a beatific grin gracing Weasley's face.
"Better?"
"I'm the best," Draco retorted before snorting in his blissful post-fabulous-orgasm haze.
"I'm certainly not complaining." Weasley eased out of Draco and he lay down beside him, brushing some of the damp fringe off of Draco's forehead. "In fact, that may well be the most memorable sex I've ever had."
A thousand cutting remarks clustered on Draco's tongue- he couldn't help it. He wasn't a warm cuddly person or lover. Weasley captivated him, but he wasn't a bloody girl and he wasn't about to let Weasley know that the shag had been pretty amazing. Not yet, anyway. Most of the bruises he'd find on himself were intentional; Weasley hadn't flailed around as Draco had first anticipated.
"I've done worse," Draco said, wiping his sticky hand on his thigh before reaching across Weasley's pelvis to hold a firm arsecheek.
"Pretty sparing with the compliments, eh?" Weasley joked, leaning in to press a small barrage of chaste kisses on Draco's lips.
"Just leaving the door open for improvement."
Weasley groaned, shaking his head as Draco shifted out of their embrace and eased off of the bed. "You're a piece of work, but I guess I- fuck! You have a-" He gestured at Draco who stood, confused, holding his wand.
"A what?" he asked before casting a cleansing spell on himself and Weasley, now pointing excitedly at him.
"A tattoo! But you were always so prissy."
"If you want to keep having mind-blowing sex, I'd stop there with your juvenile assumptions about me," Draco threatened, defiantly raising up his chin. "Yes, I have a tattoo. But it's unique." He turned so his back was to Weasley, and he peered over his shoulder, but the angle was awkward. "What's he doing?"
"Doing? It's well cleaning its claws. No, ruffling out its wings. You do know his tail is pointing straight down to your-"
"It's a sexual tattoo," Draco said with no small amount of pride. "Paid a fair amount of galleons for it, too. Scorpius will fade pretty soon. He only appears if I'm really turned on. Otherwise my skin is as flawless as ever. Well, except for this, of course." He turned back around, tracing the faded but visible jagged scar from Potter's Sectumsempra.
"Did you get into really kinky stuff? Sexually?" Weasley's naïve curiosity was almost endearing, but Draco had no intention of giving away his profound desires the first time they shagged. Maybe never.
"Things you wouldn't even dream of," Draco taunted in a sultry voice before turning businesslike. "I need a smoke. Fuck! I didn't even ask to get a room with a balcony- oh, thank Merlin." A quick glance at the sliding glass doors across from their bed revealed a small balcony. He thoroughly enjoyed his cigarettes, but he despised the lingering smell. Even his advanced spellwork couldn't seem to totally eradicate it, so he smoked outdoors.
"May I join you?" Weasley asked, unfurling from the bed and stretching up on his toes, his arms pushing up toward the ceiling. Draco really was astonished at how nicely Weasley had turned out. His softening but still heavy cock was a beautiful sight to behold, and the large bollocks hanging behind were an additional pleasant surprise, in all their ginger-furred glory.
"Certainly."
Draco went over to his pile of discarded clothes and pulled on his briefs, slowing when he felt the warmth of Weasley's palm against the small of his back.
"Scorpius?" Weasley asked, and Draco nodded, a smug grin on his face. "He's already fading. Next time I want to be behind you, to see what else he does."
Draco turned, a prurient, closed-lipped smile on his lips. "A little later on, then. I suspect he'll enjoy the attention."
* * * * *
On to part two
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Word Count: 40,500
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/kinks: rope bondage/shibari
DH-compiant, EWE genre
Summary: Weeks after the end of the War, Draco was confronted with an attraction to a person that defied all reason, and he fled- to Japan. Three years later, he discovers the appeal was and is mutual, but nothing comes easily between a Malfoy and a Weasley. R/D, DH-compliant ignoring the epilogue. Written in part for the Fire + Ice Deathly Hallows epilogue challenge.
A/N: The creative kernels for this fic came from two discrete sources; the song "I Scare Myself" by Thomas Dolby and a NWS image provided by the always-inspiring liriaen, who gifted the picture to go along with a couple of her drabbles at rondracodrabble. There are lots of resources on shibari out there, and I've looked at many of them, but it was this picture that gave me the initial springboard. My exceeding thanks to mrsquizzical for the beta/insight and to callumjames for the Britpick and thoughtful perspective. My gratitude also to stuckinsea and sexyscholar for letting me send them some snippets along the way. Their enthusiasm gave me permission for this story to be a bit longer than I'd initially anticipated. Cross-posted to the R/D comms I enjoy.
And because I enjoy giving gifts, here are another couple of songs that were inspiring as I wrote this. "Give it Up" by 8mm, which I didn't know until sexyscholar put it on her R/D mix, "Feels Like It Should," and the entire "Kundun" soundtrack by Philip Glass. Here are two selections, "Lhasa at Night" and "Norbu Plays". I'm a huge Philip Glass fan from the late 80s. :)
It wasn't until after the War had come to its decisive and shockingly brief end that Draco truly knew the taste of fear. Terror he had experienced, certainly, the kind that had banished him to crouch over bushes or even in his own bathroom, dry heaving because there was nothing left in his stomach to get rid of. He'd lived with a gnawing dis-ease and panic during his sixth year, as well as the endless frightening days in the Manor the following year while the Dark Lord and those on his side had spent their time planning the demise of Potter and the Order and everyone associated with them. During the fighting itself he'd been too dizzy and strung out on adrenaline and self-preservation to actually feel the horror behind every running step he took. The thundering roar in his ears had overshadowed even Potter's rescue from the all-consuming Fiendfyre and Crabbe's death and the bowels-churning realisation he might never see the sun rise again.
It was only later, in the relative hush of the Hogwarts Great Hall when he looked at his bedraggled, cowering parents that the faintest trickle of fear began its relentless seeping into his body and spirit. Again and again, he relived the moment of pleading with the Death Eater, seeing him rendered helpless by an invisible attacker. He felt the blow to his own face and heard the unmistakable voice of his saviour. Being rescued by Ronald Weasley was perhaps the most frightening thing of all; that and the fact that he wanted to thank him. And then belt him in the jaw for having settled, unasked and certainly unwelcome, into his memories. Weasley's irate yell had been the catalyst that had propelled him onward so that he now found himself alive, and utterly uncertain as to why.
He didn't deign to talk to Weasley at the few ceremonies that they both attended, though Draco did find himself having a lengthy conversation with Potter at one point. He'd thanked Potter for coming back for Gregory and himself when he could easily have left them both for dead.
"You didn't positively identify us when he'd been captured and brought to the Manor," Potter reminded him earnestly. He seemed full of good will and magnanimity now that Voldemort was dead and he spent nearly every waking minute with the Weasley girl.
No, he didn't seek Weasley out. Instead, Ron cornered him away from the crowd after a memorial banquet held on the ruined Hogwarts grounds, pushing Draco against an unforgiving slab of granite, his blue eyes blazing.
"You shouldn't have lived, you spineless bastard," he growled.
Draco's blood pounded in his head before traitorously sinking to throb between his legs. "Too late now," he snarled in return, trying to jerk his arms away.
The wrongness of being turned on by Weasley having him shoved against a wall made his head spin, but he forced himself not to let Weasley know. "Unless you're going to take me out right here. No one's watching- I'm sure you've thought about it. Go ahead," he spat, clinging to his dignity. He jutted out his chin as though he really thought Weasley would hold his wand to his neck and make Draco beg for his life. The scalding fear that Draco really had nothing to live for, nothing to aspire to, and that his prick was practically jumping out of his pants, hoping Weasley would grind against it, frissoned across his skin and came out of him in hot huffs of air.
Weasley's expression changed from loathing to confusion, his gaze eventually raking down Draco's face from his eyes to his slightly open lips. He seemed mesermised for a moment until something inside of him righted itself and his more usual defiant, smug look reasserted itself onto his features.
"'Course I've thought about it," he said menacingly, gripping Draco's wrists in a bruising hold. "Missed two perfectly good opportunities, thanks to Harry."
"So are you always going to do what he tells you to?" Draco sneered, feeling a triumphant jolt as the barb hit its mark. They were eighteen years old, but goading Weasley was still as easy as when they were eleven. He needed to get away, needed to hit him, needed something to happen so they were no longer nearly nose to nose, sharing the same potent air between their open mouths. Draco had resigned himself to the fact that he fancied men, though he didn't know quite how to cope with that. That self-knowledge was nothing compared to discovering that being trapped by a furious Ron Weasley was the most potent sexual maelstrom he'd ever experienced.
"No, Malfoy. I'm my own man," Weasley said in a low voice, glaring at him. Despite the animosity, Draco could tell that Weasley was suffering a similar agonising awareness that caused him to loosen his grip on Draco's aching wrists.
"Prove it," Draco said daringly, hoping beyond hope that whatever the punishment Weasley dealt out didn't involve kneeing him in the balls, which is what he'd do were their situations reversed. Or would he?
"I've lost my fucking mind," Weasley muttered as he bridged the gap, artlessly mashing his lips against Draco's, his tongue commandeering the kiss as Draco's own tongue surged into the fiery cavern of Weasley's mouth. The stubble on Weasley's jaw scraped Draco's skin as he kissed back with all of the ferocity he had until Weasley pulled back, panting. His expression was a shifting kaleidoscope of shock, desire and revulsion, his gaze boring into Draco's as though Draco somehow possessed an answer as to why in Hades they were snogging against a crumbling Hogwarts parapet.
"Why?" Weasley croaked before Draco leaned up, capturing his mouth again as though Ron were an oasis and Draco a dying man in the desert.
Their kiss grew less frenzied and more exploratory until Weasley forced himself back. He stumbled away from Draco with a look of profound bewilderment that normally Draco would have considered laughable. Now he himself was stunned, his chin raw from the copper hairs glinting on Weasley's jaw. As he cleared his throat, Draco wondered why his world had chosen this day to shatter into countless incomprehensible pieces, and he damned Weasley for being the cause. The thought of spending even another second around Weasley was unbearable. The Granger girl would show up, or Draco's common sense would return and be mortified, and he'd still be standing there with desperation in his eyes and an erection straining against his dress slacks.
"I have no fucking idea," Draco said hoarsely, shoving past Weasley with a bruising slam to the shoulder. He stormed off, his mind whirling like a typhoon as he let his feet guide him. After a time he found himself in a neglected loo where, in another lifetime, he'd poured out his heart to the ghost of a girl. Staring at his disbelieving face in the mirror, Draco took in his wild eyes and puffy lips, and realised he didn't recognise himself. Wrenching away from the porcelain, he pondered the only plan of action that made any sense at all.
He fled.
* * * * *
Wizarding London seemed positively spacious compared to Osaka when Draco returned, a little over three years after he'd run from the clutches of his homeland. He'd managed to take out enough of his inheritance from Gringott's before spiriting halfway around the world, so he'd not been forced to work. Still, he'd not been idle, either, learning to the play the slow-moving Muggle sport of golf, fine-tuning his tracking spells so that he wasn't easily found, and indulging in a panoply of erotic exploration that had eventually made him long for home. With his nearly white hair and sharp features, he stood out wherever he went, and he was always a favourite at every house of indulgence that he decided to enter. An avowed sensualist, he was surprised at how long it took him to discover that he got off on being bound. He never felt so free - ironically, so in control and unafraid - when tied up, especially in the complicated restraints of shibari.
And yet, for the parade of almond-eyed men with skin as pale as his whose bodies Draco shared intimately during his self-imposed exile, one man continued to haunt him. It happened most often when he was alone, wanking as he looked out into the sparkling sea of lights from his apartment window. He would close his eyes, and imagine a much larger, sturdy hand on his prick, fantasise the feeling of a growled rumble of possessive noise against the back of his neck. Continuing to think about Weasley at all was a depraved sickness, but Draco couldn't seem to will it away. When news reached him that his mother had come down with Bloodcurdle, he considered that to be the sign he should return home, though he gave himself permission to return to Japan at any point.
He arranged to rent a temporary room in London as he had no wish ever to live at the Manor again. A family Healer from France had been summoned and was staying with Narcissa; the Malfoys had never trusted the staff at St. Mungo's. In the few days it had taken Draco to pack up his life and return to England, she had recovered tremendously, though Draco was still shaken at how frail she appeared as he sat by her bed.
"You're not leaving again anytime soon, are you?" she pleaded with him, and Draco shook his head.
"No, mother."
Disapproval shone in her eyes despite his assurance that he was back for some time. "Your father and I could have used your assistance when the Ministry came to go through our things," she chastised. "So many family heirlooms are now locked away- and they seized well over half of our financial assets."
"But we're not poor," Draco clarified, holding his mother's china-like hand in his, caressing her fingers with the pad of his thumb.
"No, thank Merlin," she said with bite in her voice. "We'll never be that. Though I am worried about my legacy, Draco."
He couldn't help it, but he quailed under her piercing gaze. "I want you to look at me and tell me I have no reason to fear any dark-haired, half-foreign children showing up on my doorstep in seventeen years' time, or at any time," she said sternly.
A flush threatened to rise from the base of Draco's throat at the implication, and how far off the mark she was in her worries. "No, mother, you don't need to worry about that at all. I was very careful."
He knew better than to imply that he'd been celibate, but he also didn't wish to get into a discussion about the fact that the kind of sex he engaged in would never produce an heir, bastard or otherwise. Lingering questions and her need for reassurance hung heavily in the disquiet between them, but Draco remained mute. It was only a matter of time before she and his father would begin a ceaseless, one-sided dialogue about Draco settling down with the right witch. The only reason he'd been spared thus far, he was sure, was due to shock that rivaled his own in that they'd survived the War at all, much less that they'd not been personally escorted by Aurors to an Apparition point and told that returning to England would equate to a lifelong sentence in Azkaban.
After a time, her eyelids began to droop, and the Healer gave Draco a look that he knew to mean that he should let his mother get more rest. He squeezed her hand, turning it over and kissing the palm before he stood up.
"I'm so glad that you're recovering as quickly as you are," he said unreservedly. She'd told him what she had done, lying to the Dark Lord about Potter's death, all so that she could be reunited with her dearest, most beloved son. Draco had been absolutely astonished at her brazen courage, and it pained him with deep agitation that he was going to disappoint her so absolutely. But he would not marry, and refused to be bullied into it, even though he knew it would break her heart. At least he was alive, and maybe as the years went on, she would soften to the idea of an heir outside of conventional society. Though he highly doubted that.
"As am I. Please come and visit again in a few days," she said as the Healer busied himself with some potions at a small table nearby.
Draco agreed, taking his leave and heading outside without passing his father's office. He decided to go and take a walk, to reacquaint himself with the still strange-seeming verdant parks and leaden skies which used to be so familiar. After buttoning up his coat against the chill, he Apparated from the Manor grounds to a spot near Regent's Park. It was a relief to blend in as he was no longer instantly perceived as a foreigner, and he was content to watch the Muggles going about their day. At a small deli he bought a sandwich, crisps and drink, having become used to keeing a certain amount of Mugge currency on him. He took his food to a bench and ate it, chewing quietly as he observed with relative disinterest the mini dramas and happenings around him, decidedly not returning the pointed look from a pair of women as they passed.
An approaching tall bloke with ginger hair did pique his gaze, much to his chagrin. Weasley's distinctive colouring had managed to brand itself into Draco's psyche, and the rarity of red-haired people in Japan had only fueled his impulse to give them a second look. The man coming down the footpath had a young child riding on his shoulder, with another companion of shorter stature and a messy shock of black hair. Draco's tuna salad turned to clay in his mouth when the two men and boy drew close enough for him to see their features clearly. He didn't care about the impish smile beneath the pair of green eyes, but Draco choked, coughing and drawing deep breaths as he looked at the child now riding on the redhead's shoulders, his small hands clasped across the freckled expanse of Weasley's forehead.
"Malfoy?" Potter asked incredulously, stopping a few feet away. He tilted his head, staring, as though examining a new broom in a shop window.
"Still patron saint of the obvious, I see," Draco wheezed before taking a long swallow of lemon squash in an effort to clear his throat.
"Where've you been? You just vanished!" he went on excitedly as Draco took in Weasley's tall form and equally stunned expression.
Draco's lunch began to feel less like nourishment and more like lumpy rocks as he looked at the bushy-haired boy astride Weasley's shoulders. Apparently he and Granger had wasted absolutely no time in propagating the Weasley line, though dwelling on that thought for any period of time made him feel ill.
"Not that it's any of your business," Draco retorted once he could breathe freely again, "but I've been in Japan. Osaka." He forced his gaze to focus steadily on Weasley as he lifted his child up and over his head to place him gently on the ground. "Though I've obviously not been nearly as busy as some people."
Weasley's brows furrowed as he stood back up and shook his head. "You've been-" he began until the child tugged on the leg of his jeans, distracting him. "This is-" Again he shook his head, resembling an Irish setter with an irritating insect that refused to leave it alone. "Teddy," he said, talking to the child, "this man is Draco Malfoy. You're related to him, but I don't know exactly how."
"I'm what?!" Malfoy asked, flabbergasted. He stood up from the bench, his gaze darting from Weasley to the brown-haired child and then over to Potter, whose expression was still one of bemusement.
"First cousins, once removed," Potter said authoritatively, quite pleased with himself. "Teddy, your mum was Malfoy's cousin, so you're first cousins, one generation apart."
Draco gaped, the pieces sluggishly falling into place. "He's not," he said, jabbing his finger at the child while regarding Weasley's befuddled expression. "He's not yours?"
"Mine?" Weasley asked, his eyes widening. "No way! I mean, I love him, but Teddy is Tonks' and Lupin's child. He's Harry's godson."
It was too overwhelming, seeing Weasley after three years, simply strolling down the footpath in Regent's Park, Draco thinking he'd already had a child, only to discover to his tremendous relief that wasn't true. Instead, he was actually related to the rather scared-looking child now being comforted by Potter, who'd squatted down and was whispering something meant to be soothing into his ear.
"You mean to say that the werewolf had a son?" Draco said slowly. He was only too able to relive that moments of mortification when the Dark Lord had told his family and the Death Eaters present that his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and his outcast cousin were married. "But he was killed. How-"
"Teddy was born during the War, obviously," Weasley snapped, though his anger appeared to be short-lived. "And he's not a werewolf, but he knows that only a few werewolves are bad, don't you?" he asked the boy. Teddy nodded, still clutching Potter's tracksuit jacket.
Potter ran his hand through the child's molasses-coloured hair, and Draco noticed the band of gold on his ring finger. No doubt he'd settled down with Weasley's sister; they might already have children of their own. That image set his innards back into an uncomfortable churning.
"Say, Malfoy, do you wanna go get a drink or something?" Weasley asked, fidgeting with the leather band on his watch and seeming almost nervous. "You don't mind, do you, Harry?" he continued on. Potter shook his head, looking as baffled as Draco felt.
"Why?" Draco asked, brushing crumbs off of the front of his coat. He picked up the crinkly paper that held the rest of his sandwich, balling it up and shoving it into the paper bag it had come in. "Don't tell me you missed me," he said snidely, wondering where the bite in his voice had wandered off as he sounded more curious than irritated.
"Because I'm thirsty. And maybe I did, or at least wondered where the hell you went," Weasley replied.
Draco let his gaze flicker to Weasley's hands. When he didn't see any similar jewellery to Potter's, he unclenched his jaw. He'd not realised he's been doing so until the ache eased from his teeth. "I don't drink, but all right," he acquiesced, chuckling to himself at the thunderstruck look stamped on Weasley's face. While Weasley got his bearings, Draco decided to introduce himself to this distant relation, even though he doubted they'd see each other very often.
"I'm Draco Malfoy," he stated, leaning down and holding out his hand. The boy bit down on his lip, but at Potter's encouragement, he grasped a hold of Draco's ring and pinkie fingers and shook them. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Don't drink?" Weasley finally spluttered as Draco rose to full height. Disappointingly, even at six feet tall he was still about three inches shorter than Weasley.
"No. Does the offer still stand?" Draco challenged. It was true; he'd chosen not to drink after several unpleasant experiences involving whisky and getting rather maudlin about a certain nemesis who wouldn't stay out of his system. Besides, Draco liked control, and drinking tended to lead him to feeling things he didn't want to.
"Sure. Um, well, see you later, Harry. Teddy, give me a hug, 'kay?" Weasley crouched down, and the child threw his arms around his neck as Weasley talked about the next time they'd get together. "I'll firecall you later on," he said to Potter, who gave Draco a last skeptical glance before shrugging.
"Okay. See you, Malfoy," he said, taking the child's hand.
After a few moments, Draco and Weasley stood alone, Draco wondering why on Circe's tits Weasley wanted to spend time with him. Not that he minded, if he was being honest; he was drinking in the view of Weasley, who'd filled out in the few intervening years. Just smelling him and the faint aroma of pine was enough to add too much realism into Draco's wanking life. They could go somewhere, Weasley could have his drink, Draco would have a smoke or two, and then they needn't see each other again. That was for the best.
"There's a place not far from here," Weasley said, gesturing vaguely.
"Sounds delightful," Draco said sarcastically.
"Look. If you're going to be a prick-"
"I've always been this way. What the fuck's going on with you? Isn't Granger going to have your bollocks for going out to a pub in the middle of the day with someone who used to be your sworn enemy?" Draco seethed, running his hands through his hair and wishing he'd tied it back.
"No; she's not my keeper," Weasley said, bristling. "Like I told you before you just fucking vanished, I'm my own man. Hermione and Harry are my friends, but I don't ask them permission to do things. I actually wrote to you, y'know," he muttered, his tone laced with self-deprecation. "But the owls came back."
"I didn't want to be found," Draco said smoothly, despite his heart beginning to thud more quickly against his ribcage. "What did you write to me about?"
"Look, you may not drink, but I'm desperate for one," Weasley admitted with a small shrug. "Can we walk while we argue, or whatever it is we're doing?"
"Suits me. And I think it's called having a conversation, which is rather unexpected." Draco was surprised at his own candor, but there was something about having been away for a few years that made their childhood animosity seem almost petty. That, or the faint stirring in his groin was persuading him to spend a bit more time with Weasley in the hope that they'd kiss again- or even more than that. Not that Weasley had given any indication that he'd be interested in such a thing, but as they meandered down the footpath, Draco went through their brief exchange and noted that Weasley hadn't brought up a girlfriend.
Once at the pub of Weasley's choice, they sat down across from each other at a booth, both taking off their overcoats. Weasley ordered a pint of something, while Draco asked for tea. He rummaged around his coat pocket until he found his cigarettes and lighter, lighting one before even thinking to offer the pack to Weasley.
"No thanks. Since when do you smoke?" he asked, appearing genuinely startled at Draco's habit.
"Since a couple of years ago." He took a deep drag, courteously blowing the smoke off to the side.
Weasley ingested that bit of trivia before seeming to come to a resolution inside himself. Draco breathed deeply on his fag, wondering what on Merlin's green earth was going to come out of the other man's mouth. He braced himself for something insensitive and unpleasant.
"I'm afraid I'm going to sound like a bit of a nancy," Weasley said apologetically before taking a deep pull off of his pint.
All of a sudden he just stared at Draco, who used every shred of self-restraint not to pat around the top of his head and make sure he'd not sprouted horns. Instead, he took another drag from his cigarette, returning Weasley's intense look. It gave him an opportunity to recognise just how handsome Weasley had become as a young man and how he, Draco, had again fallen for his physicality with total surrender as that fateful night over three years ago.
"It's really you, right?" Weasley asked, sounding terribly unsure of himself and not at all as Draco remembered him.
"It's really me, what?" Draco replied, exasperated and angry with himself because the fear was returning. It scared him to want Weasley like this. He wanted to need him, which could only lead to bad things like broken trust. He'd imagined this man knowing every inch of him, binding him and bringing him to that exquisite line between pleasure and pain, and Weasley couldn't even get out a single thought.
"Right." Weasley pulled himself together and took another swig before barreling on, newly galvanised. "I think I hated you after that night, after that banquet."
"You hated me for years before that night," Draco reminded him, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette into the ashtray on their table.
"Don't interrupt," Weasley said, glowering. "This is really fucking hard to say."
"Apparently." Draco couldn't resist the jibe, though it felt tinny on his lips.
"I wanted you more than I hated you," Weasley said in a low voice. "It scared the piss out of me. I mean, what the fuck was that? I liked birds! Or thought I did - but nothing was the same after that. After you. And you'd buggered off. Nobody knew where you'd gone. Nobody who would tell me, anyway. I wrote to you to tell you how much I hated you, and "
His voice trailed off as his gaze sank to his glass where he drew a pattern in the condensation. After a few seconds, he raised his head, looking Draco in the eye. "I wanted you to come back. If you were going to ruin everything, turn my fucking world inside out and make me question everything, I wanted to know why."
The ensuing thick silence smothered Draco. The pub itself wasn't all that busy, but there was enough ambient noise to convince him people weren't listening in, which was a relief. He didn't have any answers, only a buzzing increase of panic and bruising hope because Weasley seemed to have been affected as profoundly as he had. Which meant that maybe they could get together again. The heat in his groin felt like a furnace and he shifted, pulling down on his trousers so the tightness was less uncomfortable.
"You fancy blokes?" Draco asked carefully, inhaling deeply on his cigarette before putting it out, mashing the stub in a semicircle.
"Apparently." The word dripped with sarcasm, but Draco could sense the rightful fear behind it.
"So what have you done in the meantime?" Draco picked up his tea, burning with self-awareness under Weasley's greedy gaze.
"What've I done? I've become an Auror." Weasley finished his pint and waved over the server, asking for a glass of scotch for his second round. After it had been placed on the table, Draco decided it was time to quit arsing around.
"Weasley," Draco said in what he believed to be a seductive tone. Given his companion's lean toward him, it appeared to be effective. "I didn't mean your career. I meant what have you done to explore this part of yourself? And before you answer, I want to say one other thing." He placed the cup into its saucer, ridiculously pleased that he'd kept his hands from shaking.
"I've been thinking of you while fucking other men for a long time."
He'd waited until Weasley had swallowed to say that, but Weasley managed to choke for a moment nonetheless. "Now that I've seen you again and discovered you've not, in fact, married and reproducing at an alarming rate of speed, I'd very much like to know what it's like actually to be with you. If you're interested."
Weasley's eyes were huge. The relative dim of the pub had encouraged his pupils to widen, and much of the sky blue was swallowed by black. He nodded solemnly before disbelief flooded his features and he tossed back the rest of his potent beverage.
Draco leaned in, pushing his cup and saucer to the centre of the table so the backs of his fingers bumped into Weasley's. "I'm not sentimental, and I don't date. This is about lust and fucking. And I won't let you near my arse if you're drunk, so I'd not order another round, were I you."
"Okay," Weasley said, his voice raspy with something Draco was pretty sure was arousal. "Fair enough."
Draco eased back, picking up his tea and swirling it around before finishing it. "My current apartment is tiny, and not set up for company."
Weasley's face contorted into a mask of embarrassment. "My flat's a fucking mess," he admitted, his eyes seeming to search for something in Draco's expression.
"Perhaps someplace less personal isn't a bad idea," Draco said silkily, running his tongue across his lips and relishing the imperceptible moan Weasley made as he did. "I'll pay, this time. Let's just see how things go. No expectations. But you have done this before, right?"
It was suddenly very important to Draco that he not be Weasley's first foray into queer sex. It would be awkward enough without Weasley fumbling and nervous because he'd never actually fucked a man before. A rosy hue flared at Weasley's neck as he nodded.
"Yeah. I've done my share of that. Not with any one person. I went to Muggle places. They don't seem to care as much."
The flush finally faded from underneath his freckles. Draco tried not to let his imagination run away with him in the public space of the pub, but in his mind he was already tasting each tawny spot and marking the skin as his own.
"Even better." Draco's cock was stiff, his pulse pounding against his skin. The thought of sinking down on Weasley's rigid shaft caused his mouth to water and he had to press his fingers against the corners of his mouth. "Shall we go, then?"
Thankfully it didn't take long for Draco to get a room for the night at a decently plush hotel, using a Muggle credit card he kept for unexpected expenses. He was also absurdly grateful that it was a Saturday and Weasley didn't need to be at work until the day following. As they took the lift, Weasley tapping his fingers into his palms, Draco turned to him with a leer.
"Are you going to tell Potter what you're up to? You did say you'd firecall," he reminded him, feeling a spark of satisfaction at Weasley's discomfiture. Yes, he wanted Weasley desperately; wanted to be fucked until he was sore and have Weasley spread on a healing salve afterwards, but the appeal to humiliate and torment him was still too delicious to resist.
"I don't know. No, I'm not going to tell him," Weasley groused, scowling. "But he's not stupid. He'll know what's going on."
"Hmmmmm."
The lift deposited them on their floor and Draco briskly walked down the corridor, following the arrows to their room. After getting frustrated with the pointless Muggle plastic card, Draco looked swiftly around them and used his wand to cast an Alohamora, enabling their entrance into the room.
Once inside, Draco found himself pushed bodily against the door, his arms held at shoulder height much as they had several years prior. Weasley's face was inscrutable- lust sizzled beneath the surface, but Draco could just tell some noble Gryffindor-like chivalry was trying to demand its place, too.
"Do you really want this? Really want me?" he rumbled, grinding his hard length into Draco's hip. "Did you really mean what you said in the pub, or do you just want to dick about with my feelings and get a fuck out of it on the side?"
Draco pondered the barrage of questions while rolling his hips against Weasley's, revealing his own trapped erection. Rather than answer, he leaned up, flicking out his tongue to trace along the bow shape of Weasley's top lip before devouring his mouth in a possessive kiss. He savoured the heated taste of him, the residual burn of the alcohol, the fact that their tongues sliding in a sensual dance made his cock so hard it pained him.
He drew back, needing to catch his breath, but also wanting to give Weasley some honest answers. "Yes, I want you. I really, really want this," Draco emphasised, dragging his hands down and grabbing Weasley's arse through far too many layers of fabric. "I won't intentionally mess with your feelings, but if you're hoping this will be some grand romance, I'll just remind you that I'm Draco Malfoy."
Weasley was trying to catch his own breath, and he gave Draco a hard look. It surprised Draco; for all of Weasley's bravado, he'd always seemed like a hanger-on and follower, and someone who would go overboard with sentimental tripe if given half the chance. His gaze was disconcertingly familiar- it was calculated.
"Well, you said no expectations," Weasley murmured, easing his grip on Draco's arms to unbutton his coat and slide his hands down to cup Draco's arse. "I've thought about you, too, while I was, um, trying things out. But I'm my own man."
"So you've said," Draco observed, knowing Weasley could hear the implied 'so prove it' which remained unspoken.
"And I don't know how to date," Weasley went on, "not really. I think it'd bloody stupid to say we'd never do so-"
At that Draco thrust their hips together, reminding Weasley that they were together after these years to shag, not talk. Even if the idea of seeing Weasley on a semi-regular basis wasn't nearly as offensive as it should be.
"Look; don't treat me like shite, and I won't buy you flowers," Weasley growled before bringing their bodies together with a jerk and burying his face into the sensitive skin behind Draco's ear.
Draco moaned at the contact; he wanted out of his clothes and on the bed and Weasley's cock in his mouth and he wanted it NOW. "Deal," he gasped, baring his neck as Weasley kissed and sucked hard, no doubt leaving a lilac trail of bruises as he nipped down the column of skin.
The need for words had passed. Weasley's technique wasn't as clumsy as Draco had feared, though it was very different from the ritualised couplings and triplings that Draco had become used to in Japan. Without much preamble they undressed each other. Weasley cast a silencing charm and laid himself out on the bed, refreshingly at ease in his nudity and even seemingly proud at putting himself out on display. He'd filled out quite a bit since the War, and Draco planned to indulge in every contour and valley of his toned topography. Draco wasn't in bad shape himself; golf wasn't exactly a workout, but he'd also taken up swimming. From the appreciative fires smouldering in Weasley's gaze, Draco felt even more assured.
"C'mere," Weasley demanded, his thick cock bobbing up from its thatch of auburn curls.
It was ridiculous how untroubled Draco felt about crawling on top of Weasley's body; how his blood sang wildly as it coursed through him, all of his senses howling in a chorus of raging desire. He kissed and suckled down Weasley's chest and abdomen, discovering that unlike himself, Weasley actually enjoyed having his nipples teased and tortured with his teeth. Crouched over his prize, Draco inhaled deeply of musk and dry leaves captured in the sweaty realm between Weasley's legs. Saliva rushed into his mouth as he eased back the foreskin, sucking gently around the crimson head. His tongue darted out to the slit, tasting the vinegarsweet fluid like a hummingbird darting into a favourite flower.
Giving head was a skill Draco had spent hours honing. He loved the soft flesh over steel in his mouth, and Weasley's waves of moans and praise made Draco's heart batter happily in his chest. He didn't know why it was so important to please his former enemy, but he did owe Weasley a life debt. That brought Potter to mind, an image which he banished with distaste. Instead, he focussed on widening his jaw, feeling the dome of Weasley's prick at the back of his throat.
"Oh gods, fuck Draco," Weasley chanted again and again until his sounds became tinged with distress. He tugged on Draco's hair, pulling him off. Draco had been so single-minded in his euphoric task that it took him a few seconds of looking at Weasley's yearning expression to realise he'd been called by his first name. It seemed presumptuous - unthinkable, really - but he didn't press the point, not when he was moments away from one of his many fantasies actually coming to life.
"Don't want to come yet," Weasley said plaintively.
"I don't want you to either," Draco agreed, slowly taking himself in hand and rewarding his neglected cock with some friction against his palm. "Though we have all afternoon. And night." He felt the side of his lip curl in anticipation of hours of this kind of activity.
"Do you usually-" Weasley got up onto his elbows and Draco found himself utterly captivated. Despite himself, Draco knew he'd stumbled and was now sliding helplessly down the slope of caring for him. This was just supposed to be about sex. They'd been at each other's throats in school, the passionate anger undeniable. Now the feral attraction remained, but the bite to it had transformed into the raw need to join, not rip apart.
"I prefer to be fucked," Draco said casually. He suspected his bluntness would make Weasley blush. To his credit, it didn't.
"We're a good match, then," he said, a wicked grin of his own easing onto his lips. "You've no idea how many times I've thought about this, and wondered when exactly I'd obviously gone mad," he said with a small snort.
He stroked his prick while Draco Accio'ed his wand to cast a cleansing spell inside his body. All of a sudden he realised a necessary element he'd certainly not thought to put in his coat pocket before going to the Manor to visit his mother. That meeting seemed like a lifetime ago, but he still needed some lubricant.
"I'll bet you never thought of us being this close to your cock in my arse with no lube lying about," Draco sighed heavily. Fuck. There were spells, of course, but he really preferred his own slick, a tea tree oil-infused viscous potion he made himself.
"I'm not bad at spellwork for that," Weasley said unabashedly. "It's not as good as some others, but I really, really don't want to stop now. Next time we'll plan ahead," he promised. He held out his arm, fanning his fingers across Draco's sternum in a gesture that caused tears to prick rebelliously at Draco's eyes.
Draco nodded, not trusting his voice, or really any part of himself, aside from the muscles of his channel. They were clenching and loosening, so very ready to be stretched and filled. Weasley conjured enough lubricant to effectively cover his prick, offering to use his fingers to coat the inside of Draco's entrance as well.
"Just want to ride you," Draco said hoarsely. He loved being rimmed if the other person got into it, but he didn't like being fingered unless faced with someone of extraordinary girth.
"Fuck, Draco " Weasley held his palms up as though to hold Draco's hands, but Draco wanted them on the bed for leverage. "Kiss me, first."
Draco couldn't resist the entreaty. His whole body was taut, nerves sparking in anticipation of feeling Weasley slide inside of him, but the unhindered desire in his new lover's kiss took away some of the edge. Their tongues parried, delving into each other's open mouths with newly learned skill.
"Now," Draco said at last, scooting back and positioning himself over the glistening shaft. He felt the familiar and yet unique seasons of burning heat and muscles pushed apart until he was fully seated, squeezing around Weasley's cock as Weasley let out a barked moan of pleasure.
"So fucking good, and tight, hot, oh gods, Draco, so fucking good " Weasley babbled in a low voice.
Draco was in his own world where all of his sensations had shrunk to the fullness deep below his guts, rising up and down at a heightening pace until his thighs burned at the effort. Weasley was panting and swearing, eventually holding Draco's hips and pulling him down so Draco lay on top of him.
"We're rolling over," he growled.
Though Draco had somehow known he'd respond, a part of him was livid that he complied so readily, and so eagerly. He held his thighs tightly around Weasley's hips as they switched positions. Once Draco was on his back, Weasley leaned down, kissing him with renewed vigour as Draco wrapped his legs around his lover's waist.
"You feel amazing," Weasley said raggedly, pulling out only to slam back into Draco's willing body.
"Fuck, Weasley," Draco groaned, the low fire building again in the stretched muscles of his arse. His feet bumped against the expanse of skin at the base of Weasley's spine as his thrusting regained its deep barrage into Draco's body. Moans and wounded sounds tumbled out of Draco's lips; one arm he threw over his head, sparing a brief thought for one of his silk ropes, his other hand anchored around his throbbing shaft.
Weasley was sublime. He shifted his positioning and began rubbing past the nerves deep inside Draco and he let out a burst of profanity. His hand pistoned on his shaft, his eyes locked on Weasley's, falling further and further into his wild gaze. When Weasley's brow furrowed and he began making rough, pained gasps, Draco knew he was close to coming and tried to squeeze more around him.
The thrusts stopped and Weasley's mouth hung open, sounds of broken relief punctuating the room as Draco felt his cock pulse far inside of him. He'd wondered whether his new lover would be loud or quiet, and he was gratified that Weasley gave his pleasure voice.
Still panting, Weasley lowered his head before returning his attentions to Draco. "What about you?" he asked, licking his dry lips.
"Stay in me," Draco said. Weasley rolled his hips a bit, still hard, at least for a short time. Draco resumed his frantic pulling on his cock, the over-sensitised flesh making indecent squelching sounds as he stroked himself.
"Let go," Weasley said. "Come for me."
The low purr in his voice was enough to take Draco to his edge and crash far beyond. He shut his eyes as the tension roiled up from the tightness in his sacs, bursting out of him in creamy rivulets on his stomach. Flashes of black and white fireworks danced behind his eyes and his shaft jerked in his hand as aftershocks continued to assault him. Subdued normalcy finally drifted around him and he opened his eyes to see a beatific grin gracing Weasley's face.
"Better?"
"I'm the best," Draco retorted before snorting in his blissful post-fabulous-orgasm haze.
"I'm certainly not complaining." Weasley eased out of Draco and he lay down beside him, brushing some of the damp fringe off of Draco's forehead. "In fact, that may well be the most memorable sex I've ever had."
A thousand cutting remarks clustered on Draco's tongue- he couldn't help it. He wasn't a warm cuddly person or lover. Weasley captivated him, but he wasn't a bloody girl and he wasn't about to let Weasley know that the shag had been pretty amazing. Not yet, anyway. Most of the bruises he'd find on himself were intentional; Weasley hadn't flailed around as Draco had first anticipated.
"I've done worse," Draco said, wiping his sticky hand on his thigh before reaching across Weasley's pelvis to hold a firm arsecheek.
"Pretty sparing with the compliments, eh?" Weasley joked, leaning in to press a small barrage of chaste kisses on Draco's lips.
"Just leaving the door open for improvement."
Weasley groaned, shaking his head as Draco shifted out of their embrace and eased off of the bed. "You're a piece of work, but I guess I- fuck! You have a-" He gestured at Draco who stood, confused, holding his wand.
"A what?" he asked before casting a cleansing spell on himself and Weasley, now pointing excitedly at him.
"A tattoo! But you were always so prissy."
"If you want to keep having mind-blowing sex, I'd stop there with your juvenile assumptions about me," Draco threatened, defiantly raising up his chin. "Yes, I have a tattoo. But it's unique." He turned so his back was to Weasley, and he peered over his shoulder, but the angle was awkward. "What's he doing?"
"Doing? It's well cleaning its claws. No, ruffling out its wings. You do know his tail is pointing straight down to your-"
"It's a sexual tattoo," Draco said with no small amount of pride. "Paid a fair amount of galleons for it, too. Scorpius will fade pretty soon. He only appears if I'm really turned on. Otherwise my skin is as flawless as ever. Well, except for this, of course." He turned back around, tracing the faded but visible jagged scar from Potter's Sectumsempra.
"Did you get into really kinky stuff? Sexually?" Weasley's naïve curiosity was almost endearing, but Draco had no intention of giving away his profound desires the first time they shagged. Maybe never.
"Things you wouldn't even dream of," Draco taunted in a sultry voice before turning businesslike. "I need a smoke. Fuck! I didn't even ask to get a room with a balcony- oh, thank Merlin." A quick glance at the sliding glass doors across from their bed revealed a small balcony. He thoroughly enjoyed his cigarettes, but he despised the lingering smell. Even his advanced spellwork couldn't seem to totally eradicate it, so he smoked outdoors.
"May I join you?" Weasley asked, unfurling from the bed and stretching up on his toes, his arms pushing up toward the ceiling. Draco really was astonished at how nicely Weasley had turned out. His softening but still heavy cock was a beautiful sight to behold, and the large bollocks hanging behind were an additional pleasant surprise, in all their ginger-furred glory.
"Certainly."
Draco went over to his pile of discarded clothes and pulled on his briefs, slowing when he felt the warmth of Weasley's palm against the small of his back.
"Scorpius?" Weasley asked, and Draco nodded, a smug grin on his face. "He's already fading. Next time I want to be behind you, to see what else he does."
Draco turned, a prurient, closed-lipped smile on his lips. "A little later on, then. I suspect he'll enjoy the attention."
* * * * *
On to part two