(no subject)
Word count: 3447-ish
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Warnings: Erm, slash, I’ve no concept of ratings - up there somewhere??
Disclaimer: Not mine, can’t possibly want it to be, cause it’s perfect just the way Her Majesty Rowling put it together. Money… yeah, I heard it got invented, would be good to know what the damn thing looks like… not in this life-time, it seems...
Author’s note: Well, here goes nothing… I’m new to this - alas no beta! - and though this is not the first fic I’ve ever written, it’s the first one that came to any kind of conclusion. The problem with me is, when I start writing, I lose perspective and the fics just continue to write themselves. The same applies to this one, it has a follow-up, but I’m not sure it’s ever going to see the light of day, since this one is not exactly what my hopes and dreams amount to. But yeah, as the popular page says “It’s something” (insert a happy jump). Thank you for reading, I will count my stars if I don’t get sent too many verbal voodoo dolls my way, though I appreciate honest criticism just as the next person. And the language - I'm sorry if it's lame and poor, English is not my mother tongue and I struggle to no end. I know it's not an excuse, but it should do as an explanation.
~
Draco was fuming. He did that a lot lately, but this his gear really got ground this time. Like white-hot-anger ground.
How dare he?! Draco thought he knew him well enough to write his diary and still sometimes the fucking Weasel knocked the wind out of him!
It was such a nice song. It had a catchy melody, every verse designed with precision to bring him down and the rest of the Griffindor Quidditch team along; Draco spent countless hours working on it - and if the heir of Malfoy house was good at anything, it was at walking all over Weasel. He knew how to pull his strings, how to kick him where it hurt most, how to make those blue eyes glow livid and his skin flush to the point of freckles disappearing. He was master of Weasel-doom... and somehow it had all failed today.
Out of the blue, Weasley managed to not only ignore the needles and pins of the "Weasley is our king" chanting, but he came out as some goddamn Keeper-prodigy, seemingly defending more goals than they attempted to score. Bloody fucking Weasel, how dare he play a Quidditch genius in the face of his mocking!? It looked now like it was the song that made him go all the way, make him unlock all his hidden potential and it was the last thing Draco wanted!
He chewed on it endlessly in the last ten minutes since the match ended and the only explanation he could come up with infuriated him beyond belief. Potter must have wasted his Felix felicis potion on this match to make his best mate - and god knows what else, Draco thought darkly - come out on top. And that pretty much said everything about their relationship. Potion-enhancements were forbidden in matches, but Potter seemed to have done it anyway and that told Draco more than he needed to know about Potter's feelings for Weasley. Bloody fucking Griffindor poofs! He should have made a song about Potter fucking Weasley into glory, cause that's the only way the redhead is ever going to get famous, but he knew full-well he would never be able to get away with it, not with the teachers on the Quidditch pitch anyway. No, he did all he could to sabotage the match, he pried on their weakest link, the stupid awkward Weasel, the dirt-poor boy and his lack of confidence - and it had somehow backfired.
He could still hear them from where he was standing; the crowd on the Griffindor stands, chanting his anthem with modified lyrics, glorifying the redhead and his achievements, when the beggar boy was supposed to be looking for a rope and a tree after today's match! The singing was coming closer and if there was any chance to disapparate on the grounds of Hogwarts, that's exactly what Draco would have done - disapparated himself from the scene before he came head to head with the Griffindor supporters. But he didn't think they'd be doing rounds around the whole pitch and as it was, he now had nowhere to hide. The collision was inevitable. He could already spot them, the brightly red-and-gold clad mob, chanting his song, waving improvised banners and carrying their hero on their shoulders.
As if he wasn't tall enough and as if you couldn't see his fiery head from another continent, Weasley was sitting on top of someone's shoulders, muscled thighs closely embracing the neck of his supporter - must be that forever-randy good-for-nothing Finnigan pillock - with a Griffindor banner draped around his bare back, his eyes shining blue enough to make the summer sky look dull and Draco has honestly never seen the boy so happy. He had the biggest goofy grin parked across his freckled face, perfect white teeth flashing a perpetual smile, unaware of how obscenely... male he looked, in his half-naked glory.
While most other boys, Draco himself included, only just began developing into manhood and consequentially looked all the wrong lengths and awkward shapes and corners, Weasley's ridiculous growing spurts spiraled his development out of proportions and well - right now it looked like a bunch of school boys were holding a proper professional-league Quidditch star on their shoulders.
Draco stared at him in hatred, his mind going about a hundred mile a minute… mostly on how he could take Weasel-bear down without dying in the process. After all, the boy that showed up to a Hogwarts express after the summer vacations no longer resembled a cheap ad for a broom handle - right now Weasley looked about a meter across the shoulders and it didn't even look awkward because he was a giant bloody beast, wasn't he?! Honestly what was that appalling witch, who called herself his mother, feeding the Weasley clan - planks and bricks from their crumbling house!?
And those legs... how the fuck did he spurt muscles like that in mere two months?! Did he get a summer job holding up that ruin they called home?!
Nah, head-to-head combat was sadly out of the question - Draco was willing to bet his father's fortune and some that once one got between those endless muscled legs in a brawl, they could squeeze the life right out of the poor sod that would take him on... The image that flushed through his mind left him strangely dry-mouthed and his eyes kept on drifting from the said legs, to the no-more skinny arse where they connected and up the pale freckled skin of his bare upper body.
It should have been a registered crime to have that many freckles, even if they did make his creamy skin glow gold in the sun. Draco briefly wondered how they tasted and then froze dead in horror of checking his own thoughts. What the fuck was wrong with him?! How could he be thinking about Weasley's freckles...that way! He always found them disgusting, didn't he, marring what would otherwise be perfect white skin, looking like a massive golden rash, clashing with that flaming hair and making his eyes shine the bluest color Draco's ever seen... He swallowed a lump in his throat, finally convinced that he's been hexed... His eyes suspiciously darted around to find the Mudblood - she sure had the skill and he wouldn't put it beyond her! - when they accidentally connected with the crystal blue orbs he by all means tried to avoid.
Once caught, he was unable to look away and when that Finnegan log - yes, it was him - faced the other way, Weasley visibly made an effort to keep his blasted sparkling eyes on his face for a moment longer, turning slightly in his waist. He arched one ginger eyebrow provokingly and much to Draco's fury mouthed a silent "thank you", his full lips shaping the final letter into a circle, making it look every bit as if he blew him a kiss. And Draco just stood there, spurting roots, not a single vicious remark in his head, just a horrible feeling of being petrified by a flying kiss. Suddenly, in the face of his demise, Weasley's freckled face lit up with the most blissful insolent smile the blond had ever seen on a ginger and it almost stopped his heart for all the wrong reasons.
Motherfucking Weasley, how dare he!? Draco's heart was pounding so hard he was almost dizzy and a feeling he desperately hoped was pure unabated wrath surged through his veins like a freight-train. If he stayed a moment longer, he would not have cared for his chances of survival if he went after the redhead in front of his mates… and he really couldn't do that to his mother. He barely mustered enough self-control to turn on his heel and walk away quickly, but the other Griffindors have noticed him by then and many a- "Hey, Malfoy, thanks for the song, snake..." hit his quickly departing back.
But nothing hurt more than the smug laughter in a warm deep voice he didn't have to turn around to identify. It was him and he was laughing at him. Laughing. At him. And Malfoys didn't do laughing, at least not the receiving end of it. If he could get his hands on the long freckled neck, he was sure he would squeeze and never let go until the light in those blue eyes faded and the pulse of that hot boiling life under his fingers died for good. He could murder him right now, he knew he could. And he would be free. Free to hate other people. Because that's what it was. Hatred. What else?
So he waited for him in an elongated dark alcove he could charm shut, hours later. Patiently, without a plan, just sheer determination to get him, to even the score, to teach him a lesson, to show him... he didn't know what. Whatever he had in store for him. Nevermind. He'll improvise for once. He couldn't let that one go.
Soon enough the redhead approached him and as Draco made sure that Potter and the Mudblood were otherwise occupied by a carefully planting a vague, but cryptic message from one to another - he was alone. He had him all to himself.
He pounced on him the moment he fixed his eyes on him, fully aware he needed an element of surprise on his side or his revenge will never work. He pushed him into the alcove with all the strength he could muster and threw a charm to shut it and make it sound-proof over the shoulder.
In truth, he didn't know what he wanted from Weasley... but he knew he got it the second he saw a fierce look of a cornered wild animal in his blue eyes and their bodies connected. Draco came prepared and he wouldn't give in. A sharp jab in the ribs and a carefully planted leg - and that wonderfully hot body was suddenly pinned underneath him just where he wanted it all day, spreading its intoxicating heat all over him in a flush, sending it right to his head, making him dizzy with loathing... or something that felt the same but Draco had no name for, because he never felt such a thing before, such a heady feeling of being right where he belonged with the one person he belonged with.
"What the fuck did you think you were doing!?" he blabbed incoherently, just to say something while he was staring down those incredible blue eyes, filled with rage and all that abundance of feelings Weasley always had for him.
"Who the fuck gave you the right to take my song and maul it, you poor little bastard?!" Truth be spoken, Draco could not have cared less about the stupid song, not anymore, not ever, what song? - not with that hot life surging underneath him, but he needed something... a lead, an excuse, something, anything to keep on holding on to those incredible tight muscles writhing against his, making him move in the insane uneven rhythm he could not imagine losing right now.
"Let go of me, ferret! If you cared so much about your lame-arse song, you shouldn't have made it about me, you stupid stuck-up sod!" hissed Ron, still trying to throw off the surprisingly strong Slytherin, who came at him with such overpowering determination.
Draco's head suddenly sunk down in the crook of his neck and Ron yelped in pain and surprise. The fucking snake bit him! The skinny twat actually went and bit him! He was going down, he was so dead, he was going to... ohhh...
Suddenly it was no longer the sharp white teeth adorning his neck but an incredible sensation of soft mouth licking up his pulse and Ron could have died in that moment from the rush of all the conflicting sensations. Unable to comprehend he looked up into the grey eyes speckled with gold and saw the same mixture of putrid impotent wrath, disbelief, embarrassment and unmistakable arousal that surged through his body. Just a moment - and the infernal mouth was back at him again, this time capturing his own lips, gnawing at them, biting and licking until it gained access and Draco Malfoy was kissing Ronald Weasley into oblivion.
Draco could not explain for the love of god what he was doing. It just had to be done, he had to do it. Those fresh red lips, so full and soft over the perfect white teeth were calling him, tempting him, begging him to be claimed and he had no choice. He had to give in, he had to take him. And Weasley didn't really put up a fight, not really. Just enough to fuel his desire and once those accursed fresh lips opened and their silken tongues touched and took him in, Draco was lost.
He hated him, God, how he hated him... cause that's what it was... he was punishing Weasley... it was just hateful passion, not lust... never lust... not when he found himself in a bathroom for the hundred-and-one emergency wank, helplessly tossing off to a thought of fucking that blasted mouth shut so they would never smile at Potter again; not even when he woke up in the middle of the night, sticky with his own come and still panting his name... never lust, never for Weasley... Ron... Ron...
"Ron..." he heard himself sigh his name pleadingly, way too pleadingly for comfort, and the redhead's fingers slid up his back and sunk into his platinum hair, warm, strong, holding him still to kiss him so thoroughly he could almost feel his brain melting right there.
"What the fuck... Malfoy..." he heard him moan, almost beg between kisses and it was a bliss to hear him just as helpless against this as he was. But in a moment of heady carelessness the redhead finally managed to flip him over and Draco lost it. He couldn't picture himself lying there abandoned, not getting what he wanted so badly, losing all that wonderful friction, all that impossible overload of grinding feelings between them. His arms went up like lightning in a desperate attempt to punch Weasley into obedience, to make him stay... except his lust addled brain got it all wrong and instead his fingers snaked into the liquid fire of redhead's silken hair and pulled him back down as he whispered anxiously: "Don't...".
And Weasley didn't. Instead, he melted down on his mouth for another searing kiss and Draco felt he was ready to come on the spot when that divine mouth devoured him and his pride without reservation.
He heard himself make sounds he didn't know he could produce, he would never believe that something so primal and needy belonged to him, but Weasley's little moans and cries of pleasure mirrored his own, undoing him on a level so beyond words that there could be nothing else but that unimaginable raw need between them.
When his need for air began to make his ears buzz, he moved his mouth from Weasley's lips down his face, greedy for his touch, for more of that hot surging life he could feel under the creamy freckled skin. A long lustful lick down his chin, hungry to feel that boiling pulse in his neck once again, and he was beginning to see stars in front of his eyes, that's just how turned on he was.
Just when his soft mouth reached Ron's ears - he just knew they were going to be sensitive, he knew it - he heard him moan in a small voice: "No... gods... not with you... sweet Merlin... no..." It sounded like pleading for more to Draco's ears and he was determined to make it come out that way out of Weasley's own mouth. So he licked the shell of his ear, earning himself a long pained "ohhhhh" and when he began nibbling his earlobe gently, a hissed: "Gods, don't..." quickly morphed into a breathless: "Sweet Merlin... don't... don't stop..."
And Draco was in heaven as he was ever going to be. So he licked and sucked and whispered in his ear when he could, to tell him everything he could never share with anyone else: "Why not me, Weasley... why not... Ron? Who else is there for us but each other...? Who could break you to pieces and release you like I can? No one... there's no one... Ron...!"
The last word was a loud yelp as the redhead's determined hand found his way into his robes, on top of his painfully strained bulge and when his fingers finally touched naked flesh it was Draco's turn to beg incoherently: "Take it... godfuckinggoddamn you... Ron, please... take it... play with it...oh... fucking goddamn beast.... yesssss, just like that... oh...oh... ohgod yessss... more, more, more, more... I knew you'd be good.... god, I need it so bad... Merlin, fuck, you're big..."
Ron somehow managed to free his own erection and Draco's loins almost blew their load at the sight. The redhead was everything he dreamed him to be and then more. His eyes were closed and expression on the face out of this world, apart from a few incoherent words only hot soft puffs of air escaping his swollen lips indicating how much he was enjoying their insane encounter. And then there was his purple thick shaft pulsing with life, dripping with want and it was all too much for the blond, he needed to come and he needed to come fast.
Dizzy with desire he leaned into him and wrapped his fingers around Ron's hand pumping them both and providing the much necessary friction to two rock hard cocks near bursting with come and began teasing the sensitive heads. Small cries of pleasure escaping Ron's mouth almost pushed him over the top, every muscle in the redhead's body indicating how close he was to climax, but Draco needed more, just a small push over the cliff, just... that this was about him and no one else. Unable to mask the pleading in his voice he whispered:
"I need it, Ron... Give into me... Say my name... I beg you..."
And the world as he knew it came to an end when the blue eyes finally burst open and locked into his, the redhead's hips buckled violently and Ron came with a loud broken howl: "Oh, goddamn fuck you... Draco!" all over their joint fists.
And Draco's loins just exploded at the sound of his own name from the redhead's mouth. Arching like a bow into the warm nest they made from their hands he heard himself scream his name out loud and he came so brutally, he must have passed out for a few moments. When he came to his senses, he was still rocking inside that strong wonderfully slippery fist, a small breathless chant "Ron... mine...mine... mine... mine" pouring out of his mouth inadvertently, something between a sob and a plea.
He's just given and lost everything and he couldn't have cared less. If he had any of his rational brain left it would probably be trying to tell him something about being helpless and defenseless and how Malfoys couldn't have that - but he didn't have it in him to do anything about it, as he was absolutely boneless and loving every minute of it. He just laid there, eyes closed, an unimaginable bliss spreading all over his body. He felt strangely happy and safe under a large over-heated body still covering his own, meeting his skin in short hard puffs of exhaled air, inevitably made by two hearts beating too quickly.
He knew it couldn't last, but he would have given his inheritance in that moment to just make it go on a bit longer. He needed it, he craved it, that heat and hot pulsating life underneath the wonderful golden-specked skin. He remembered his thoughts from earlier and smiled, gently licking the freckles on the part of skin that was the closes to him. They didn't taste differently, but it made him wonder if they left a trail of gold on his tongue.
He felt the redhead's breath grow more even and he braced himself for the inevitable.
And when Ron got up, Draco felt like a part of him was being torn from his very skin, taking all the warmth, all the comfort, all the bliss with him. He heard him pause for a moment, but didn't have the courage to open his eyes, he just lay there silently, taking his confusion, his embarrassments and his disdain.
"God, I hate you," he heard him whisper in a strained voice and then he was gone and all light went with him.
Submerged in the world of darkness under his eye-lids Draco broke a single sad smile: yeah, it was hatred… at least Weasley had the same word for it.
Hatred… what else?
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Warnings: Erm, slash, I’ve no concept of ratings - up there somewhere??
Disclaimer: Not mine, can’t possibly want it to be, cause it’s perfect just the way Her Majesty Rowling put it together. Money… yeah, I heard it got invented, would be good to know what the damn thing looks like… not in this life-time, it seems...
Author’s note: Well, here goes nothing… I’m new to this - alas no beta! - and though this is not the first fic I’ve ever written, it’s the first one that came to any kind of conclusion. The problem with me is, when I start writing, I lose perspective and the fics just continue to write themselves. The same applies to this one, it has a follow-up, but I’m not sure it’s ever going to see the light of day, since this one is not exactly what my hopes and dreams amount to. But yeah, as the popular page says “It’s something” (insert a happy jump). Thank you for reading, I will count my stars if I don’t get sent too many verbal voodoo dolls my way, though I appreciate honest criticism just as the next person. And the language - I'm sorry if it's lame and poor, English is not my mother tongue and I struggle to no end. I know it's not an excuse, but it should do as an explanation.
~
Draco was fuming. He did that a lot lately, but this his gear really got ground this time. Like white-hot-anger ground.
How dare he?! Draco thought he knew him well enough to write his diary and still sometimes the fucking Weasel knocked the wind out of him!
It was such a nice song. It had a catchy melody, every verse designed with precision to bring him down and the rest of the Griffindor Quidditch team along; Draco spent countless hours working on it - and if the heir of Malfoy house was good at anything, it was at walking all over Weasel. He knew how to pull his strings, how to kick him where it hurt most, how to make those blue eyes glow livid and his skin flush to the point of freckles disappearing. He was master of Weasel-doom... and somehow it had all failed today.
Out of the blue, Weasley managed to not only ignore the needles and pins of the "Weasley is our king" chanting, but he came out as some goddamn Keeper-prodigy, seemingly defending more goals than they attempted to score. Bloody fucking Weasel, how dare he play a Quidditch genius in the face of his mocking!? It looked now like it was the song that made him go all the way, make him unlock all his hidden potential and it was the last thing Draco wanted!
He chewed on it endlessly in the last ten minutes since the match ended and the only explanation he could come up with infuriated him beyond belief. Potter must have wasted his Felix felicis potion on this match to make his best mate - and god knows what else, Draco thought darkly - come out on top. And that pretty much said everything about their relationship. Potion-enhancements were forbidden in matches, but Potter seemed to have done it anyway and that told Draco more than he needed to know about Potter's feelings for Weasley. Bloody fucking Griffindor poofs! He should have made a song about Potter fucking Weasley into glory, cause that's the only way the redhead is ever going to get famous, but he knew full-well he would never be able to get away with it, not with the teachers on the Quidditch pitch anyway. No, he did all he could to sabotage the match, he pried on their weakest link, the stupid awkward Weasel, the dirt-poor boy and his lack of confidence - and it had somehow backfired.
He could still hear them from where he was standing; the crowd on the Griffindor stands, chanting his anthem with modified lyrics, glorifying the redhead and his achievements, when the beggar boy was supposed to be looking for a rope and a tree after today's match! The singing was coming closer and if there was any chance to disapparate on the grounds of Hogwarts, that's exactly what Draco would have done - disapparated himself from the scene before he came head to head with the Griffindor supporters. But he didn't think they'd be doing rounds around the whole pitch and as it was, he now had nowhere to hide. The collision was inevitable. He could already spot them, the brightly red-and-gold clad mob, chanting his song, waving improvised banners and carrying their hero on their shoulders.
As if he wasn't tall enough and as if you couldn't see his fiery head from another continent, Weasley was sitting on top of someone's shoulders, muscled thighs closely embracing the neck of his supporter - must be that forever-randy good-for-nothing Finnigan pillock - with a Griffindor banner draped around his bare back, his eyes shining blue enough to make the summer sky look dull and Draco has honestly never seen the boy so happy. He had the biggest goofy grin parked across his freckled face, perfect white teeth flashing a perpetual smile, unaware of how obscenely... male he looked, in his half-naked glory.
While most other boys, Draco himself included, only just began developing into manhood and consequentially looked all the wrong lengths and awkward shapes and corners, Weasley's ridiculous growing spurts spiraled his development out of proportions and well - right now it looked like a bunch of school boys were holding a proper professional-league Quidditch star on their shoulders.
Draco stared at him in hatred, his mind going about a hundred mile a minute… mostly on how he could take Weasel-bear down without dying in the process. After all, the boy that showed up to a Hogwarts express after the summer vacations no longer resembled a cheap ad for a broom handle - right now Weasley looked about a meter across the shoulders and it didn't even look awkward because he was a giant bloody beast, wasn't he?! Honestly what was that appalling witch, who called herself his mother, feeding the Weasley clan - planks and bricks from their crumbling house!?
And those legs... how the fuck did he spurt muscles like that in mere two months?! Did he get a summer job holding up that ruin they called home?!
Nah, head-to-head combat was sadly out of the question - Draco was willing to bet his father's fortune and some that once one got between those endless muscled legs in a brawl, they could squeeze the life right out of the poor sod that would take him on... The image that flushed through his mind left him strangely dry-mouthed and his eyes kept on drifting from the said legs, to the no-more skinny arse where they connected and up the pale freckled skin of his bare upper body.
It should have been a registered crime to have that many freckles, even if they did make his creamy skin glow gold in the sun. Draco briefly wondered how they tasted and then froze dead in horror of checking his own thoughts. What the fuck was wrong with him?! How could he be thinking about Weasley's freckles...that way! He always found them disgusting, didn't he, marring what would otherwise be perfect white skin, looking like a massive golden rash, clashing with that flaming hair and making his eyes shine the bluest color Draco's ever seen... He swallowed a lump in his throat, finally convinced that he's been hexed... His eyes suspiciously darted around to find the Mudblood - she sure had the skill and he wouldn't put it beyond her! - when they accidentally connected with the crystal blue orbs he by all means tried to avoid.
Once caught, he was unable to look away and when that Finnegan log - yes, it was him - faced the other way, Weasley visibly made an effort to keep his blasted sparkling eyes on his face for a moment longer, turning slightly in his waist. He arched one ginger eyebrow provokingly and much to Draco's fury mouthed a silent "thank you", his full lips shaping the final letter into a circle, making it look every bit as if he blew him a kiss. And Draco just stood there, spurting roots, not a single vicious remark in his head, just a horrible feeling of being petrified by a flying kiss. Suddenly, in the face of his demise, Weasley's freckled face lit up with the most blissful insolent smile the blond had ever seen on a ginger and it almost stopped his heart for all the wrong reasons.
Motherfucking Weasley, how dare he!? Draco's heart was pounding so hard he was almost dizzy and a feeling he desperately hoped was pure unabated wrath surged through his veins like a freight-train. If he stayed a moment longer, he would not have cared for his chances of survival if he went after the redhead in front of his mates… and he really couldn't do that to his mother. He barely mustered enough self-control to turn on his heel and walk away quickly, but the other Griffindors have noticed him by then and many a- "Hey, Malfoy, thanks for the song, snake..." hit his quickly departing back.
But nothing hurt more than the smug laughter in a warm deep voice he didn't have to turn around to identify. It was him and he was laughing at him. Laughing. At him. And Malfoys didn't do laughing, at least not the receiving end of it. If he could get his hands on the long freckled neck, he was sure he would squeeze and never let go until the light in those blue eyes faded and the pulse of that hot boiling life under his fingers died for good. He could murder him right now, he knew he could. And he would be free. Free to hate other people. Because that's what it was. Hatred. What else?
So he waited for him in an elongated dark alcove he could charm shut, hours later. Patiently, without a plan, just sheer determination to get him, to even the score, to teach him a lesson, to show him... he didn't know what. Whatever he had in store for him. Nevermind. He'll improvise for once. He couldn't let that one go.
Soon enough the redhead approached him and as Draco made sure that Potter and the Mudblood were otherwise occupied by a carefully planting a vague, but cryptic message from one to another - he was alone. He had him all to himself.
He pounced on him the moment he fixed his eyes on him, fully aware he needed an element of surprise on his side or his revenge will never work. He pushed him into the alcove with all the strength he could muster and threw a charm to shut it and make it sound-proof over the shoulder.
In truth, he didn't know what he wanted from Weasley... but he knew he got it the second he saw a fierce look of a cornered wild animal in his blue eyes and their bodies connected. Draco came prepared and he wouldn't give in. A sharp jab in the ribs and a carefully planted leg - and that wonderfully hot body was suddenly pinned underneath him just where he wanted it all day, spreading its intoxicating heat all over him in a flush, sending it right to his head, making him dizzy with loathing... or something that felt the same but Draco had no name for, because he never felt such a thing before, such a heady feeling of being right where he belonged with the one person he belonged with.
"What the fuck did you think you were doing!?" he blabbed incoherently, just to say something while he was staring down those incredible blue eyes, filled with rage and all that abundance of feelings Weasley always had for him.
"Who the fuck gave you the right to take my song and maul it, you poor little bastard?!" Truth be spoken, Draco could not have cared less about the stupid song, not anymore, not ever, what song? - not with that hot life surging underneath him, but he needed something... a lead, an excuse, something, anything to keep on holding on to those incredible tight muscles writhing against his, making him move in the insane uneven rhythm he could not imagine losing right now.
"Let go of me, ferret! If you cared so much about your lame-arse song, you shouldn't have made it about me, you stupid stuck-up sod!" hissed Ron, still trying to throw off the surprisingly strong Slytherin, who came at him with such overpowering determination.
Draco's head suddenly sunk down in the crook of his neck and Ron yelped in pain and surprise. The fucking snake bit him! The skinny twat actually went and bit him! He was going down, he was so dead, he was going to... ohhh...
Suddenly it was no longer the sharp white teeth adorning his neck but an incredible sensation of soft mouth licking up his pulse and Ron could have died in that moment from the rush of all the conflicting sensations. Unable to comprehend he looked up into the grey eyes speckled with gold and saw the same mixture of putrid impotent wrath, disbelief, embarrassment and unmistakable arousal that surged through his body. Just a moment - and the infernal mouth was back at him again, this time capturing his own lips, gnawing at them, biting and licking until it gained access and Draco Malfoy was kissing Ronald Weasley into oblivion.
Draco could not explain for the love of god what he was doing. It just had to be done, he had to do it. Those fresh red lips, so full and soft over the perfect white teeth were calling him, tempting him, begging him to be claimed and he had no choice. He had to give in, he had to take him. And Weasley didn't really put up a fight, not really. Just enough to fuel his desire and once those accursed fresh lips opened and their silken tongues touched and took him in, Draco was lost.
He hated him, God, how he hated him... cause that's what it was... he was punishing Weasley... it was just hateful passion, not lust... never lust... not when he found himself in a bathroom for the hundred-and-one emergency wank, helplessly tossing off to a thought of fucking that blasted mouth shut so they would never smile at Potter again; not even when he woke up in the middle of the night, sticky with his own come and still panting his name... never lust, never for Weasley... Ron... Ron...
"Ron..." he heard himself sigh his name pleadingly, way too pleadingly for comfort, and the redhead's fingers slid up his back and sunk into his platinum hair, warm, strong, holding him still to kiss him so thoroughly he could almost feel his brain melting right there.
"What the fuck... Malfoy..." he heard him moan, almost beg between kisses and it was a bliss to hear him just as helpless against this as he was. But in a moment of heady carelessness the redhead finally managed to flip him over and Draco lost it. He couldn't picture himself lying there abandoned, not getting what he wanted so badly, losing all that wonderful friction, all that impossible overload of grinding feelings between them. His arms went up like lightning in a desperate attempt to punch Weasley into obedience, to make him stay... except his lust addled brain got it all wrong and instead his fingers snaked into the liquid fire of redhead's silken hair and pulled him back down as he whispered anxiously: "Don't...".
And Weasley didn't. Instead, he melted down on his mouth for another searing kiss and Draco felt he was ready to come on the spot when that divine mouth devoured him and his pride without reservation.
He heard himself make sounds he didn't know he could produce, he would never believe that something so primal and needy belonged to him, but Weasley's little moans and cries of pleasure mirrored his own, undoing him on a level so beyond words that there could be nothing else but that unimaginable raw need between them.
When his need for air began to make his ears buzz, he moved his mouth from Weasley's lips down his face, greedy for his touch, for more of that hot surging life he could feel under the creamy freckled skin. A long lustful lick down his chin, hungry to feel that boiling pulse in his neck once again, and he was beginning to see stars in front of his eyes, that's just how turned on he was.
Just when his soft mouth reached Ron's ears - he just knew they were going to be sensitive, he knew it - he heard him moan in a small voice: "No... gods... not with you... sweet Merlin... no..." It sounded like pleading for more to Draco's ears and he was determined to make it come out that way out of Weasley's own mouth. So he licked the shell of his ear, earning himself a long pained "ohhhhh" and when he began nibbling his earlobe gently, a hissed: "Gods, don't..." quickly morphed into a breathless: "Sweet Merlin... don't... don't stop..."
And Draco was in heaven as he was ever going to be. So he licked and sucked and whispered in his ear when he could, to tell him everything he could never share with anyone else: "Why not me, Weasley... why not... Ron? Who else is there for us but each other...? Who could break you to pieces and release you like I can? No one... there's no one... Ron...!"
The last word was a loud yelp as the redhead's determined hand found his way into his robes, on top of his painfully strained bulge and when his fingers finally touched naked flesh it was Draco's turn to beg incoherently: "Take it... godfuckinggoddamn you... Ron, please... take it... play with it...oh... fucking goddamn beast.... yesssss, just like that... oh...oh... ohgod yessss... more, more, more, more... I knew you'd be good.... god, I need it so bad... Merlin, fuck, you're big..."
Ron somehow managed to free his own erection and Draco's loins almost blew their load at the sight. The redhead was everything he dreamed him to be and then more. His eyes were closed and expression on the face out of this world, apart from a few incoherent words only hot soft puffs of air escaping his swollen lips indicating how much he was enjoying their insane encounter. And then there was his purple thick shaft pulsing with life, dripping with want and it was all too much for the blond, he needed to come and he needed to come fast.
Dizzy with desire he leaned into him and wrapped his fingers around Ron's hand pumping them both and providing the much necessary friction to two rock hard cocks near bursting with come and began teasing the sensitive heads. Small cries of pleasure escaping Ron's mouth almost pushed him over the top, every muscle in the redhead's body indicating how close he was to climax, but Draco needed more, just a small push over the cliff, just... that this was about him and no one else. Unable to mask the pleading in his voice he whispered:
"I need it, Ron... Give into me... Say my name... I beg you..."
And the world as he knew it came to an end when the blue eyes finally burst open and locked into his, the redhead's hips buckled violently and Ron came with a loud broken howl: "Oh, goddamn fuck you... Draco!" all over their joint fists.
And Draco's loins just exploded at the sound of his own name from the redhead's mouth. Arching like a bow into the warm nest they made from their hands he heard himself scream his name out loud and he came so brutally, he must have passed out for a few moments. When he came to his senses, he was still rocking inside that strong wonderfully slippery fist, a small breathless chant "Ron... mine...mine... mine... mine" pouring out of his mouth inadvertently, something between a sob and a plea.
He's just given and lost everything and he couldn't have cared less. If he had any of his rational brain left it would probably be trying to tell him something about being helpless and defenseless and how Malfoys couldn't have that - but he didn't have it in him to do anything about it, as he was absolutely boneless and loving every minute of it. He just laid there, eyes closed, an unimaginable bliss spreading all over his body. He felt strangely happy and safe under a large over-heated body still covering his own, meeting his skin in short hard puffs of exhaled air, inevitably made by two hearts beating too quickly.
He knew it couldn't last, but he would have given his inheritance in that moment to just make it go on a bit longer. He needed it, he craved it, that heat and hot pulsating life underneath the wonderful golden-specked skin. He remembered his thoughts from earlier and smiled, gently licking the freckles on the part of skin that was the closes to him. They didn't taste differently, but it made him wonder if they left a trail of gold on his tongue.
He felt the redhead's breath grow more even and he braced himself for the inevitable.
And when Ron got up, Draco felt like a part of him was being torn from his very skin, taking all the warmth, all the comfort, all the bliss with him. He heard him pause for a moment, but didn't have the courage to open his eyes, he just lay there silently, taking his confusion, his embarrassments and his disdain.
"God, I hate you," he heard him whisper in a strained voice and then he was gone and all light went with him.
Submerged in the world of darkness under his eye-lids Draco broke a single sad smile: yeah, it was hatred… at least Weasley had the same word for it.
Hatred… what else?