(no subject)
Happy Mother's Day, everyone.
Today is the due date for the 2005 Ron Ficathon. So here I am again with some weird slash. Enjoy.
Title: Kawa no Zubon wo Haita Otoko
Written for: hildigunnur
Rating: R
Pairing: Draco/Ron
A/N: hildigunnur made this request: The boys inadvertently wander into a sex shop. (hint: There are quite many of them on Charing Cross Road where the Leaky Cauldron is supposed to be.)
For some reason, influences of Japanese culture bombarded me for this fic, and unfortunately, whenever I write Draco, he takes over. Whip him for me, will you?
Thanks to my mom for the beta. Who knew? :)
Kawa no Zubon wo Haita Otoko
(The Man in Leather Trousers)
by leftsockarchive
Red hair, yellow hair;
The man in leather trousers
pursues his pleasure.
Those eyes were on him again-at his back, an unwelcome stare burning through his black robes. He’d soaked enough Firewhiskey into his bloodstream to make it an annoyance rather than an issue that needed attention, but in truth the drinking had done little to help the bigger problem.
“Ronald,” she called dreamily, from several yards away. “Are you going home? Can I-"
His pace quickened and he turned a corner into the blackness of midnight in Diagon Alley. He’d no idea what gave her encouragement to follow him out of the Leaky Cauldron. Perhaps Plumsy Shots and Peony Coolers were more potent for simpering females than he realized.
He stood still, breathing lowly in a hidden alcove. Just a bit of a wait and she’d go. Her swaying form drifted past and her long, staticky blonde hair billowed behind her. Those luminous, dead eyes burned his brain in a strange way-from the beginning, he knew that he had absolutely no use for her.
“Dear lord, Luna! What are you doing here?” a shrieking voice called. Apparently, a group of former Ravenclaws were out for Ladies’ Night. But she didn’t have friends, did she?
Ron watched as the girls tugged her away, back toward the pub and the lights. She protested moderately, but after someone mentioned something about Snorkacks and masturbation, she giggled and seemed to forget about him. He sighed a breath of relief and started back into the alley when a sharp grip around his arm caused him to turn his head.
“Shying away from a blonde again, Weasel?” One look into those cold grey eyes and Ron’s stomach plunged. Of all the times to run into Malfoy… “Come on, tosser.”
Malfoy smirked as they started moving, his fingers still clutching Ron’s arm. A moment passed in dreamlike quickness as the smell of exotic flowers hit his nose, and he looked down to watch his feet disappear over a steaming grate on the walk. Ron felt like demanding answers to this madness but found that his tongue was quite comfortable firmly planted in his mouth… for the moment, anyway.
“Ah,” Malfoy muttered, and pulled Ron along with him into a tiny hole in the cobblestone wall. The hole widened to the size of a dragon’s grinning mouth to accommodate them, and suddenly they were standing inside a room of red paisley walls, glowing candles decorating them like polka dots. Gorgeous, high-cheeked, raven-haired females floated in his periphery, legs fanning out like feathers from long slits in their shiny skirts with each step. Something more luminous than smoke billowed in the air, and as his head swiveled from right to left, Ron filed away the images of wizards snoozing on ornate, striped sofas. Satisfied grins swept the faces of each his gaze caught, and he wondered what in hell was in store.
“What the fuck, Malfoy?” For the first time, he saw the Slytherin in a reasonable amount of light. Malfoy was wearing dragon leather trousers and a black cloak embroidered with an eight-armed woman riding a dragon. Ron was swaying on his feet a bit and his head was fogging up; he wanted to giggle like a girl, but thought better of it.
“Back here, Freckles. I want to show you something.” Malfoy leered at him and reached for Ron’s chest. His eyes never wavered as he fisted a handful of fabric and bared his teeth. Ron again let himself be dragged into the unknown. This smug bastard had somehow figured out how to do it to him, and it made him helpless.
They wandered to the back of the room and veered left, pulling like a conjoined magnet toward a hypnotic beat laden with rhythm and bass; it was a seduction that vibrated more than it emitted any sound. Each footstep was an invitation-the shockwaves traveled upwards and died somewhere in his abdomen. With the strange twinge in his groin again, something only Malfoy could do, they proceeded and the air cleared a bit. When they entered the new, secret room, Ron sobered up enough to see that they were in … a sex shop.
Left and right, up and down, shiny, gleaming contraptions winked and groaned. Purple, green, and silver surrounded small displays of black and pink. He saw leather, rubber, and metal chains. Each item that entered his vision silently uttered promises: resolutions for that emptiness inside. Just a tap of the wand, a slow stroke and a quick incantation, could turn rage into bliss. Problems and tragedies of the heart were strangers in the house of the Almighty Orgasm-no partners necessary.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Ron said, as his curious gaze clapped on a wall shelved full of Wizarding comics. Er… naughty Wizarding comics. One portrayed a cartoon girl, hunched over with a ripped blouse and a microscopic skirt that hardly grazed her thighs, whose eyes grew wider and wider as a set of hands rubbed vigorously at her nipples, and another gripped her flanks. The latter was attached to a headless body that pounded into her, matching the beat of the music as finely as any metronome, as her mouth opened and closed.
Ron had failed to notice earlier than that moment that Malfoy’s hand no longer gripped his shirt; it had trailed downward to draw lazy circles on his thighs.
“Help you?” a tall, elegantly dressed woman asked, from their right. “Oh no, not what you want.”
Malfoy smirked at her and swiveled his head to Ron. His smug expression and the locks of silky yellow that partially covered his eye sent a dagger of fire somewhere amongst Ron’s internal organs-or was that the lingering caress of the Firewhiskey?
“No,” Malfoy murmured. “Not what we want at all.” His arm went around Ron’s waist and they moved further down the wall. Malfoy glanced back at the woman as she smiled and nodded and he stopped in front of some materials that matched more closely with Ron’s interests. “Remember what you said to me last time, Freckles? You’d seen bigger? I’m here to put my mouth where your money is.”
Ron glared at the smug bastard who mistakenly believed that one mistake could somehow turn into two. “Pathetic. Following me like a puppy, thinking you’re boxing clever-"
“I do what I want, with a willing participant,” Malfoy replied accusatorially. Ron knew that that was a dead end road, so he listened as Malfoy continued. “Look-some instructions to help us move past this stalemate.” He reached for a different comic, licking his plump lower lip. “Heh. Yaoi manga is more our style, don’t you think?”
He flipped the pages to an elaborate illustration of two beautiful boys, one with flaming hair and the other, yellow. They were doing things that made Ron’s ears go pink, things Ron was ashamed to say he enjoyed. Things he had let Malfoy do to him once before. Ron groaned low in his throat.
Malfoy stared back at him; something was coming alive in his eyes. “You told me I didn’t know what I was doing. You told me I didn’t measure up but; you know, I’ve learned something from ancient Eastern wisdom: eat what you want to be.”
“And fortunately for me, you don’t eat sushi. Right?” At least Hermione had taught him something about verbal sparring.
“Never even touch it,” Malfoy replied. He flung the comic back on the shelf and doing so, stepped nearer to Ron’s body. Malfoy’s hand hooked around the nape of his neck, and he pressed himself hard and hot into Ron. Their hips brushed, and Ron noticed the lack of equipment malfunction for both of them right away. “I would never put my lips anywhere near it, wanker,” he said, his mouth hovering just over Ron’s lips. “Come.”
There was a small, private room just beyond the shelves, covered in purple velvet from floor to ceiling. The moment they entered, Ron knew that girls didn’t go in there. “On with it, then, Ferret Face,” he said.
Malfoy, never breaking eye contact, shrugged his shoulders and the cloak dropped to the floor. Ron noted the determination on his face, and glanced at the eight-armed woman, who winked at him as her red lips glistened. The dragon breathed fire and Ron felt Malfoy’s deft, long finders fiddling with the fastenings of his fly. Ron’s head was spinning and he closed his eyes, waiting for the haze to clear.
Another mistake…
He heard a squeaky groan, the sound of leather creasing as Malfoy stooped to his knees. Malfoy was perched before him, an exotic bird ready to nibble on exotic fruit, and Ron thought of cranes swooping over a red sky, dipping under clouds.
Harry and Hermione were nowhere.
Before Ron knew it, his cock was out, jutting from a mass of robes and other forms of concealment. He focused on Malfoy’s mouth and tried not to think on their differences. At that moment, they had something in common.
“I will eat what I want to be,” Malfoy muttered, and tiny sparkles emitted from his wand, tucked into his back pocket. Ron, in his aroused state, was mildly to moderately impressed. “Even if it’s only to make you see.” Malfoy’s tongue slithered out of his mouth and began the dance-stroking, licking, sucking-until stars collided behind Ron’s eyes.
“That’s the last time,” Ron said, pulling out his wand to Apparate. The guilt welled up as his life slipped further out of his hands. Ten years ago, he could never have imagined this.
“Will you be saying that every time?” Malfoy asked. He’d risen to full height, standing before Ron again, and there was one green speck amidst the grey in his left eye. Ron wished he could unlock all its mysteries. Or just punch him in the face.
“You’re nothing to me,” Ron said.
“An occasional indulgence? We’ll see what you have to say next time the taste of me is in your mouth. Wisdom of the ancients, I’m telling you.”
Malfoy leaned forward, taking Ron’s mouth prisoner in a passionate interchange of personal information-the kind carried on the tongue.
Ron grimaced as he Apparated away.
End.
The moral of the story: Yabo wo tsutsuite hebi wo dasu
(Poke the bush, and a snake will come out)