FIC: Safehouse Secrets
Title: Safehouse Secrets
Author: gypsyflame
Pairings: Ron/Draco; background Ron/Hermione and Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,347
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Warnings: Infidelity; sex while intoxicated
Summary: Ron and Draco are sick of being left behind.
Author’s Notes: Written for hp_humpdrabbles’ 2011 Humpfest - the prompt I chose was infidelity in the safehouse with secrets. Many thanks to carolinelamb and bella526 for the beta!
Harry and Hermione were out on a mission. Again.
And once again, they’d left Ron behind.
It was a different reason every time. This one had been, “Oh, Ron, it’s just a meeting - all talk - you’d be bored,” and “You know goblins don’t trust purebloods.” Whether all that was true or not, the rejection - one of more than half a dozen over the past few months - still stung.
Harry and Hermione didn’t need him anymore. The Golden Trio had become the Dynamic Duo. They had secrets Ron wasn’t privy to, laughed at inside jokes he didn’t understand, and shared a palpable bond of comradeship that he was somehow no longer a part of. Ron would have suspected something deeper between them if not for the fact that Harry spent most of his time balls-deep in Draco Malfoy’s arse.
Malfoy had been furious about being excluded; he and Harry had gotten into a screaming row that could be heard throughout the entire house. Ron himself didn’t fight with Hermione anymore. There was no point.
They had been gone for a couple of hours. Ron had eaten a lonely dinner in the kitchen and pretended to straighten his and Hermione’s room before puttering aimlessly around the safehouse. He hated feeling so useless.
A light coming from the study piqued his curiosity. He poked his head around the half-open door to see Malfoy sprawled on the couch with a bottle of Ogden’s. From the looks of it, Malfoy had already put a respectable dent in the firewhiskey.
Ron hesitated. For Harry’s sake, he and Malfoy had put a damper on their mutual hostility while being forced to live in the same safehouse. It was a feat they accomplished by avoiding and ignoring each other as much as possible. The wisest course of action was to keep on walking.
He pushed the door open. “Got enough to share?”
Malfoy raised his eyebrows, but after a moment’s pause, he held the bottle out. Ron took it and sat beside him.
“Thanks.”
He drained a good long swallow. Malfoy watched him with a small smirk.
“I take it you’re not thrilled about Potter and Granger’s little adventure either.”
Ron shrugged. “I’m getting used to it.” He took another drink, only belatedly realising that he’d never wiped the neck off after Malfoy had drunk from it. Well, too late now.
“I remember a time when the three of you were inseparable.”
“Times change.”
“Perhaps it's people who change.”
Ron looked sharply at Malfoy, whose cheeks were flushed with alcohol even though he didn't seem particularly drunk. “I suppose you would know.”
Malfoy grabbed the bottle and took a swig. They sat in silence for a minute.
“Did Granger feed you the same line Potter fed me?” Malfoy asked.
“That purebloods put goblins on their guard? Yeah. It's true.”
“In a way. I might be more inclined to accept it if this was the first time Potter deserted me.”
“'Desert' might be a little strong,” said Ron, but his defense was halfhearted.
Malfoy's cool stare made Ron sigh and take the bottle back. The whiskey burned his throat even as it soothed his sore ego.
“Do you know what he usually tells me when he leaves me behind like this?” Malfoy said. “That it's too dangerous. Too dangerous! After everything I've done - ”
Hoping to avert the tirade he could see looming on the horizon, Ron pushed the bottle into Malfoy's hand. It was already half-empty. “What did you do?” he couldn't help asking.
“Potter never told you?”
“No.” He probably told Hermione.
Malfoy looked at Ron contemplatively, finger tracing the rim of the bottle. “It's a long story.”
“I've got time.”
Malfoy began to speak - haltingly, at first, but gaining confidence as his tale progressed from his turn against You-Know-Who to his work as a spy to his narrow escape when his cover was blown. By the time his (now hoarse) voice trailed off, they had finished the bottle between them, and they had somehow ended up sitting on the floor with their backs against the couch.
“Well, fuck,” Ron said eventually. “No wonder you're narked.”
“Potter's an ungrateful, condescending prick.”
Malfoy set the empty bottle on the coffee table and gave it a mournful look that struck Ron as funny for some reason. He started laughing, then clapped his hand over his mouth and glared sternly at Malfoy. He should be angry about what Malfoy had just said, because... er, because... oh, right. Because Harry was his best friend. Malfoy was the prick.
“He just doesn't want you to get hurt. He cares about you.”
Malfoy was still staring at the bottle. “Loves me.”
“What?”
“He told me he loves me.”
Ron's mouth dropped open. He hadn't known things were that serious between them. “Do - do you love him?”
“I don't know.” Malfoy sighed. “What is love, anyway? I thought my father loved me, and he practically gift-wrapped me for the Dark Lord. Do you love Granger?”
“Yes,” Ron said without hesitation.
“Must be nice.”
Malfoy lapsed into brooding silence. Ron wished he hadn't drunk so much. His brain was muzzy and confused, and he was pretty sure the whiskey was making him feel bad for Malfoy. That was just Not Right.
“It's not always nice.”
Malfoy glanced at him sideways.
“I don't like being left behind either, you know. And it's not just my girlfriend shutting me out - it's my best friend, too.”
“Do you think they're fucking each other?”
Ron spluttered. “What? No!”
“They go off alone together quite often.”
“That's not about sex.”
“How do you know?”
“Harry's not into women. Trust me.” Ginny had been devastated when Harry had told her that although he loved her, he couldn't bring himself to make love to her.
Malfoy didn't look convinced. He dropped his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. “Want to know a secret about Potter?”
“Er, okay.”
“He's really rough in bed.”
Ron scrubbed a hand over his face. “I'm going to need more whiskey.”
He drew his wand and Summoned a fresh bottle of firewhiskey from the pantry. Malfoy kept talking, almost as if to himself.
“You'd think he'd be gentle and sweet, wouldn't you? I suppose he does have those moments. But usually, he's like a wild animal. He always leaves me bruised and sore.”
Frozen in the act of unscrewing the bottlecap, Ron tried to grasp what Malfoy was saying given his own understanding of Harry. It didn't add up.
“I didn't know it was... like that,” he said carefully. “If Harry's hurting you - ”
“What?” Malfoy opened his eyes. “No, he's not abusive. I like it. It was a pleasant surprise, that first time.”
Ron looked at Malfoy, looked at the bottle, and then shook his head as he popped the cap off the bottle and drank deeply. He passed it to Malfoy.
“Tell me a secret about Granger,” Malfoy said before drinking himself.
Though his instinct was to tell Malfoy to piss off or feed him some stupid lie to shut him up, the alcohol had loosened Ron's tongue and made everything blurry around the edges. He never talked to Harry about Hermione anymore; he couldn't, not when he knew that Harry would probably end up telling her everything he'd said. Stuck in this safehouse miles away from anyone else he knew, there was nobody else he could talk to. It was maddening.
Before his common sense could stop him, he found himself saying, “She never lets me be on top.”
Malfoy's eyes widened for a split second, and then he burst into hysterical laughter. He dropped the bottle, which tipped over and spilled a depressing amount of whiskey onto the carpet before Ron could rescue it and set it on the table next to the empty one.
“It's not funny,” he said crossly.
“It is,” Malfoy gasped. “Weasley, it's so - it's perfect. Does she slap you with a ruler when you don't behave?”
Ron's scowl only sent Malfoy into another fit of laughter.
Ron had exaggerated slightly. Hermione wasn't always on top, though she insisted on it the vast majority of the time. He enjoyed it, of course, but it would be nice to be the one calling the shots and setting the pace every once in a while.
“You're a git.” Ron reached for the whiskey, but before he could pick up the bottle, Malfoy put a hand on his wrist. When Ron turned to look at him, he was startled to find Malfoy's face only inches from his own. He'd never noticed how enormous Malfoy's eyes were before.
“I'd let you be on top,” Malfoy said quietly, and he pressed his lips to Ron's.
Ron's mouth fell open in sheer surprise. The slide of Malfoy's tongue against his own made him jerk his head away, grabbing Malfoy's shoulders and holding him at an arm's length. “What the hell, Malfoy?”
“They're fucking.” Malfoy traced his hands up Ron's arms. “You know it. I know it. Can't you feel it when they're in a room together?”
“No.”
Malfoy pulled Ron's hands off his shoulders and settled them on his waist. He leaned in close, brushing his lips against Ron's ear. “They deserve this - always running off to be together, leaving you and me alone. They're asking for it.”
“I - ”
Whatever objection Ron had intended to make was swallowed by Malfoy's kiss. This time, Ron didn't push him away.
He would never be able to explain why he didn't. Unlike Malfoy, he truly didn't believe Harry and Hermione were cheating. He had no desire for revenge. Malfoy's lips were thinner than he was used to, his shoulders wider and bonier, but his skin was soft - softer even than Hermione's - and the hands that slid under Ron's shirt were small and quick.
Malfoy stripped Ron's shirt off. Ron blinked, wondering how things had progressed so quickly. “Wait,” he said. “Wait. I'm not into blokes.”
“What's this, then?” Malfoy cupped Ron's hard cock through his trousers.
Ron looked down, astonished. He was hard? Since when? He couldn't remember - everything was happening so fast - gods, that felt good -
“I don't expect you to suck my cock or anything. Just fuck me.”
Ron's cock jumped against Malfoy's palm. Malfoy smiled.
“We shouldn't,” said Ron.
In response, Malfoy placed one of Ron's hands on his arse. Ron gave it an instinctive squeeze, then groaned aloud and squeezed harder. Fuck. Okay. That was a great arse.
“I’ll let you do whatever you want.” Malfoy pulled off his own jumper, baring a pale, leanly-muscled chest. “Do you want to bend me over the coffee table? Shove me up against the wall?” His hand fell into Ron’s lap again, but instead of teasing, he popped the button on Ron’s trousers and lowered the zip, reaching inside to pull his cock out. “I don’t care how we do it. I just want this up my arse.”
Ron took a shaky breath, trying to think through the alcohol in his blood and the clever hand on his shaft. “Why?”
“To punish them. And, now that I’m seeing it for myself, because you have one hell of a cock.”
Malfoy rubbed his thumb over the head. His eyes were hot and greedy as he contemplated Ron’s erection, and it was that look, that expression of need, that pushed Ron over the edge. He hadn’t felt needed in a long time.
“Take your trousers off, then,” he said.
Instead of obeying, Malfoy pulled Ron into a heated snog. He tangled his hands in Ron’s hair, practically climbing into his lap, thrusting his tongue into Ron’s mouth and demanding that Ron respond with equal fervor. He tasted like whiskey and smelled expensive. Ron bit his lower lip, groping his arse with impunity and marvelling when Malfoy responded with lust instead of outrage. Hermione would have twisted out of his arms and made some sort of derisive comment comparing him to an octopus.
Malfoy pulled away, panting, and scooted back a little so that he had room to wriggle out of his trousers. He wasn’t wearing anything beneath them. As Malfoy gave his own cock a few lazy strokes, Ron ran curious eyes over him from head to toe. Though he didn’t find Malfoy’s cock arousing in itself, the fact that it was hard for him - for him - made Ron’s pulse race. Never in a million years would he have imagined a Malfoy all but begging a Weasley to fuck him.
Ron shucked his own trousers and crawled towards Malfoy, who let go of his cock and leaned back on his hands, letting his legs splay open. “Have you done this before?” he asked.
“No.”
“It doesn’t matter. Fucking is fucking.”
Malfoy rummaged through the pockets of his discarded trousers until he came up with a bottle of lube. Ron raised his eyebrows. Did Malfoy always carry lube around with him?
He caught the bottle when Malfoy tossed it to him.
“Use your fingers first. Don’t worry about making it good. Just get me as wet as you can.”
There was a tremor in Ron’s hands when he snapped the lid off and poured a generous pool of lube into his right palm. Malfoy watched intently, dropping down to support himself on his elbows, knees bent and spread wide with his feet flat on the floor.
His hole looked tiny. Ron didn’t know how his cock could possibly fit in there, but then, Harry was about the same size, and he didn’t have any trouble stuffing Malfoy’s arse at every opportunity.
Thinking about Harry made Ron’s stomach lurch. To distract himself, he slid a single finger into Malfoy.
Malfoy exhaled heavily and dropped his head back. Ron moved his finger in and out, shocked by how fucking tight it was, like Malfoy’s hole was sucking him in and clamping down around him.
“Another,” Malfoy said, lifting his head and staring at Ron’s hand moving between his thighs.
“Are you sure?”
The glare Malfoy sent him made Ron hurry to comply. Malfoy’s arse yielded surprisingly easily to his second finger, then settled snugly around him.
Fuck. It was as if no matter what you put inside him, Malfoy was always exactly tight enough.
Ron tried to finger him slowly, but Malfoy wasn’t having it. He rocked back and forth, pushing his arse against Ron’s hand in a way that made it clear he expected Ron to pick up the pace. Ron’s breathing sped up with his fingers, plunging in and out of Malfoy’s hot, hungry hole.
Malfoy’s back suddenly bowed, his hips lifting off the floor as he let out a low groan. Ron stroked more deliberately against the bump he had just brushed against, and Malfoy’s second groan was even louder. His legs shook.
“Stop,” he said. “Stop, fuck me now.”
Ron’s own need had grown so urgent that he didn’t even consider asking if Malfoy was sure this time. He pulled his fingers out and stroked his throbbing cock with lube while Malfoy lay back and pulled his knees up to his chest.
Flushed, panting, holding himself open like that, Malfoy looked so gods-damned slutty that Ron had to give his own balls a squeeze to keep from embarrassing himself. Malfoy saw what he was doing and smirked, spreading his legs even wider - a feat Ron would have sworn was impossible. For the first time, he noticed the dozens of pale bruises scattered across Malfoy’s body, decorating his neck, collarbone, torso, hips. Some were obviously bite marks; others had just as obviously been left by grasping fingers. Harry really did play rough.
Still half-certain that this would never work, Ron knelt in front of Malfoy, holding his hip with one hand while he guided his cock into place. The head prodded at Malfoy’s hole. After a brief moment of resistance, the muscle gave, and Ron slid halfway in before he was ready. Malfoy winced.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, releasing his cock and grabbing Malfoy’s other hip, fingers flexing with the effort required not to slam himself in the rest of the way.
“It always hurts at first. Keep going.”
Carefully, Ron gave Malfoy the rest of his cock in one slow, controlled thrust. Malfoy grunted, body twisting, and then relaxed all at once, letting go of his legs and hooking one ankle over Ron’s shoulder while the other leg dropped to the side. His hand snaked down to take hold of his cock.
“Are you going to fuck me or what?”
Dazed by the tight muscle squeezing his cock, perilously close to coming, Ron pulled halfway out and then pushed back in. His fingers slipped in the sweat on Malfoy’s skin as he maintained the cautious pace that was all he could manage. A singular chant of Don’t come don’t come don’t come marched through his brain.
Malfoy made a dissatisfied noise, grabbed Ron’s hair with his free hand, and yanked. The sharp pain broke Ron out of the trance he’d fallen into.
“Is that the best you can do?” said Malfoy, sneering.
Ron’s eyes narrowed. His threatening orgasm was suddenly shunted aside by the pressing need to fuck the living hell out of Malfoy, to make him scream and beg and come all over himself. Without bothering to work his way up to it, he starting thrusting rapidly, shoving in deep, balls slapping against Malfoy’s arse.
Malfoy’s arm fell to the rug and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “Fuck, yes, give it to me -”
Ron fell forward, catching himself on his hands on either side of Malfoy’s shoulders. He felt like he was on fire, and nothing would put that fire out except pounding Malfoy’s arse harder, faster, more. Malfoy was moaning steadily, pumping his cock between their hot, slick bodies. His head fell back, and Ron took that as an invitation, lowering his mouth to that long, pale neck and biting savagely.
Malfoy let out a noise that could only be described as a shriek. His body arched, forcing his hips up into Ron’s punishing strokes. His skin was salty and bitter with the tang of whiskey where Ron sucked on it.
“Weasley, oh, come on, come on, come on - ”
Hearing Malfoy gasp his name spurred Ron on. He struggled for breath as his cock speared Malfoy’s tight little hole ever faster, so hot and wet and the perfect fit around him, getting in as deep as he could…
Malfoy cried out, body thrashing, and then his come was spurting hot and messy over both their chests, hole clamping down on Ron’s cock in a way that made him shout and shudder and shoot his load long and hard, thrusting with every pulse as he spilled himself in Malfoy’s haughty, perfect, forbidden arse.
He collapsed on top of Malfoy, wheezing. Malfoy didn’t protest or push him off, just lay quietly twitching beneath him.
Ron shut his eyes. He’d fucked Malfoy. He’d cheated on Hermione with Harry’s boyfriend. It was the worst, most disloyal, despicable thing he’d ever done.
It was the best sex he’d ever had.
He pushed himself back up on his elbows, intending to move off of Malfoy, but his attention was arrested by the livid bruise on Malfoy’s neck. “I left a mark,” he said blankly.
“Hmm?” Malfoy lifted a hand to the bite. It was trembling. “It’s fine. Harry - ” His breath stumbled, caught. “Potter will never know it’s not from him.”
Ron pulled out. They both inhaled sharply.
Separately, they reached for their wands and cleaned themselves up, dressing without speaking. They sat on opposite sides of the couch. Ron tried to smooth his hair, knowing it was disheveled from Malfoy’s hands. His eyes kept darting back to the bruise he’d left on Malfoy’s skin, visible even above his shirt collar.
“So,” he said.
“So,” said Malfoy.
Silence settled over them, thick with things left unsaid. In the hall, the grandfather clock struck eleven. Footsteps sounded on the path outside.
The front door opened.
Author: gypsyflame
Pairings: Ron/Draco; background Ron/Hermione and Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,347
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Warnings: Infidelity; sex while intoxicated
Summary: Ron and Draco are sick of being left behind.
Author’s Notes: Written for hp_humpdrabbles’ 2011 Humpfest - the prompt I chose was infidelity in the safehouse with secrets. Many thanks to carolinelamb and bella526 for the beta!
Harry and Hermione were out on a mission. Again.
And once again, they’d left Ron behind.
It was a different reason every time. This one had been, “Oh, Ron, it’s just a meeting - all talk - you’d be bored,” and “You know goblins don’t trust purebloods.” Whether all that was true or not, the rejection - one of more than half a dozen over the past few months - still stung.
Harry and Hermione didn’t need him anymore. The Golden Trio had become the Dynamic Duo. They had secrets Ron wasn’t privy to, laughed at inside jokes he didn’t understand, and shared a palpable bond of comradeship that he was somehow no longer a part of. Ron would have suspected something deeper between them if not for the fact that Harry spent most of his time balls-deep in Draco Malfoy’s arse.
Malfoy had been furious about being excluded; he and Harry had gotten into a screaming row that could be heard throughout the entire house. Ron himself didn’t fight with Hermione anymore. There was no point.
They had been gone for a couple of hours. Ron had eaten a lonely dinner in the kitchen and pretended to straighten his and Hermione’s room before puttering aimlessly around the safehouse. He hated feeling so useless.
A light coming from the study piqued his curiosity. He poked his head around the half-open door to see Malfoy sprawled on the couch with a bottle of Ogden’s. From the looks of it, Malfoy had already put a respectable dent in the firewhiskey.
Ron hesitated. For Harry’s sake, he and Malfoy had put a damper on their mutual hostility while being forced to live in the same safehouse. It was a feat they accomplished by avoiding and ignoring each other as much as possible. The wisest course of action was to keep on walking.
He pushed the door open. “Got enough to share?”
Malfoy raised his eyebrows, but after a moment’s pause, he held the bottle out. Ron took it and sat beside him.
“Thanks.”
He drained a good long swallow. Malfoy watched him with a small smirk.
“I take it you’re not thrilled about Potter and Granger’s little adventure either.”
Ron shrugged. “I’m getting used to it.” He took another drink, only belatedly realising that he’d never wiped the neck off after Malfoy had drunk from it. Well, too late now.
“I remember a time when the three of you were inseparable.”
“Times change.”
“Perhaps it's people who change.”
Ron looked sharply at Malfoy, whose cheeks were flushed with alcohol even though he didn't seem particularly drunk. “I suppose you would know.”
Malfoy grabbed the bottle and took a swig. They sat in silence for a minute.
“Did Granger feed you the same line Potter fed me?” Malfoy asked.
“That purebloods put goblins on their guard? Yeah. It's true.”
“In a way. I might be more inclined to accept it if this was the first time Potter deserted me.”
“'Desert' might be a little strong,” said Ron, but his defense was halfhearted.
Malfoy's cool stare made Ron sigh and take the bottle back. The whiskey burned his throat even as it soothed his sore ego.
“Do you know what he usually tells me when he leaves me behind like this?” Malfoy said. “That it's too dangerous. Too dangerous! After everything I've done - ”
Hoping to avert the tirade he could see looming on the horizon, Ron pushed the bottle into Malfoy's hand. It was already half-empty. “What did you do?” he couldn't help asking.
“Potter never told you?”
“No.” He probably told Hermione.
Malfoy looked at Ron contemplatively, finger tracing the rim of the bottle. “It's a long story.”
“I've got time.”
Malfoy began to speak - haltingly, at first, but gaining confidence as his tale progressed from his turn against You-Know-Who to his work as a spy to his narrow escape when his cover was blown. By the time his (now hoarse) voice trailed off, they had finished the bottle between them, and they had somehow ended up sitting on the floor with their backs against the couch.
“Well, fuck,” Ron said eventually. “No wonder you're narked.”
“Potter's an ungrateful, condescending prick.”
Malfoy set the empty bottle on the coffee table and gave it a mournful look that struck Ron as funny for some reason. He started laughing, then clapped his hand over his mouth and glared sternly at Malfoy. He should be angry about what Malfoy had just said, because... er, because... oh, right. Because Harry was his best friend. Malfoy was the prick.
“He just doesn't want you to get hurt. He cares about you.”
Malfoy was still staring at the bottle. “Loves me.”
“What?”
“He told me he loves me.”
Ron's mouth dropped open. He hadn't known things were that serious between them. “Do - do you love him?”
“I don't know.” Malfoy sighed. “What is love, anyway? I thought my father loved me, and he practically gift-wrapped me for the Dark Lord. Do you love Granger?”
“Yes,” Ron said without hesitation.
“Must be nice.”
Malfoy lapsed into brooding silence. Ron wished he hadn't drunk so much. His brain was muzzy and confused, and he was pretty sure the whiskey was making him feel bad for Malfoy. That was just Not Right.
“It's not always nice.”
Malfoy glanced at him sideways.
“I don't like being left behind either, you know. And it's not just my girlfriend shutting me out - it's my best friend, too.”
“Do you think they're fucking each other?”
Ron spluttered. “What? No!”
“They go off alone together quite often.”
“That's not about sex.”
“How do you know?”
“Harry's not into women. Trust me.” Ginny had been devastated when Harry had told her that although he loved her, he couldn't bring himself to make love to her.
Malfoy didn't look convinced. He dropped his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. “Want to know a secret about Potter?”
“Er, okay.”
“He's really rough in bed.”
Ron scrubbed a hand over his face. “I'm going to need more whiskey.”
He drew his wand and Summoned a fresh bottle of firewhiskey from the pantry. Malfoy kept talking, almost as if to himself.
“You'd think he'd be gentle and sweet, wouldn't you? I suppose he does have those moments. But usually, he's like a wild animal. He always leaves me bruised and sore.”
Frozen in the act of unscrewing the bottlecap, Ron tried to grasp what Malfoy was saying given his own understanding of Harry. It didn't add up.
“I didn't know it was... like that,” he said carefully. “If Harry's hurting you - ”
“What?” Malfoy opened his eyes. “No, he's not abusive. I like it. It was a pleasant surprise, that first time.”
Ron looked at Malfoy, looked at the bottle, and then shook his head as he popped the cap off the bottle and drank deeply. He passed it to Malfoy.
“Tell me a secret about Granger,” Malfoy said before drinking himself.
Though his instinct was to tell Malfoy to piss off or feed him some stupid lie to shut him up, the alcohol had loosened Ron's tongue and made everything blurry around the edges. He never talked to Harry about Hermione anymore; he couldn't, not when he knew that Harry would probably end up telling her everything he'd said. Stuck in this safehouse miles away from anyone else he knew, there was nobody else he could talk to. It was maddening.
Before his common sense could stop him, he found himself saying, “She never lets me be on top.”
Malfoy's eyes widened for a split second, and then he burst into hysterical laughter. He dropped the bottle, which tipped over and spilled a depressing amount of whiskey onto the carpet before Ron could rescue it and set it on the table next to the empty one.
“It's not funny,” he said crossly.
“It is,” Malfoy gasped. “Weasley, it's so - it's perfect. Does she slap you with a ruler when you don't behave?”
Ron's scowl only sent Malfoy into another fit of laughter.
Ron had exaggerated slightly. Hermione wasn't always on top, though she insisted on it the vast majority of the time. He enjoyed it, of course, but it would be nice to be the one calling the shots and setting the pace every once in a while.
“You're a git.” Ron reached for the whiskey, but before he could pick up the bottle, Malfoy put a hand on his wrist. When Ron turned to look at him, he was startled to find Malfoy's face only inches from his own. He'd never noticed how enormous Malfoy's eyes were before.
“I'd let you be on top,” Malfoy said quietly, and he pressed his lips to Ron's.
Ron's mouth fell open in sheer surprise. The slide of Malfoy's tongue against his own made him jerk his head away, grabbing Malfoy's shoulders and holding him at an arm's length. “What the hell, Malfoy?”
“They're fucking.” Malfoy traced his hands up Ron's arms. “You know it. I know it. Can't you feel it when they're in a room together?”
“No.”
Malfoy pulled Ron's hands off his shoulders and settled them on his waist. He leaned in close, brushing his lips against Ron's ear. “They deserve this - always running off to be together, leaving you and me alone. They're asking for it.”
“I - ”
Whatever objection Ron had intended to make was swallowed by Malfoy's kiss. This time, Ron didn't push him away.
He would never be able to explain why he didn't. Unlike Malfoy, he truly didn't believe Harry and Hermione were cheating. He had no desire for revenge. Malfoy's lips were thinner than he was used to, his shoulders wider and bonier, but his skin was soft - softer even than Hermione's - and the hands that slid under Ron's shirt were small and quick.
Malfoy stripped Ron's shirt off. Ron blinked, wondering how things had progressed so quickly. “Wait,” he said. “Wait. I'm not into blokes.”
“What's this, then?” Malfoy cupped Ron's hard cock through his trousers.
Ron looked down, astonished. He was hard? Since when? He couldn't remember - everything was happening so fast - gods, that felt good -
“I don't expect you to suck my cock or anything. Just fuck me.”
Ron's cock jumped against Malfoy's palm. Malfoy smiled.
“We shouldn't,” said Ron.
In response, Malfoy placed one of Ron's hands on his arse. Ron gave it an instinctive squeeze, then groaned aloud and squeezed harder. Fuck. Okay. That was a great arse.
“I’ll let you do whatever you want.” Malfoy pulled off his own jumper, baring a pale, leanly-muscled chest. “Do you want to bend me over the coffee table? Shove me up against the wall?” His hand fell into Ron’s lap again, but instead of teasing, he popped the button on Ron’s trousers and lowered the zip, reaching inside to pull his cock out. “I don’t care how we do it. I just want this up my arse.”
Ron took a shaky breath, trying to think through the alcohol in his blood and the clever hand on his shaft. “Why?”
“To punish them. And, now that I’m seeing it for myself, because you have one hell of a cock.”
Malfoy rubbed his thumb over the head. His eyes were hot and greedy as he contemplated Ron’s erection, and it was that look, that expression of need, that pushed Ron over the edge. He hadn’t felt needed in a long time.
“Take your trousers off, then,” he said.
Instead of obeying, Malfoy pulled Ron into a heated snog. He tangled his hands in Ron’s hair, practically climbing into his lap, thrusting his tongue into Ron’s mouth and demanding that Ron respond with equal fervor. He tasted like whiskey and smelled expensive. Ron bit his lower lip, groping his arse with impunity and marvelling when Malfoy responded with lust instead of outrage. Hermione would have twisted out of his arms and made some sort of derisive comment comparing him to an octopus.
Malfoy pulled away, panting, and scooted back a little so that he had room to wriggle out of his trousers. He wasn’t wearing anything beneath them. As Malfoy gave his own cock a few lazy strokes, Ron ran curious eyes over him from head to toe. Though he didn’t find Malfoy’s cock arousing in itself, the fact that it was hard for him - for him - made Ron’s pulse race. Never in a million years would he have imagined a Malfoy all but begging a Weasley to fuck him.
Ron shucked his own trousers and crawled towards Malfoy, who let go of his cock and leaned back on his hands, letting his legs splay open. “Have you done this before?” he asked.
“No.”
“It doesn’t matter. Fucking is fucking.”
Malfoy rummaged through the pockets of his discarded trousers until he came up with a bottle of lube. Ron raised his eyebrows. Did Malfoy always carry lube around with him?
He caught the bottle when Malfoy tossed it to him.
“Use your fingers first. Don’t worry about making it good. Just get me as wet as you can.”
There was a tremor in Ron’s hands when he snapped the lid off and poured a generous pool of lube into his right palm. Malfoy watched intently, dropping down to support himself on his elbows, knees bent and spread wide with his feet flat on the floor.
His hole looked tiny. Ron didn’t know how his cock could possibly fit in there, but then, Harry was about the same size, and he didn’t have any trouble stuffing Malfoy’s arse at every opportunity.
Thinking about Harry made Ron’s stomach lurch. To distract himself, he slid a single finger into Malfoy.
Malfoy exhaled heavily and dropped his head back. Ron moved his finger in and out, shocked by how fucking tight it was, like Malfoy’s hole was sucking him in and clamping down around him.
“Another,” Malfoy said, lifting his head and staring at Ron’s hand moving between his thighs.
“Are you sure?”
The glare Malfoy sent him made Ron hurry to comply. Malfoy’s arse yielded surprisingly easily to his second finger, then settled snugly around him.
Fuck. It was as if no matter what you put inside him, Malfoy was always exactly tight enough.
Ron tried to finger him slowly, but Malfoy wasn’t having it. He rocked back and forth, pushing his arse against Ron’s hand in a way that made it clear he expected Ron to pick up the pace. Ron’s breathing sped up with his fingers, plunging in and out of Malfoy’s hot, hungry hole.
Malfoy’s back suddenly bowed, his hips lifting off the floor as he let out a low groan. Ron stroked more deliberately against the bump he had just brushed against, and Malfoy’s second groan was even louder. His legs shook.
“Stop,” he said. “Stop, fuck me now.”
Ron’s own need had grown so urgent that he didn’t even consider asking if Malfoy was sure this time. He pulled his fingers out and stroked his throbbing cock with lube while Malfoy lay back and pulled his knees up to his chest.
Flushed, panting, holding himself open like that, Malfoy looked so gods-damned slutty that Ron had to give his own balls a squeeze to keep from embarrassing himself. Malfoy saw what he was doing and smirked, spreading his legs even wider - a feat Ron would have sworn was impossible. For the first time, he noticed the dozens of pale bruises scattered across Malfoy’s body, decorating his neck, collarbone, torso, hips. Some were obviously bite marks; others had just as obviously been left by grasping fingers. Harry really did play rough.
Still half-certain that this would never work, Ron knelt in front of Malfoy, holding his hip with one hand while he guided his cock into place. The head prodded at Malfoy’s hole. After a brief moment of resistance, the muscle gave, and Ron slid halfway in before he was ready. Malfoy winced.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, releasing his cock and grabbing Malfoy’s other hip, fingers flexing with the effort required not to slam himself in the rest of the way.
“It always hurts at first. Keep going.”
Carefully, Ron gave Malfoy the rest of his cock in one slow, controlled thrust. Malfoy grunted, body twisting, and then relaxed all at once, letting go of his legs and hooking one ankle over Ron’s shoulder while the other leg dropped to the side. His hand snaked down to take hold of his cock.
“Are you going to fuck me or what?”
Dazed by the tight muscle squeezing his cock, perilously close to coming, Ron pulled halfway out and then pushed back in. His fingers slipped in the sweat on Malfoy’s skin as he maintained the cautious pace that was all he could manage. A singular chant of Don’t come don’t come don’t come marched through his brain.
Malfoy made a dissatisfied noise, grabbed Ron’s hair with his free hand, and yanked. The sharp pain broke Ron out of the trance he’d fallen into.
“Is that the best you can do?” said Malfoy, sneering.
Ron’s eyes narrowed. His threatening orgasm was suddenly shunted aside by the pressing need to fuck the living hell out of Malfoy, to make him scream and beg and come all over himself. Without bothering to work his way up to it, he starting thrusting rapidly, shoving in deep, balls slapping against Malfoy’s arse.
Malfoy’s arm fell to the rug and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “Fuck, yes, give it to me -”
Ron fell forward, catching himself on his hands on either side of Malfoy’s shoulders. He felt like he was on fire, and nothing would put that fire out except pounding Malfoy’s arse harder, faster, more. Malfoy was moaning steadily, pumping his cock between their hot, slick bodies. His head fell back, and Ron took that as an invitation, lowering his mouth to that long, pale neck and biting savagely.
Malfoy let out a noise that could only be described as a shriek. His body arched, forcing his hips up into Ron’s punishing strokes. His skin was salty and bitter with the tang of whiskey where Ron sucked on it.
“Weasley, oh, come on, come on, come on - ”
Hearing Malfoy gasp his name spurred Ron on. He struggled for breath as his cock speared Malfoy’s tight little hole ever faster, so hot and wet and the perfect fit around him, getting in as deep as he could…
Malfoy cried out, body thrashing, and then his come was spurting hot and messy over both their chests, hole clamping down on Ron’s cock in a way that made him shout and shudder and shoot his load long and hard, thrusting with every pulse as he spilled himself in Malfoy’s haughty, perfect, forbidden arse.
He collapsed on top of Malfoy, wheezing. Malfoy didn’t protest or push him off, just lay quietly twitching beneath him.
Ron shut his eyes. He’d fucked Malfoy. He’d cheated on Hermione with Harry’s boyfriend. It was the worst, most disloyal, despicable thing he’d ever done.
It was the best sex he’d ever had.
He pushed himself back up on his elbows, intending to move off of Malfoy, but his attention was arrested by the livid bruise on Malfoy’s neck. “I left a mark,” he said blankly.
“Hmm?” Malfoy lifted a hand to the bite. It was trembling. “It’s fine. Harry - ” His breath stumbled, caught. “Potter will never know it’s not from him.”
Ron pulled out. They both inhaled sharply.
Separately, they reached for their wands and cleaned themselves up, dressing without speaking. They sat on opposite sides of the couch. Ron tried to smooth his hair, knowing it was disheveled from Malfoy’s hands. His eyes kept darting back to the bruise he’d left on Malfoy’s skin, visible even above his shirt collar.
“So,” he said.
“So,” said Malfoy.
Silence settled over them, thick with things left unsaid. In the hall, the grandfather clock struck eleven. Footsteps sounded on the path outside.
The front door opened.