Crown of Rope, part II
Continued from here
Weasley sent him an owl on Wednesday. Draco could only shake his head when he saw the overactive, agitated little owl, hovering around him before settling on a chair back and hooting importantly at him. The parchment Draco took off the owl's leg had to be from Weasley; he'd have recognised anyone else's note carrier, and this one seemed only too suited for the sixth Weasley son. He padded into the spacious kitchen of the flat he was now renting, having made finding his own place the highest priority since he and Weasley had parted ways late Sunday morning. He'd also told himself he'd wait for Weasley to make the first post-shag contact, though if he were honest, he knew he would've buckled had he not heard anything by Friday. Weasley had spared him that, and with a sense of relief, he gave the excitable owl a few small tidbits of uncooked sirloin. The owl gobbled them up with relish, but continued to linger, so Draco assumed it was waiting for a response.
Taking his cup of tea, he walked into the sitting room and sat down at a small mahogany desk. Draco was dreadfully curious as to what Weasley had written; he himself had mulled over all sorts of commentary and discarded all of it well before putting ink to parchment. He and Weasley had - at least sexually - been as perfectly suited and effortless together as fish to water. It made him nervous, how quickly and absolutely he wanted to get together with Weasley again, though he kept trying to convince himself it was only about the sex. That the two of them could get along and have meaningful companionship outside of that, given their history, was highly improbable. The last thing he should do was to add in problematic and potentially devastating things like emotions into the mix. And then there were Draco's truest, most profound desires, involving bondage, trust and dominance, none of which he believed he should share with Weasley anytime soon, if at all.
"But you want to, anyway," he murmured deprecatingly to himself, turning his head in surprise when the small owl hooted in question, flying over to him. "Not yet. I've got to read this first," he said, waving the still rolled up parchment at its wide brown eyes.
He slid off the orange thong, hoping to Merlin he wasn't being invited to a Chudley Cannons match. He wasn't sure that any sex was reward enough to warrant that as punishment first. The scrawl was uneven and printed, but Draco was able to figure out the contents.
"Again! Using my first name!" Draco thought, incredulous. "Oh well."
"I'll bet you have," Draco said sagely to himself. Given some of the noises and things Weasley had said during the three shagging extravaganzas they'd had from afternoon to night and once again in the morning, nobody had made Weasley feel some of the toe-curling experiences Draco had gifted to him.
Draco let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Weasley was fucking smitten with him already. One night of, granted, passionate and marrow-melting sex, and he was mooning over him, even wanting to know what scent he wore. An image of Weasley at a cologne counter, trying to describe the distinctive notes of incense and cypress, traipsed across his mind. A shudder of desire caused gooseflesh to prickle on his arms as he remembered Weasley taking him from behind, curved protectively over him while he slammed relentlessly into his arse, Weasley's face buried against his neck. Yes, Weasley would have had plenty of time to try and commit that scent to memory. He wasn't going to admit it as transparently as Weasley, but Draco knew he'd been infected by his lover's earnestness. Weasley was willing to please, and an erotic powerhouse. Draco's cock twitched at that thought and he scowled. He needed to reply to this note and get on with his day. He could wank later after he'd taken care of his errands.
Opening a drawer, he found a quill and a sepia ink pot. For a moment he chewed on the quill. Of course he'd go, though the idea of an evening with Potter there as well, cheering on his girlfriend, no, wife, didn't excite him. He'd not been to a Quidditch match in over four years, however, and the Prides were a good team. Surely Potter would want to go off for either celebratory or consoling time with her afterwards, and he and Weasley could get down to whatever it was that seemed most appealing. The only element of this that he didn't like was being seen and pointed out; he'd not kept up with many people while living overseas, and that had suited him well. He stood out in a crowd, and he knew it, but at the thought of the opportunity to have Weasley's hard shaft in his mouth again, he decided it'd be a risk worth taking.
Draco paused. He'd been Weasley all his life, or Weasel, or ginger-haired-Mudblood-loving-bastard. Until that moment when Draco's understanding of Weasley had burst into fragments all around him, and he became something else. Someone else. He'd signed his note as Ron, and Draco wasn't going to call him Auror Weasley, which he supposed was his proper title. Fine.
In a fit of generosity, he added a postscript.
He'd not been as effusive as Weasley, but he'd not been standoffish, either. He opened the desk drawer again to get some sealing wax, lighting a small candle in a stand so he could distinctively mark the parchment. A few bulbous pine green blobs fell onto the paper and he took off his signet ring, pressing it into the small mass before it hardened. It was probably going to the Ministry or wherever Weasley's office was, given the time of day. He didn't know whether he shared an office or had his own; he'd not thought to ask that. Something for later, if it came up. Draco retied the note to the owl, who'd been watching his activities with unblinking curiosity, though its body was in a constant state of motion.
"Take that back to Weasley," Draco said, unable to resist running his thumb down the soft feathers of its wing.
After a series of what sounded like hooted hiccoughs, the owl flew in a few circles around the ceiling before zooming out the window.
As it turned out, his day became full of activity. He went to the shops, stocking up on tea and indulging in a pungent brie. A sushi bar enticed him in and he had a delicious sampler, though it couldn't compare to what he'd become used to in Osaka. Feeling oddly homesick for the country that had been his home for several years, he bought a bottle of sake. It wasn't that he'd lied outright to Ron about not drinking; most of the time he didn't, and he'd never been one for ales or other pub standards. But sake on occasion was a succulent treasure, and it had become an integral element to the shibari in which he'd engaged.
Once he returned home he discovered in his sole piece of owl post that he'd been invited - just a shadow's width from commanded - to dinner with his parents that night. It wouldn't be that traumatic, and if he went early in the week, the obligation wouldn't hang over him at the week-end. Plus the Manor did have acres of manicured grounds With practised efficiency, he put away his groceries, gathered up his golf clubs, and Apparated to the Manor.
He was able to get in nearly two hours of hitting practise before dinner, even sharing some conversation with his father on the modified greensward while Lucius had a pre-dinner cocktail. The topic focussed on the movement of monies and continued disguising of estate ownership, most of the homes in the hands of rather distant relatives or of trusted allies, who were few.
"So what are you going to do, Draco, with your life?" Lucius asked pointedly as Draco summoned the distant golf balls before they headed back to the house. "I know you're still relatively young, but I should hope that you've quite finished with these flights of fancy, living halfway around the world, for Merlin's sake. I do still have connections in Provence and London, though not as I once did."
Anger saturated the last words, though he spoke with far less malice than he had before the War. His father's pride was as intimate and inextricably a part of him as his pale skin and crystal blue eyes, but the constant scrutiny of the Dark Lord's presence for months on end, and his fear that Draco had been killed had tempered his righteous indignation- to a degree.
"I'm not sure yet," Draco answered, placing his bag and clubs gently inside the French doors. "I might take golfing lessons. I don't believe I'm good enough to play professionally, but otherwise I don't know. I may look around at opportunities in the Muggle world, where there's no ridiculous bias against the name Malfoy."
Lucius looked both startled and taken aback. "I didn't mean you needed to work- for money," he said haughtily. "We're not peasants; your mother and I have talked and we are of the same mind in providing you the finances to live on, within reason. You've been surprisingly frugal, actually," he mused as they took their places at the shortened high table. "Though I really don't understand your fascination with that tedious activity you call a sport you've taken up with."
Draco tried not to roll his eyes. Dinner proved to be uneventful, though the topic of when Draco might settle down with an appropriate pureblood witch did rear its head. His father squelched it effortlessly, for which Draco was grateful, though the blatant undertones didn't make him feel any better.
"He shouldn't rush into anything as binding as marriage," Lucius said reassuredly as Narcissa's delicate eyebrows knit together. "There is much to think about in regards to the Malfoy legacy. I'm certain that Draco will choose well, when the time comes."
Draco looked up from the remains of his braised lamb to look at his father, nodding slightly. He kept his composure as impassive as possible, but without seeming too guarded, lest he raise his parents' suspicions. There was a time and place for everything. Tonight was most decidedly not the one to explain that not only did he prefer men - which he suspected on some level they already knew, even if they couldn't acknowledge it outright - but he wasn't engaging in a sham marriage either. Oh, and he had plans on Friday for another heavenly night of potentially furniture-breaking sex with the youngest Weasley male.
He stayed on for a cup of tea before begging off and Apparating to his flat. His mother, thankfully, was nearly completely healed from her case of Bloodcurdle, and her farewell embrace was strong and warm. He bid them both a good night and went out a few paces away from the Manor walls; the Ministry still had several safeguards on the house, including anti-Apparition wards. Even if Potter himself became Minister for Magic, Draco doubted those restrictions would ever be lifted, but it seemed a small price to pay for their lives and some of their fortune.
Once back in his flat, with a contented deep exhale, Draco put away his golfing paraphernalia and lit a thin coil of incense. The solitary life suited him; he didn't need much, just a few rooms, a desk, a bed with a sturdy mattress, and quiet. Rather than have to wait on the Muggle heating unit, he cast a heating charm on the living room, stripping to his boxers and a long-sleeved silk undershirt. He picked out a short, heavy glass, retrieved his bottle of sake and placed them on the coffee table. Frowning, he padded into the tiny guest room to turn on his computer. Three years in Japan had made him a convert to a few items of Muggle technology, and a computer was one now key necessity in his life. He quickly configured a mellow mix of songs that would last a couple of hours before walking back to the living room. He scanned his bookshelf and picked out the elegant black photo album that was there, running his fingers reverently over the buttery leather cover.
Since the afternoon, probably since he'd been at the sushi restaurant, the images in this album had been beckoning to him. Unable to resist their call, he poured himself a respectable serving of sake and began sipping on it, legs stretched out on the table and the photo album in his lap. They were Muggle photos, from one of the particular clubs he'd frequented. On this particular night he'd arranged for a few of his favourites to join him, and one to take photographs, black and white. By this point in his time in Japan, he'd discovered shibari and how much he loved being trussed with such care and ritual. He hadn't actually fallen for any of the men who did this to him, though a couple of them had become regular fuckbuddies, for lack of a more refined term. This night he'd asked to be put in one of the suspended poses, the ropes lovingly wrapped around him in their artistic pattern, his body bowed back with his wrists and ankles brought together. He hung securely above the floor, an additional restraint around his cock and balls as the three men took him, one after the other. It had been sublime, other-worldly, even, the way Draco had felt both so bound in his own flesh and also so disassociated from it at the same time. And there were photos documenting it, though they didn't move. Still, they captured the chiaroscuro of the room, bare except for a low couch and samurai sword hanging on the wall. His body hung in a delicate web of rope, surrounded by the thin, startlingly beautiful Japanese men with their equally pale skin. In the collection of pictures, they kissed him and tormented his restrained shaft, worshipping with their cocks at the altar of his own spread arsecheeks.
As he journeyed through the album, he felt arousal well up slowly in him, his body remembering the pull of gravity, the soft fingers and the slide of the silken cording as it was tied and knotted around him. He'd allowed himself a decent buzz from the two glasses of sake, a very rare indulgence of letting his focussed mind grow lax and muted. His cock was semi-erect, though he'd not touched himself at all between his legs. So much of his erotic life was chanelled from his mind, in his vivid imagination and memories of many memorable nights, of which only this one was documented.
"Accio rope."
A melancholy smile settled on his lips as the black cord came flying down the corridor to drop in a large heap at his feet. He poured himself a final glass before moving the album off of his lap to the table, leaning down to pick up a coil of the thin rope. He'd learned a couple of spells to tie himself up; he could bind his wrists behind his back, or kneel on the floor to tie his ankles and thighs. But so much of the appeal was in the allowing someone else to do the honours- and it was an honour for the lover, the binder, the one to reassure and restrict the body of the beloved. He'd felt absolutely adored when he was on display, the ropes holding him with their patterns, his body there to be admired and fucked as he basked in the attention. He took a deep swallow of the rice wine and then sat up, pulling his shirt over his head. He made a simple X-shape across his chest with the rope before sinking back against the couch, pulling the cords tightly so the satiny surface pressed into his skin. The small nubs on his chest stiffened in the exposed air and his cock nudged up against the waistband of his boxers.
It wasn't that he wanted this all the time, or even that often, he mused, giving into the aching tension at his groin. He let go of the rope to pull off his boxers before tugging the X taut again, the other hand cradling his soft, fuzzy sacs. A smirk lit his face, his thoughts clear enough to remind himself to shave his balls and cast a careful shaving spell around his hole tomorrow. Merlin, but Weasley had luscious bollocks, heavy and palm-sized. He'd loved rolling them in his mouth, and planned on doing so again after the Quidditch match. Or before. What would Weasley make of him now, Draco wondered, sprawled open-legged on his couch, incense wafting through the room. He was sloppy enough from the sake to be disappointed Weasley wasn't going to suddenly appear and find him naked except for a rope wrapped across his chest. Knowing Weasley, he'd want to do something totally unimaginative, like tie Draco to the bed. Which would be okay, but there was no finesse to that.
He let his mind wander to what he might get to do on Friday. Eyes closed and shaft in hand, he imagined Weasley with his head pressed against a pillow and his rugged, squarish arse in the air, slightly embarrassed but telling Draco in no uncertain terms to fuck him. Draco liked topping from time to time, the hot velvety grip on his cock unlike anything else he'd ever experienced. Weasley's rough groans and waves of needy, low whines were such a fucking turn-on. But really, he loved Weasley's cock, couldn't wait to get his lips wrapped around the saltymusk skin, teasing his tongue into the slit - ohgodsfuck -
With a shudder and gasped cry, Draco came all over his stomach, somewhat to his surprise. He'd been self-pleasuring almost without thinking, so caught up in his fantasy he'd spurted on himself when Weasley in his mind had shot his orgasm into his mouth. He wetted his dry lips, mouth open as his breathing slowed back to normal and he looked down at the pearly fluid decorating his skin and rope.
"That was unexpected," he muttered to himself.
After a few minutes of wondering just how awkward it was going to be with Weasley and Potter at a public event and whether it was worth it after all, he reached out and retrieved his wand from the coffee table. He cast cleansing spells on himself and the couch, irritated with himself for reliving the conversations he'd had with Weasley between their bouts of shagging. It wasn't as though they had anything in common, aside from Hogwarts and being pureblood Wizards and queer. Except that Weasley had gone along with Potter to save him, twice. And Weasley's hatred for Draco as a Slytherin and Malfoy in general seemed to have dulled over the past few years. Nobody cared anymore what House they'd been in; well, they cared, but being alive and whole mattered more than the particular colours of ties they'd sported while in that cavernous stone castle.
"He doesn't really know you," Draco said to his reflection as he brushed his teeth, going through his usual evening rituals to get ready for bed. He'd tidied up the living room, restoring a less decadent air to the place and putting the sake in the back corner of his pantry. "And you don't really know that you want him to. The sex is good. You don't date. Especially not Weasley."
It did give him a glow of perverse pleasure in that Weasley seemed so taken with him, though. Draco enjoyed having the upper hand in all things, feeling most comfortable when in control of the world churning around him. Only in that one aspect did he have any willingness to surrender, and the circumstances had to be very particular. He'd known Weasley for a long time, and he really didn't believe that the impetuous man had the qualities necessary to be a respectful, attentive but domineering sexual partner. His heart sank a bit as he tried to give up on that fantasy. Weasley was many things, including annoyingly eager, a lush, and best friends with Potter. What he wasn't was experienced, self-confident outside of being an Auror, or subtle. But he did seem to be a fast learner
Draco slid into his soft sheets, and thanks to the alcohol and vivid wank, fell quickly into sleep.
* * * * *
Friday arrived and Draco decided to go on an exploratory walk to wile away a couple of hours in the early afternoon. London had never been his stomping ground before he'd fled Britain, and he continued to feel like an outsider despite being home. He felt rather like a turtle in its protective shell, only sticking his neck out to evaluate what was going on out of necessity before hurriedly retreating back into his safe haven. Weasley's follow-up parchment to Draco's acceptance was rife with enthusiasm, and had included his address. Apparently he lived in what was ostensibly a Muggle block of flats, but there was an entire floor just for wizards. How they managed that without scores of precautions Draco wasn't sure, but he'd seen his share of seemingly impossible wizarding activity in the midst of Muggle Japan, so he pushed the logistical aspects out of his mind. A quick online search on his computer gave him a route to get to Weasley's flat, providing him the option to Apparate or venture there by less magical means. Draco's later afternoon would be devoted to getting ready for the evening- shaving, both face and his nether region; a thorough cleaning of his inner plumbing, and some dedicated time to sit calmly with his tea and cigarettes.
He'd decided to wander around University College London, to be around people his own age or thereabouts, and mingle undetected and unknown. Draco had spent so much of his youth and school years determined to be at the centre of anything meaningful, but some of his failures - killing Dumbledore - and successes - surviving the War, albeit with help - had made him value being far away from the lamplight of attention. And besides, he still turned heads, a lot of them, of both genders. That he found highly satisfying and remarkably soothing to his ego.
The bright autumnal air crackled around him. It was a rare October day with an expanse of cerulean sky overhead, the jewelled leaves of trees on display in the sun with the pride of peacocks. Draco felt superb, drifting among the stone buildings in a black cashmere trench coat, a shimmering silk scarf around his neck. As he began walking back toward the Tube station he'd chosen to get home, he saw sign after sign posted that proclaimed MODELS NEEDED. Scrutiny of the vivid yellow piece of paper indicated that the Slade School of Art's figure drawing classes were in need of nude models, both male and female. For a moment Draco stood, thinking of the reasons why it was silly even to consider standing or sitting naked on display for young university students to learn how to draw.
"Why not?" he said quietly to himself, figuring it'd be a few hours a week, and it would make him get out and provide him with some mad money he could spend without any familial strings attached to it. He memorised the building and room for the department contact and looked it up on the campus map in his pocket. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was coming up on 3:00 and he needed to be getting home, so he quickened his stride as he walked toward the school. The contact on the flyer wasn't there, but a woman with a short black bob who reminded him momentarily of Pansy - though without the tattoo stretching up her chest viewed easily with her plunging blouse - took Draco's mobile number and said the instructor would contact him.
"You do know it's nude modelling, yes?" she asked pleasantly.
Draco felt as though she'd already quite efficiently undressed him with her eyes, and shrugged. "Yes. Suits me. I've got nothing to be ashamed of."
"I'm sure you haven't. Thank you for your interest. Someone will ring you soon."
With a nod, Draco left the office and headed home. He'd succumbed and purchased a mobile phone while in Japan to keep up with the few companions he'd had there. It was also a concession in order to have the occasional chat with his cousin Cassandra who lived in New York City. Blaise also had the number, but that was about it. Still, it did make communication easier when dealing with the Muggle world. As he strode the few blocks to his flat from the Tube station, he passed an off-license and, on a whim, went inside. Weasley hadn't answered Draco's question about whether or not to bring any food, but Draco had no doubt that a gift of spirits would be met with enthusiasm. Not being much of a drinker at all, he glanced at the different aisles and found himself drawn to a shapely bottle with a distinctive name: Goldschlager. It appeared to have flecks of gold in it, and in looking at the description, it was cinnamon flavoured. It was also reasonably expensive, which pleased him, so he bought it. Even though this technically wasn't a date, because Draco didn't do that, he'd been raised to bring a gift to a person's house when invited for the first time- even if the person was a shagging partner and a Weasley.
"You could let him be more than that, you know," an inner voice chided him. The thought was just so unsettling. Allowing emotional investment in anyone, especially Weasley, was contrary to his nature. He'd simply continue on with things as they were; there was no point in projecting to an unknown future.
At Weasley's flat block, he went into the stairwell as he'd been instructed and after making sure he was alone, he tapped his wand on a small sign that said "Frodo Lives." A panel silently appeared and sank backward, revealing a small lift. A few moments later he was standing outside Flat Elevenses. The number made no sense to Draco, and Ron had said he didn't get it either. Apparently the wizard who'd set up the place in the 70s had been really fond of some Muggle author and it had to do with a book of his. The time was 5:57; Draco was slightly early, as he'd hoped. He knocked on the door, ignoring the fluttering moths which had seemed to lodge in his stomach. There was a thudding of large feet and the door opened.
"Hi! You're here!" Weasley said, appearing slightly out of sorts, his hair still damp from a recent shower. "Come in."
Draco took a deep breath of the faint spruce scent that emanated from Weasley and smiled. "Thank you."
He stepped into the small but tidy room as Weasley closed the door behind him. A quick scan revealed simple decorative tastes, rather a mishmash of probably hand-me-down furniture, and a surprising number of healthy looking plants.
"Can I take your coat?" Weasley asked, having pulled his wits about him again before his eye alighted on the shiny gold wrapped package cradled in Draco's arms.
"Yes, thank you. And this is for you," Draco said graciously while trying to glean as many clues about Weasley's life from his flat without being obvious about it.
"I- Oh! You didn't need to do that, that's awfully generous of you," Weasley said, tripping over his words as he accepted the proffered bottle. Draco unbuttoned his coat and handed it over. Ron hung it up in what appeared to be a tiny closet but was quite spacious on the inside. Niceties out of the way, Weasley seemed slightly unsure what to do with himself, but he also appeared eager and relieved that Draco had shown up, and on time.
"Why don't you open your gift, and then you can give me a tour?" Draco suggested, which caused an appealing flush to bloom at the base of Ron's neck.
"Right! Great idea. You really didn't need to, I mean, after last weekend, I should be getting you something," Weasley said sincerely. His fingers toyed with the curling ribbon before he trapped Draco in a full-on look of wonder. "This'll sound mad, I know, but I still can't believe I just went off with you some hotel after you'd suddenly reappeared after three years. I've been thinking about you ever since. My concentration's been for shite. I'm so glad you agreed to come to this match with me " His voice drifted off as his busy hands had unwrapped the package and his eyebrows furrowed. "Goldschlager?"
"Cinnamon schnapps. I didn't know if you'd like it or not, but we can both try it."
Weasley's expression continued to be one of bewilderment. "But you said you don't drink."
"Usually I don't. Only on special occasions."
"Oh." Weasley's face lit up and he walked the few steps to his kitchen, taking two tumblers from a cabinet and bringing them to the table. "So are you celebrating?" he asked hopefully. He was obviously itching to touch Draco, but he seemed to be cautious since he'd admitted his infatuation and Draco hadn't commented.
"Actually, I am."
Draco enjoyed Weasley's inability to mask his emotions. It had seemed pathetic when they were in school, but now Draco loved the effect his presence had on his companion. He took the glass Weasley handed him and clinked their glasses together before taking a sip. It was cinnamon all right, and it burned a pleasant but fiery trail down his throat. "I got a job today."
"You what?" Weasley spluttered, his slightly hurt expression revealing that he'd hoped he'd been the reason for Draco's celebrations.
"I got a job. Modelling nude for some Muggle art classes," Draco said smoothly, stepping closer so that they were nearly touching. The tension between the pleasure of toying with Weasley and wanting to kiss him into oblivion was curling low in his belly.
Weasley simply stared at him for a moment, his attention broken when his little owl came swooping in, hooting with excitement. Suddenly he broke into a laugh. "You're taking the piss!" he said, shaking his head.
"Actually, no I'm not," Draco said defensively. "It's not that I have to work, I don't. But I wanted some money that didn't have any strings attached, and the name Malfoy doesn't have the negative connotations in the Muggle world that it does in ours."
Weasley's face paled a bit and he brushed in irritation at Pigwidgeon, who had tried to land on his shoulder. "Oh. But okay." He took a long swallow of his liqueur and poured himself another serving. "This is good stuff," he said, offering the bottle to Draco, who shook his head. "You've really changed a lot since Hogwarts. Was I- That one time, after that banquet "
The words seemed to stick in his throat until with a decisive movement, he stepped over and wrapped his arms behind Draco's waist. Draco's pulse quickened at the contact and the heat of Weasley's breath as the potent tang was exhaled inches from his mouth.
"Was I that bad?" Weasley went on, his voice rough. "I know I'd said you didn't deserve to live, and I'd half meant it, but I'd never felt anything like I did when you kissed me, and then you were gone."
The last syllables were murmured directly onto Draco's tingling lips. "You weren't supposed to be that good. I panicked," he said quietly before sending out his tongue into Weasley's slightly open mouth.
Weasley mashed their lips together, kissing him aggressively and with a passion easily matched by Draco. As though directly linked to his mouth, Draco's cock began to stiffen as the kiss went on. Their hands roamed and Weasley made desperate moaning sounds as their tongues plunged into each other's mouths. These kisses weren't delicate or at all tentative; Draco was being claimed and possessed. It thrilled in his blood, sending throbbing shocks into the erection trapped in his tight slacks. He pulled back after a few moments, biting and kissing across the smooth skin of Weasley's jaw to breathe hotly in his ear.
"I've wanted your cock all week," he said in a low voice before rolling the sensitive skin of Weasley's earlobe in his teeth.
"Oh fuck, Draco." Weasley's hands held Draco's arse in a vice like grip and he arched against Draco's pelvis. A steely length was pressed into Draco's and he let out a moan at the friction.
"No. Sucking first," Draco insisted, branding Weasley's lips in a hard kiss before sinking down to his knees and making quick work of undoing the leather belt and buttoned fly of Ron's jeans. He looked up to make sure Weasley was watching, his heart absolutely pounding against his ribs at the intensity of his hungry gaze. He pulled down the tight jeans and boxers all at once past Weasley's muscled thighs, his reddened cock springing free and up, ready to be devoured.
He took a long lick up the underside of the shaft along a prominent vein, inhaling deeply of the leafy musk scent of Weasley's groin before throwing himself into his task. Licking and sucking, he hollowed his cheeks, encouraging Weasley to set a pace as he took him as deeply as he could. The wide fingers of Weasley's hands curled protectively against the back of Draco's head, anchoring Draco as he enthusiastically gave Weasley the blowjob he'd been thinking about all week long.
"Draco, fuck, oh you're so good, been wanking and thinking of you and your mouth oh fuck " The words transposed into a raspy whine and short, huffed groans. Draco was relentless; he would have more time later tonight for more drawn out sex, but right now he wanted to suck out Weasley's very soul through the slickhot flesh in his mouth. Experimentally, Draco let the fingers fondling Weasley's balls spread back along the path of his perineum, nudging gently near the puckered flesh. The stocattoed sounds of pleasure ratcheted up a notch, and Draco could tell Weasley was going to come, and soon. And hard. Seconds later, the fingers in his hair gripped tightly and Weasley let out hoarse, low chorus of "oh"s. The lemonyvinegar taste of his come filled the back of Draco's throat until he swallowed around it, moving both of his hands so he was holding Weasley's lightly furred arsecheeks. He swirled his tongue around the shaft with a goodbye lick before sinking back onto his heels, his own pulse racing as though he'd had the orgasm, not Weasley.
Weasley's head was tipped back, his mouth hanging slack, eyes closed. Eventually he came back to himself, slowly tilting his head forward and licking at his chapped lips, his hooded eyes brimming with satisfaction and gratitude.
"I don't want to know how you got so good at that," he said, his voice still gravelly. His wide fingers slid around to curve under Draco's jaw, his thumb caressing a short path across his swollen lower lip. "And I know you don't date, but you don't drink, except that apparently you do, so maybe we could date, but I don't share. I could never share you. You're fucking amazing."
Draco rose gracefully to his feet, took a handkerchief out of his trousers pocket to wipe the tip of Weasley's cock, and then put his arms around Weasley's waist. "I'm flattered. I'm also not yours to share; no-one owns me." His tone was warm, but he tried to keep it commanding. "I don't mind exclusivity, however. You and I this, whatever it is, is very new territory for me. I loathe labels, and expectations being put on me that I've not put on myself." He leaned in, placing a slow, chaste kiss on Weasley's lips. "We both like this, so let's keep enjoying it until something changes."
Disappointment flickered in Weasley's eyes, which stirred a warmth in Draco's chest. They'd had so many years of despising each other. And yet with such different circumstances, and Draco's distinctively changed outlook on what was meaningful in life, he was in danger of really opening up to Weasley. Ron. It scared him shitless. But Weas- Ron knew the risks, too. Draco sure as fuck wasn't about to profess undying love or anything ludicrous like that, but perhaps the regular punctuation of Ron's companionship in his independent life would be okay.
"I hope that doesn't happen for a long time," Ron said at last, nuzzling against Draco's temple. "Can I do anything for you?" he asked, a sultry quality threading his voice as one hand slid down Draco's torso to palm the mound below his belt. "We've still got some time before the match."
"I'll wait, but thank you," Draco replied, angling his hips as Ron squeezed his erection. "Wouldn't want to rush."
"It'd probably be good to get some takeaway," Ron said thoughtfully, pressing two dry kisses on Draco's cheekbone before shuffling back a couple of steps. "D'you like curry?"
"Curry's fine."
Ron took a moment to pull up his boxers and denims and tuck his shirt back in. He poured himself another small serving of the schnapps before glancing at Draco and his glass. Draco shook his head.
"Maybe later tonight. Mind if I use your loo?" It would take a few of minutes for his cock to soften up before he could go anyway, but he was buzzing with curiosity about Ron's toiletries. There was something tree-like and earthy around him that was unexpected, but very appealing.
"Sure. Second door on the left."
Once in the bathroom, Draco quietly cast a silencing charm and took a peek in Ron's shower. He glanced at the bottle of traditional shampoo and lifted the soap out of the dish, sniffing at it. That was the woodsy scent, but he couldn't place it. Opening the below sink cabinet, he saw a wrapped bar of Scandinavian Skies and held it to his nose. Voila. Smirking, he placed the soap back where he'd found it before a familiar bottle caught his eye. He squatted down and reached in, pulling out a new bottle of Eau des Baux. Apparently Weasley really did have it bad for him if he'd gone out and bought some of Draco's cologne. Draco gently placed the bottle on the counter, unable to wipe the elated look from his face as he relieved himself. When he was done, he unscrewed the stopper to dab a tiny bit on his fourth finger and then rubbed it on the smooth skin of his sacs. It'd be a surprise for Weasley in a few hours, depending on how the match went. He placed the cologne back under the sink and flushed the commode. He washed his hands thoroughly to be sure he couldn't smell the scent on his finger anymore, cast an air-freshening spell, uncharmed the Silencio and went back to the living room.
"I'll just do the same," Ron said, ambling to the bathroom while Draco went to the hall closet and retrieved his coat. There were a couple of framed photographs on the fireplace mantle that he'd glanced at but hadn't investigated, so he walked over to look at them more closely. Unsurprisingly, there was one of Ron, flanked by Granger and Potter, Weasley's sister plastered to Potter's other side. It must have been taken not long after the end of the War, as both Ron and Potter's hair was no longer below their shoulders. That was a pity; Draco had really been taken with Ron's ginger mane, even when he'd so shockingly appeared at the Manor in the thick of the nightmare. The other picture was slightly older, one of Ron in front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, both twins present and making lewd gestures. Draco hadn't thought to ask Weasley how his family was doing; there had just been more enticing things to do with that tongue than merely talk.
"You ready?" Ron asked, his body language again one of tension between wanting to hold Draco and feeling he should keep his distance. Draco was very uncomfortable with the idea of walking down the street holding hands with anyone- unless he were with his mother, in which case she'd hold his arm, but that was quite a different situation.
"Yes."
Draco opened the door and stepped out into the corridor before putting his hands in his pockets. "Do we get out the same way I came in?"
"We can, or there's a spiral staircase that lets out into what looks like a closed bookshop. That's usually the way I go."
"I'll follow, then."
Ron took the lead and a few minutes later they were out on the busy streets of London. Draco pulled out a silver case and flicked it open, taking out a cigarette and offering the container to Ron.
"No thanks."
Draco shut the case and pocketed it, feeling about for the dragonhead lighter he had. Once lit, he took a drag off the cigarette, thinking momentarily of how striking they must look going down the street, two tall men with distinctive hair, and Weasley's constellations of freckles were hard to miss.
"How's your brother? George, I mean?" he asked, still mulling over the picture on Ron's mantle. His most memorable run-in with the Weasley twins had, of course, been when he'd engineered the capturing of them as they'd been pouring that insta-swamp thing toward the end of fifth year. Draco had had his wand at one of their throats, but he bloody well couldn't have told them apart. After the War, that was now only too easy.
"He's okay. For the most part, I guess." Ron's voice held surprise echoed in his expression. "Nice of you to ask. I try to go to Wheezes' once a week or so- you could come with me at some point. Only if you want."
Draco nodded, inhaling a warm breath of smoke before exhaling with a low hiss. "Maybe so. Do you have lots of family obligations? I've only been back a fortnight, but it was my mother's illness that was the impetus for me to leave Osaka."
Ron appeared thunderstruck, and then curious. Draco could only imagine he'd not expect to be invited to the Manor for dinner, not after his father's actions in years past had nearly caused Ron's sister's death, not to mention all the outright contempt that had remained between their families their whole lives.
"Is your mum okay? Harry told me what she did, lying outright to You Know Who. That was pretty fucking brave," he said, glancing up at the signs and pointing down the footpath. "I usually get takeaway up here, at Taste of Bombay."
"I'll trust your judgment." Draco took another drag, admiring the more hardened line of Weasley's jaw as he'd become a bit older. "As for mother, yes, she's very nearly recovered. She came down with Bloodcurdle, but it was caught early on. A family Healer took care of her. And yes, she's astonishingly brave. Tremendous woman."
Ron opened his mouth to say something, closed it, then went on anyway. "Does she know? They know? Your parents?"
"Know what?" Draco tapped at the cigarette and ash fell to the ground.
"About you."
There was a pleading timbre to his voice; it was obvious he didn't want to be forced into spelling it out. Since they were nearly at the restaurant, Draco obliged him.
"That I like being buggered up the arse? No. Do they suspect? Quite probably. Is it relevant to them? Only if I refuse to get married and procreate, which I do. But it will break my mother's heart," he said more to himself than Ron, dropping the cigarette and grinding it out under his shoe.
"Oh." Ron clearly didn't need to worry about a similar fate with his family. There were probably half a dozen Weasley children already, all born since the War. "Don't you want to have kids?"
Draco looked at him, shocked. "Do you?"
"Well, yeah! I thought everybody did," he said, opening the door as they went inside. There was a large chalkboard with dishes and prices listed on it. Changing topics, Ron pointed at it. "I usually get one of the combos, but you really can't go wrong. It's all delicious."
Draco scrutinised the menu, feeling Weasley's gaze intently on him. He'd not imagined having children, and the thought of what it would require to create offspring wasn't at all appealing. He glanced at his watch and saw how little time they had, so he quickly made up his mind and told Ron.
"Sorry we had to eat on the run," Weasley apologised a while later as they walked quickly to the closest Apparition point.
"It was worth it," Draco said, raising his eyebrows. He was gratified to see an impish smile settle on Ron's lips.
"You wrote that you hadn't seen any Quidditch in yonks. Did you watch some other sport while you were in Japan? And why on Circe's tits did you go all the way to Japan, anyway?" he asked in a rush as they went around a corner, getting ready to Apparate to the stadium entrance.
"I'll tell you all about it later, if you want," Draco promised. "As for this match, don't expect me to be all chummy with Potter just because he's your best mate. You and he are very different."
"I'm glad you chose me," Ron said a bit breathlessly, leaning in to suck lightly on Draco's neck just below his ear.
"I would never have chosen Potter for anything," Draco said with a shudder. "Not appealing in the least."
"But you hated me," Ron murmured before stepping back.
"I've always had strong feelings for you," Draco admitted with a smirk.
He focussed his thoughts until the world squeezed in and he vanished, reappearing in a noisy crowd. Ron appeared with a barely discernable crack! next to him and began rummaging through his jacket pockets for their tickets. He handed one to Draco and they followed the queue into the stadium. Ron was right; they were excellent box seats. Potter's smile blazed when he saw Ron and grew impossibly wider when he saw Draco behind him.
"You made it! Wondered if you might get held up," he said, the words dripping with innuendo.
"Piss off," Ron muttered. Though Draco couldn't see his face, he just knew there was a flush creeping up his throat yet again.
"Pleasure to have you here, Malfoy." Potter radiated excitement, and Draco was quite taken aback by it. He couldn't imagine he was thrilled that Ron had invited him, but maybe Potter was so sickeningly full of love for the world that he didn't care who Ron was with as long as he was happy.
"Thank you," Draco said obligingly, grateful to take his seat.
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Potter lean his head over and speak so only Ron could hear him, and sensed Ron's discomfort at whatever was being said. No doubt Potter was making commentary about when he and Draco had been up to, which was really none of his bloody business. He'd have to have a chat with Ron that in no uncertain terms was he to go mouthing off to Potter about their personal activities. He didn't care that they'd been best friends since first year; what he and Weasley did behind the privacy of a closed door needed to stay there. A strange calm settled on him when he saw Weasley shake his head, and he had the sense that he shared Draco's sentiments. Good.
The match went on for a couple of hours and was actually quite gripping to watch. Ginny Weasley-Potter earned her metal, and the Prides played full-bore, making the time fly as the game went on. Potter stood and shouted and gestured wildly; he turned and smiled or made despairing groans as the plays went for or against the Harpies. Ron got into it too, rooting for his sister and leaning over to Draco to make commentary throughout the game. The Harpies were down when Potter began alternately gesticulating and pulling on his jeans at the knees, saying, "She's seen it! She's seen it!"
True enough, Weasley-Potter caught the Snitch after an impressive dive, and the match came to a close with a roar of approval on their side of the pitch.
Potter grabbed Ron in a celebratory bear hug, though with their height difference, the effect to Draco's eye was comical more than anything. That they won boded well for just he and Weasley to go back to Weasley's flat, or out to a pub if that was what he wanted to do. No doubt they'd be spending the rest of the evening together, but Draco was uncertain about whether or not an overnight stay would be in the cards, or if he even wanted that. As Potter continued to whoop and Draco nodded and smiled, he let his mind ponder the different possible scenarios. It was one thing to spend the night in neutral territory, quite another to wake up in someone else's actual bed. Not that he knew what that was like; he'd never stayed with any of his fuckbuddies, and he'd certainly never asked any of them to stay with him until the morning- unless they'd literally been at it all night and the man in question left in the morning. Would he feel slighted if Ron didn't ask him to stay? Would he be inclined to ask Weasley to stay at his place, were the situation reversed? He really wasn't sure, and between that uncertainty and the deafening noise around him made him feel slightly queasy.
"You okay?" Ron yelled worriedly.
"Yes. But I wouldn't mind moving on," Draco shouted back. "Do we have plans with Potter?"
With a wide smile, Ron shook his head, getting as close as Draco suspected he dared in a public place so he could speak into Draco's ear. "No. But it means a lot that you asked. I know he's not somebody you think you'd want to hang around with, and I wouldn't push it. He's going to go to the Belligerent Badger with the team, though. We could go for one round, if you'd like."
"I'd rather have you to myself for a while, but if you're really keen, I'll go along. I won't stand for any negative comments about my family, though. Don't you think I'll be rather unwelcome, especially by your sister?"
Ron's face twisted into a look of genuine consternation. "Oh. Yeah. Ginny."
Draco let out a dark chuckle. "Yeah. Ginny. Potter may be reasonably open-minded, but I have the distinct feeling that you may want to keep our liaisons quiet or deal with the accusations that you're being mind-fucked by a Malfoy."
"They wouldn't do that!" Ron exclaimed, his expression thunderous.
"Why not?" Draco retorted. "You weren't the first to tell me I'd no business surviving, but no doubt the rest of your family would've been right in line behind you to do the same." He wasn't angry, not exactly, but he felt that this needed to be brought out in the open and dealt with sooner rather than later. If Weasley really thought his family would be jumping for joy at the thought that he and Draco had begun shagging like rabbits, he was utterly delusional.
"They can change their minds," Weasley insisted, reaching out to put his hand around Draco's wrist. "Don't judge them or you'll be just as narrow-minded as you're saying they are."
"I'm not judgmental, I'm a realist," Draco snapped. "And I need a cigarette. I'm going to the gents and then outside the front gates to get out of this noise and have a smoke. But I'll stay there until you come out. You have my word."
He added the last sentence as a reassurance. Draco had somehow recognised the look that flitted onto Ron's face; he thought Draco might ditch him. Ron finally nodded and released Draco's wrist. Draco leaned around him, yelled toward Potter his thanks for the match tickets and that his wife had played superbly, and then turned and left the stadium. When he was finally outside, bladder relieved and nicotine thankfully back in his bloodstream, he felt far more calm. He felt no guilt whatsoever in bringing up the fact that Weasley's family was going to think Ron was insane or under some kind of Dark Magic spell. Of course they would! Just as he and Ron had hated each other until that passion had suddenly turned inside-out into something even more potent, their families had no shortage of reasons to hold grudges against each other for eternity. Any other thinking was totally fanciful.
As a few more minutes went by, he indulged in a second fag, tightening his scarf around his throat and leaning back against the curved wall as people continued to straggle out. Just as Draco was beginning to feel unpleasant curling fingers in his gut as though he'd been stood up, Ron walked out, looking right and left until he saw Draco and his face relaxed. Draco sauntered over to him, keeping his comments to himself in case Weasley had something illuminating to say.
"I'm sorry," Ron said, his hands jammed into his pockets. "I needed to talk to Harry for just a little bit. I think you were right about not being around Ginny right at first. And I've told Harry to keep his mouth shut about me and the person I brought to the match."
"So that's how I'm being referred to?" Draco said dryly, taking a final hit off of his cigarette before flicking it off to the side.
"No, Draco. Well, yes, for now. Harry just wants me to be happy, he's my best mate after all. And he wants to know all kinds of details; he's really a bit pervy when it comes to my sex life. Which hasn't exactly been much to comment on," he said quickly.
Draco was highly amused. Amazing how much of an innocent Weasley still seemed to be, but better that than jaded. Draco could already feel that creeping in, and he couldn't stand it. "It's okay. Mine would make his eyes pop out, and we don't want Rita Skeeter putting that in the Prophet, do we? C'mon, why don't we go to one of the dozens of pubs you frequent. It's obvious you want a drink."
Ron began to put on a show of being contrary, but Draco knew it was an act. "It's fine. But we'll need to side-Along as I won't know where we're going. And my rule still applies," he said silkily near Ron's jaw. "If you get smashed, I'm going home to have a leisurely wank by myself. Pigwidgeon may know where I live, but you don't."
"One round it is, then," Ron said stoutly.
* * * * *
On to part three
Weasley sent him an owl on Wednesday. Draco could only shake his head when he saw the overactive, agitated little owl, hovering around him before settling on a chair back and hooting importantly at him. The parchment Draco took off the owl's leg had to be from Weasley; he'd have recognised anyone else's note carrier, and this one seemed only too suited for the sixth Weasley son. He padded into the spacious kitchen of the flat he was now renting, having made finding his own place the highest priority since he and Weasley had parted ways late Sunday morning. He'd also told himself he'd wait for Weasley to make the first post-shag contact, though if he were honest, he knew he would've buckled had he not heard anything by Friday. Weasley had spared him that, and with a sense of relief, he gave the excitable owl a few small tidbits of uncooked sirloin. The owl gobbled them up with relish, but continued to linger, so Draco assumed it was waiting for a response.
Taking his cup of tea, he walked into the sitting room and sat down at a small mahogany desk. Draco was dreadfully curious as to what Weasley had written; he himself had mulled over all sorts of commentary and discarded all of it well before putting ink to parchment. He and Weasley had - at least sexually - been as perfectly suited and effortless together as fish to water. It made him nervous, how quickly and absolutely he wanted to get together with Weasley again, though he kept trying to convince himself it was only about the sex. That the two of them could get along and have meaningful companionship outside of that, given their history, was highly improbable. The last thing he should do was to add in problematic and potentially devastating things like emotions into the mix. And then there were Draco's truest, most profound desires, involving bondage, trust and dominance, none of which he believed he should share with Weasley anytime soon, if at all.
"But you want to, anyway," he murmured deprecatingly to himself, turning his head in surprise when the small owl hooted in question, flying over to him. "Not yet. I've got to read this first," he said, waving the still rolled up parchment at its wide brown eyes.
He slid off the orange thong, hoping to Merlin he wasn't being invited to a Chudley Cannons match. He wasn't sure that any sex was reward enough to warrant that as punishment first. The scrawl was uneven and printed, but Draco was able to figure out the contents.
- DEAR DRACO-
"Again! Using my first name!" Draco thought, incredulous. "Oh well."
- I HAD A REALLY WONDERFUL TIME WITH YOU SATURDAY, AND I HOPE THAT YOU FEEL THE SAME. GIVEN OUR PAST, YOU MAY FIND THIS HARD TO BELIEVE, BUT I'M REALLY GLAD YOU'VE COME BACK. I'M ESPECIALLY GLAD YOU JUST HAPPENED TO BE SITTING ON THAT BENCH, AND THAT THINGS WENT ON FROM THERE. I ADMIT THAT I'VE BEEN THINKING OF YOU AND OUR MEMORABLE EVENING A LOT.
"I'll bet you have," Draco said sagely to himself. Given some of the noises and things Weasley had said during the three shagging extravaganzas they'd had from afternoon to night and once again in the morning, nobody had made Weasley feel some of the toe-curling experiences Draco had gifted to him.
- I KNOW I'LL ALWAYS HAVE THE MEMORIES, BUT I DON'T WANT THIS TO BE A ONE-OFF, LIKE THREE YEARS AGO.
HARRY'S GOT TICKETS TO THE HARPIES MATCH FRIDAY NIGHT- GINNY'S ON THE TEAM, SO THE SEATS ARE GREAT. THEY'RE PLAYING THE PRIDES AND IT SHOULD BE A PRETTY EXCITING MATCH. PLEASE SEND A REPLY BACK WITH PIG PIGWIDGEON. THE MATCH IS AT 7:00 AT THE STADIUM NEAR SHEFFIELD. YOU COULD COME OVER TO MY PLACE FIRST, SAY AROUND SIX, AND WE CAN GO FROM THERE.
HOPE TO HEAR FROM YOU SOON,
RON
P.S. WHAT COLOGNE DO YOU WEAR? IT SUITS YOU, WHATEVER IT IS.
Draco let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. Weasley was fucking smitten with him already. One night of, granted, passionate and marrow-melting sex, and he was mooning over him, even wanting to know what scent he wore. An image of Weasley at a cologne counter, trying to describe the distinctive notes of incense and cypress, traipsed across his mind. A shudder of desire caused gooseflesh to prickle on his arms as he remembered Weasley taking him from behind, curved protectively over him while he slammed relentlessly into his arse, Weasley's face buried against his neck. Yes, Weasley would have had plenty of time to try and commit that scent to memory. He wasn't going to admit it as transparently as Weasley, but Draco knew he'd been infected by his lover's earnestness. Weasley was willing to please, and an erotic powerhouse. Draco's cock twitched at that thought and he scowled. He needed to reply to this note and get on with his day. He could wank later after he'd taken care of his errands.
Opening a drawer, he found a quill and a sepia ink pot. For a moment he chewed on the quill. Of course he'd go, though the idea of an evening with Potter there as well, cheering on his girlfriend, no, wife, didn't excite him. He'd not been to a Quidditch match in over four years, however, and the Prides were a good team. Surely Potter would want to go off for either celebratory or consoling time with her afterwards, and he and Weasley could get down to whatever it was that seemed most appealing. The only element of this that he didn't like was being seen and pointed out; he'd not kept up with many people while living overseas, and that had suited him well. He stood out in a crowd, and he knew it, but at the thought of the opportunity to have Weasley's hard shaft in his mouth again, he decided it'd be a risk worth taking.
- Dear
Draco paused. He'd been Weasley all his life, or Weasel, or ginger-haired-Mudblood-loving-bastard. Until that moment when Draco's understanding of Weasley had burst into fragments all around him, and he became something else. Someone else. He'd signed his note as Ron, and Draco wasn't going to call him Auror Weasley, which he supposed was his proper title. Fine.
- Dear Ron,
I was pleasantly surprised to receive your parchment. As it turns out, I do have Friday evening free, and I'd be happy to join you and Potter at the Harpies match. Being in Japan, and of course, the events the year before I left, I've not seen any Quidditch for some time. I'll need to know the location of your flat. Should I bring something to eat?
Until Friday,
Draco Malfoy
In a fit of generosity, he added a postscript.
- p.s. Eau des Baux.
He'd not been as effusive as Weasley, but he'd not been standoffish, either. He opened the desk drawer again to get some sealing wax, lighting a small candle in a stand so he could distinctively mark the parchment. A few bulbous pine green blobs fell onto the paper and he took off his signet ring, pressing it into the small mass before it hardened. It was probably going to the Ministry or wherever Weasley's office was, given the time of day. He didn't know whether he shared an office or had his own; he'd not thought to ask that. Something for later, if it came up. Draco retied the note to the owl, who'd been watching his activities with unblinking curiosity, though its body was in a constant state of motion.
"Take that back to Weasley," Draco said, unable to resist running his thumb down the soft feathers of its wing.
After a series of what sounded like hooted hiccoughs, the owl flew in a few circles around the ceiling before zooming out the window.
As it turned out, his day became full of activity. He went to the shops, stocking up on tea and indulging in a pungent brie. A sushi bar enticed him in and he had a delicious sampler, though it couldn't compare to what he'd become used to in Osaka. Feeling oddly homesick for the country that had been his home for several years, he bought a bottle of sake. It wasn't that he'd lied outright to Ron about not drinking; most of the time he didn't, and he'd never been one for ales or other pub standards. But sake on occasion was a succulent treasure, and it had become an integral element to the shibari in which he'd engaged.
Once he returned home he discovered in his sole piece of owl post that he'd been invited - just a shadow's width from commanded - to dinner with his parents that night. It wouldn't be that traumatic, and if he went early in the week, the obligation wouldn't hang over him at the week-end. Plus the Manor did have acres of manicured grounds With practised efficiency, he put away his groceries, gathered up his golf clubs, and Apparated to the Manor.
He was able to get in nearly two hours of hitting practise before dinner, even sharing some conversation with his father on the modified greensward while Lucius had a pre-dinner cocktail. The topic focussed on the movement of monies and continued disguising of estate ownership, most of the homes in the hands of rather distant relatives or of trusted allies, who were few.
"So what are you going to do, Draco, with your life?" Lucius asked pointedly as Draco summoned the distant golf balls before they headed back to the house. "I know you're still relatively young, but I should hope that you've quite finished with these flights of fancy, living halfway around the world, for Merlin's sake. I do still have connections in Provence and London, though not as I once did."
Anger saturated the last words, though he spoke with far less malice than he had before the War. His father's pride was as intimate and inextricably a part of him as his pale skin and crystal blue eyes, but the constant scrutiny of the Dark Lord's presence for months on end, and his fear that Draco had been killed had tempered his righteous indignation- to a degree.
"I'm not sure yet," Draco answered, placing his bag and clubs gently inside the French doors. "I might take golfing lessons. I don't believe I'm good enough to play professionally, but otherwise I don't know. I may look around at opportunities in the Muggle world, where there's no ridiculous bias against the name Malfoy."
Lucius looked both startled and taken aback. "I didn't mean you needed to work- for money," he said haughtily. "We're not peasants; your mother and I have talked and we are of the same mind in providing you the finances to live on, within reason. You've been surprisingly frugal, actually," he mused as they took their places at the shortened high table. "Though I really don't understand your fascination with that tedious activity you call a sport you've taken up with."
Draco tried not to roll his eyes. Dinner proved to be uneventful, though the topic of when Draco might settle down with an appropriate pureblood witch did rear its head. His father squelched it effortlessly, for which Draco was grateful, though the blatant undertones didn't make him feel any better.
"He shouldn't rush into anything as binding as marriage," Lucius said reassuredly as Narcissa's delicate eyebrows knit together. "There is much to think about in regards to the Malfoy legacy. I'm certain that Draco will choose well, when the time comes."
Draco looked up from the remains of his braised lamb to look at his father, nodding slightly. He kept his composure as impassive as possible, but without seeming too guarded, lest he raise his parents' suspicions. There was a time and place for everything. Tonight was most decidedly not the one to explain that not only did he prefer men - which he suspected on some level they already knew, even if they couldn't acknowledge it outright - but he wasn't engaging in a sham marriage either. Oh, and he had plans on Friday for another heavenly night of potentially furniture-breaking sex with the youngest Weasley male.
He stayed on for a cup of tea before begging off and Apparating to his flat. His mother, thankfully, was nearly completely healed from her case of Bloodcurdle, and her farewell embrace was strong and warm. He bid them both a good night and went out a few paces away from the Manor walls; the Ministry still had several safeguards on the house, including anti-Apparition wards. Even if Potter himself became Minister for Magic, Draco doubted those restrictions would ever be lifted, but it seemed a small price to pay for their lives and some of their fortune.
Once back in his flat, with a contented deep exhale, Draco put away his golfing paraphernalia and lit a thin coil of incense. The solitary life suited him; he didn't need much, just a few rooms, a desk, a bed with a sturdy mattress, and quiet. Rather than have to wait on the Muggle heating unit, he cast a heating charm on the living room, stripping to his boxers and a long-sleeved silk undershirt. He picked out a short, heavy glass, retrieved his bottle of sake and placed them on the coffee table. Frowning, he padded into the tiny guest room to turn on his computer. Three years in Japan had made him a convert to a few items of Muggle technology, and a computer was one now key necessity in his life. He quickly configured a mellow mix of songs that would last a couple of hours before walking back to the living room. He scanned his bookshelf and picked out the elegant black photo album that was there, running his fingers reverently over the buttery leather cover.
Since the afternoon, probably since he'd been at the sushi restaurant, the images in this album had been beckoning to him. Unable to resist their call, he poured himself a respectable serving of sake and began sipping on it, legs stretched out on the table and the photo album in his lap. They were Muggle photos, from one of the particular clubs he'd frequented. On this particular night he'd arranged for a few of his favourites to join him, and one to take photographs, black and white. By this point in his time in Japan, he'd discovered shibari and how much he loved being trussed with such care and ritual. He hadn't actually fallen for any of the men who did this to him, though a couple of them had become regular fuckbuddies, for lack of a more refined term. This night he'd asked to be put in one of the suspended poses, the ropes lovingly wrapped around him in their artistic pattern, his body bowed back with his wrists and ankles brought together. He hung securely above the floor, an additional restraint around his cock and balls as the three men took him, one after the other. It had been sublime, other-worldly, even, the way Draco had felt both so bound in his own flesh and also so disassociated from it at the same time. And there were photos documenting it, though they didn't move. Still, they captured the chiaroscuro of the room, bare except for a low couch and samurai sword hanging on the wall. His body hung in a delicate web of rope, surrounded by the thin, startlingly beautiful Japanese men with their equally pale skin. In the collection of pictures, they kissed him and tormented his restrained shaft, worshipping with their cocks at the altar of his own spread arsecheeks.
As he journeyed through the album, he felt arousal well up slowly in him, his body remembering the pull of gravity, the soft fingers and the slide of the silken cording as it was tied and knotted around him. He'd allowed himself a decent buzz from the two glasses of sake, a very rare indulgence of letting his focussed mind grow lax and muted. His cock was semi-erect, though he'd not touched himself at all between his legs. So much of his erotic life was chanelled from his mind, in his vivid imagination and memories of many memorable nights, of which only this one was documented.
"Accio rope."
A melancholy smile settled on his lips as the black cord came flying down the corridor to drop in a large heap at his feet. He poured himself a final glass before moving the album off of his lap to the table, leaning down to pick up a coil of the thin rope. He'd learned a couple of spells to tie himself up; he could bind his wrists behind his back, or kneel on the floor to tie his ankles and thighs. But so much of the appeal was in the allowing someone else to do the honours- and it was an honour for the lover, the binder, the one to reassure and restrict the body of the beloved. He'd felt absolutely adored when he was on display, the ropes holding him with their patterns, his body there to be admired and fucked as he basked in the attention. He took a deep swallow of the rice wine and then sat up, pulling his shirt over his head. He made a simple X-shape across his chest with the rope before sinking back against the couch, pulling the cords tightly so the satiny surface pressed into his skin. The small nubs on his chest stiffened in the exposed air and his cock nudged up against the waistband of his boxers.
It wasn't that he wanted this all the time, or even that often, he mused, giving into the aching tension at his groin. He let go of the rope to pull off his boxers before tugging the X taut again, the other hand cradling his soft, fuzzy sacs. A smirk lit his face, his thoughts clear enough to remind himself to shave his balls and cast a careful shaving spell around his hole tomorrow. Merlin, but Weasley had luscious bollocks, heavy and palm-sized. He'd loved rolling them in his mouth, and planned on doing so again after the Quidditch match. Or before. What would Weasley make of him now, Draco wondered, sprawled open-legged on his couch, incense wafting through the room. He was sloppy enough from the sake to be disappointed Weasley wasn't going to suddenly appear and find him naked except for a rope wrapped across his chest. Knowing Weasley, he'd want to do something totally unimaginative, like tie Draco to the bed. Which would be okay, but there was no finesse to that.
He let his mind wander to what he might get to do on Friday. Eyes closed and shaft in hand, he imagined Weasley with his head pressed against a pillow and his rugged, squarish arse in the air, slightly embarrassed but telling Draco in no uncertain terms to fuck him. Draco liked topping from time to time, the hot velvety grip on his cock unlike anything else he'd ever experienced. Weasley's rough groans and waves of needy, low whines were such a fucking turn-on. But really, he loved Weasley's cock, couldn't wait to get his lips wrapped around the saltymusk skin, teasing his tongue into the slit - ohgodsfuck -
With a shudder and gasped cry, Draco came all over his stomach, somewhat to his surprise. He'd been self-pleasuring almost without thinking, so caught up in his fantasy he'd spurted on himself when Weasley in his mind had shot his orgasm into his mouth. He wetted his dry lips, mouth open as his breathing slowed back to normal and he looked down at the pearly fluid decorating his skin and rope.
"That was unexpected," he muttered to himself.
After a few minutes of wondering just how awkward it was going to be with Weasley and Potter at a public event and whether it was worth it after all, he reached out and retrieved his wand from the coffee table. He cast cleansing spells on himself and the couch, irritated with himself for reliving the conversations he'd had with Weasley between their bouts of shagging. It wasn't as though they had anything in common, aside from Hogwarts and being pureblood Wizards and queer. Except that Weasley had gone along with Potter to save him, twice. And Weasley's hatred for Draco as a Slytherin and Malfoy in general seemed to have dulled over the past few years. Nobody cared anymore what House they'd been in; well, they cared, but being alive and whole mattered more than the particular colours of ties they'd sported while in that cavernous stone castle.
"He doesn't really know you," Draco said to his reflection as he brushed his teeth, going through his usual evening rituals to get ready for bed. He'd tidied up the living room, restoring a less decadent air to the place and putting the sake in the back corner of his pantry. "And you don't really know that you want him to. The sex is good. You don't date. Especially not Weasley."
It did give him a glow of perverse pleasure in that Weasley seemed so taken with him, though. Draco enjoyed having the upper hand in all things, feeling most comfortable when in control of the world churning around him. Only in that one aspect did he have any willingness to surrender, and the circumstances had to be very particular. He'd known Weasley for a long time, and he really didn't believe that the impetuous man had the qualities necessary to be a respectful, attentive but domineering sexual partner. His heart sank a bit as he tried to give up on that fantasy. Weasley was many things, including annoyingly eager, a lush, and best friends with Potter. What he wasn't was experienced, self-confident outside of being an Auror, or subtle. But he did seem to be a fast learner
Draco slid into his soft sheets, and thanks to the alcohol and vivid wank, fell quickly into sleep.
* * * * *
Friday arrived and Draco decided to go on an exploratory walk to wile away a couple of hours in the early afternoon. London had never been his stomping ground before he'd fled Britain, and he continued to feel like an outsider despite being home. He felt rather like a turtle in its protective shell, only sticking his neck out to evaluate what was going on out of necessity before hurriedly retreating back into his safe haven. Weasley's follow-up parchment to Draco's acceptance was rife with enthusiasm, and had included his address. Apparently he lived in what was ostensibly a Muggle block of flats, but there was an entire floor just for wizards. How they managed that without scores of precautions Draco wasn't sure, but he'd seen his share of seemingly impossible wizarding activity in the midst of Muggle Japan, so he pushed the logistical aspects out of his mind. A quick online search on his computer gave him a route to get to Weasley's flat, providing him the option to Apparate or venture there by less magical means. Draco's later afternoon would be devoted to getting ready for the evening- shaving, both face and his nether region; a thorough cleaning of his inner plumbing, and some dedicated time to sit calmly with his tea and cigarettes.
He'd decided to wander around University College London, to be around people his own age or thereabouts, and mingle undetected and unknown. Draco had spent so much of his youth and school years determined to be at the centre of anything meaningful, but some of his failures - killing Dumbledore - and successes - surviving the War, albeit with help - had made him value being far away from the lamplight of attention. And besides, he still turned heads, a lot of them, of both genders. That he found highly satisfying and remarkably soothing to his ego.
The bright autumnal air crackled around him. It was a rare October day with an expanse of cerulean sky overhead, the jewelled leaves of trees on display in the sun with the pride of peacocks. Draco felt superb, drifting among the stone buildings in a black cashmere trench coat, a shimmering silk scarf around his neck. As he began walking back toward the Tube station he'd chosen to get home, he saw sign after sign posted that proclaimed MODELS NEEDED. Scrutiny of the vivid yellow piece of paper indicated that the Slade School of Art's figure drawing classes were in need of nude models, both male and female. For a moment Draco stood, thinking of the reasons why it was silly even to consider standing or sitting naked on display for young university students to learn how to draw.
"Why not?" he said quietly to himself, figuring it'd be a few hours a week, and it would make him get out and provide him with some mad money he could spend without any familial strings attached to it. He memorised the building and room for the department contact and looked it up on the campus map in his pocket. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was coming up on 3:00 and he needed to be getting home, so he quickened his stride as he walked toward the school. The contact on the flyer wasn't there, but a woman with a short black bob who reminded him momentarily of Pansy - though without the tattoo stretching up her chest viewed easily with her plunging blouse - took Draco's mobile number and said the instructor would contact him.
"You do know it's nude modelling, yes?" she asked pleasantly.
Draco felt as though she'd already quite efficiently undressed him with her eyes, and shrugged. "Yes. Suits me. I've got nothing to be ashamed of."
"I'm sure you haven't. Thank you for your interest. Someone will ring you soon."
With a nod, Draco left the office and headed home. He'd succumbed and purchased a mobile phone while in Japan to keep up with the few companions he'd had there. It was also a concession in order to have the occasional chat with his cousin Cassandra who lived in New York City. Blaise also had the number, but that was about it. Still, it did make communication easier when dealing with the Muggle world. As he strode the few blocks to his flat from the Tube station, he passed an off-license and, on a whim, went inside. Weasley hadn't answered Draco's question about whether or not to bring any food, but Draco had no doubt that a gift of spirits would be met with enthusiasm. Not being much of a drinker at all, he glanced at the different aisles and found himself drawn to a shapely bottle with a distinctive name: Goldschlager. It appeared to have flecks of gold in it, and in looking at the description, it was cinnamon flavoured. It was also reasonably expensive, which pleased him, so he bought it. Even though this technically wasn't a date, because Draco didn't do that, he'd been raised to bring a gift to a person's house when invited for the first time- even if the person was a shagging partner and a Weasley.
"You could let him be more than that, you know," an inner voice chided him. The thought was just so unsettling. Allowing emotional investment in anyone, especially Weasley, was contrary to his nature. He'd simply continue on with things as they were; there was no point in projecting to an unknown future.
At Weasley's flat block, he went into the stairwell as he'd been instructed and after making sure he was alone, he tapped his wand on a small sign that said "Frodo Lives." A panel silently appeared and sank backward, revealing a small lift. A few moments later he was standing outside Flat Elevenses. The number made no sense to Draco, and Ron had said he didn't get it either. Apparently the wizard who'd set up the place in the 70s had been really fond of some Muggle author and it had to do with a book of his. The time was 5:57; Draco was slightly early, as he'd hoped. He knocked on the door, ignoring the fluttering moths which had seemed to lodge in his stomach. There was a thudding of large feet and the door opened.
"Hi! You're here!" Weasley said, appearing slightly out of sorts, his hair still damp from a recent shower. "Come in."
Draco took a deep breath of the faint spruce scent that emanated from Weasley and smiled. "Thank you."
He stepped into the small but tidy room as Weasley closed the door behind him. A quick scan revealed simple decorative tastes, rather a mishmash of probably hand-me-down furniture, and a surprising number of healthy looking plants.
"Can I take your coat?" Weasley asked, having pulled his wits about him again before his eye alighted on the shiny gold wrapped package cradled in Draco's arms.
"Yes, thank you. And this is for you," Draco said graciously while trying to glean as many clues about Weasley's life from his flat without being obvious about it.
"I- Oh! You didn't need to do that, that's awfully generous of you," Weasley said, tripping over his words as he accepted the proffered bottle. Draco unbuttoned his coat and handed it over. Ron hung it up in what appeared to be a tiny closet but was quite spacious on the inside. Niceties out of the way, Weasley seemed slightly unsure what to do with himself, but he also appeared eager and relieved that Draco had shown up, and on time.
"Why don't you open your gift, and then you can give me a tour?" Draco suggested, which caused an appealing flush to bloom at the base of Ron's neck.
"Right! Great idea. You really didn't need to, I mean, after last weekend, I should be getting you something," Weasley said sincerely. His fingers toyed with the curling ribbon before he trapped Draco in a full-on look of wonder. "This'll sound mad, I know, but I still can't believe I just went off with you some hotel after you'd suddenly reappeared after three years. I've been thinking about you ever since. My concentration's been for shite. I'm so glad you agreed to come to this match with me " His voice drifted off as his busy hands had unwrapped the package and his eyebrows furrowed. "Goldschlager?"
"Cinnamon schnapps. I didn't know if you'd like it or not, but we can both try it."
Weasley's expression continued to be one of bewilderment. "But you said you don't drink."
"Usually I don't. Only on special occasions."
"Oh." Weasley's face lit up and he walked the few steps to his kitchen, taking two tumblers from a cabinet and bringing them to the table. "So are you celebrating?" he asked hopefully. He was obviously itching to touch Draco, but he seemed to be cautious since he'd admitted his infatuation and Draco hadn't commented.
"Actually, I am."
Draco enjoyed Weasley's inability to mask his emotions. It had seemed pathetic when they were in school, but now Draco loved the effect his presence had on his companion. He took the glass Weasley handed him and clinked their glasses together before taking a sip. It was cinnamon all right, and it burned a pleasant but fiery trail down his throat. "I got a job today."
"You what?" Weasley spluttered, his slightly hurt expression revealing that he'd hoped he'd been the reason for Draco's celebrations.
"I got a job. Modelling nude for some Muggle art classes," Draco said smoothly, stepping closer so that they were nearly touching. The tension between the pleasure of toying with Weasley and wanting to kiss him into oblivion was curling low in his belly.
Weasley simply stared at him for a moment, his attention broken when his little owl came swooping in, hooting with excitement. Suddenly he broke into a laugh. "You're taking the piss!" he said, shaking his head.
"Actually, no I'm not," Draco said defensively. "It's not that I have to work, I don't. But I wanted some money that didn't have any strings attached, and the name Malfoy doesn't have the negative connotations in the Muggle world that it does in ours."
Weasley's face paled a bit and he brushed in irritation at Pigwidgeon, who had tried to land on his shoulder. "Oh. But okay." He took a long swallow of his liqueur and poured himself another serving. "This is good stuff," he said, offering the bottle to Draco, who shook his head. "You've really changed a lot since Hogwarts. Was I- That one time, after that banquet "
The words seemed to stick in his throat until with a decisive movement, he stepped over and wrapped his arms behind Draco's waist. Draco's pulse quickened at the contact and the heat of Weasley's breath as the potent tang was exhaled inches from his mouth.
"Was I that bad?" Weasley went on, his voice rough. "I know I'd said you didn't deserve to live, and I'd half meant it, but I'd never felt anything like I did when you kissed me, and then you were gone."
The last syllables were murmured directly onto Draco's tingling lips. "You weren't supposed to be that good. I panicked," he said quietly before sending out his tongue into Weasley's slightly open mouth.
Weasley mashed their lips together, kissing him aggressively and with a passion easily matched by Draco. As though directly linked to his mouth, Draco's cock began to stiffen as the kiss went on. Their hands roamed and Weasley made desperate moaning sounds as their tongues plunged into each other's mouths. These kisses weren't delicate or at all tentative; Draco was being claimed and possessed. It thrilled in his blood, sending throbbing shocks into the erection trapped in his tight slacks. He pulled back after a few moments, biting and kissing across the smooth skin of Weasley's jaw to breathe hotly in his ear.
"I've wanted your cock all week," he said in a low voice before rolling the sensitive skin of Weasley's earlobe in his teeth.
"Oh fuck, Draco." Weasley's hands held Draco's arse in a vice like grip and he arched against Draco's pelvis. A steely length was pressed into Draco's and he let out a moan at the friction.
"No. Sucking first," Draco insisted, branding Weasley's lips in a hard kiss before sinking down to his knees and making quick work of undoing the leather belt and buttoned fly of Ron's jeans. He looked up to make sure Weasley was watching, his heart absolutely pounding against his ribs at the intensity of his hungry gaze. He pulled down the tight jeans and boxers all at once past Weasley's muscled thighs, his reddened cock springing free and up, ready to be devoured.
He took a long lick up the underside of the shaft along a prominent vein, inhaling deeply of the leafy musk scent of Weasley's groin before throwing himself into his task. Licking and sucking, he hollowed his cheeks, encouraging Weasley to set a pace as he took him as deeply as he could. The wide fingers of Weasley's hands curled protectively against the back of Draco's head, anchoring Draco as he enthusiastically gave Weasley the blowjob he'd been thinking about all week long.
"Draco, fuck, oh you're so good, been wanking and thinking of you and your mouth oh fuck " The words transposed into a raspy whine and short, huffed groans. Draco was relentless; he would have more time later tonight for more drawn out sex, but right now he wanted to suck out Weasley's very soul through the slickhot flesh in his mouth. Experimentally, Draco let the fingers fondling Weasley's balls spread back along the path of his perineum, nudging gently near the puckered flesh. The stocattoed sounds of pleasure ratcheted up a notch, and Draco could tell Weasley was going to come, and soon. And hard. Seconds later, the fingers in his hair gripped tightly and Weasley let out hoarse, low chorus of "oh"s. The lemonyvinegar taste of his come filled the back of Draco's throat until he swallowed around it, moving both of his hands so he was holding Weasley's lightly furred arsecheeks. He swirled his tongue around the shaft with a goodbye lick before sinking back onto his heels, his own pulse racing as though he'd had the orgasm, not Weasley.
Weasley's head was tipped back, his mouth hanging slack, eyes closed. Eventually he came back to himself, slowly tilting his head forward and licking at his chapped lips, his hooded eyes brimming with satisfaction and gratitude.
"I don't want to know how you got so good at that," he said, his voice still gravelly. His wide fingers slid around to curve under Draco's jaw, his thumb caressing a short path across his swollen lower lip. "And I know you don't date, but you don't drink, except that apparently you do, so maybe we could date, but I don't share. I could never share you. You're fucking amazing."
Draco rose gracefully to his feet, took a handkerchief out of his trousers pocket to wipe the tip of Weasley's cock, and then put his arms around Weasley's waist. "I'm flattered. I'm also not yours to share; no-one owns me." His tone was warm, but he tried to keep it commanding. "I don't mind exclusivity, however. You and I this, whatever it is, is very new territory for me. I loathe labels, and expectations being put on me that I've not put on myself." He leaned in, placing a slow, chaste kiss on Weasley's lips. "We both like this, so let's keep enjoying it until something changes."
Disappointment flickered in Weasley's eyes, which stirred a warmth in Draco's chest. They'd had so many years of despising each other. And yet with such different circumstances, and Draco's distinctively changed outlook on what was meaningful in life, he was in danger of really opening up to Weasley. Ron. It scared him shitless. But Weas- Ron knew the risks, too. Draco sure as fuck wasn't about to profess undying love or anything ludicrous like that, but perhaps the regular punctuation of Ron's companionship in his independent life would be okay.
"I hope that doesn't happen for a long time," Ron said at last, nuzzling against Draco's temple. "Can I do anything for you?" he asked, a sultry quality threading his voice as one hand slid down Draco's torso to palm the mound below his belt. "We've still got some time before the match."
"I'll wait, but thank you," Draco replied, angling his hips as Ron squeezed his erection. "Wouldn't want to rush."
"It'd probably be good to get some takeaway," Ron said thoughtfully, pressing two dry kisses on Draco's cheekbone before shuffling back a couple of steps. "D'you like curry?"
"Curry's fine."
Ron took a moment to pull up his boxers and denims and tuck his shirt back in. He poured himself another small serving of the schnapps before glancing at Draco and his glass. Draco shook his head.
"Maybe later tonight. Mind if I use your loo?" It would take a few of minutes for his cock to soften up before he could go anyway, but he was buzzing with curiosity about Ron's toiletries. There was something tree-like and earthy around him that was unexpected, but very appealing.
"Sure. Second door on the left."
Once in the bathroom, Draco quietly cast a silencing charm and took a peek in Ron's shower. He glanced at the bottle of traditional shampoo and lifted the soap out of the dish, sniffing at it. That was the woodsy scent, but he couldn't place it. Opening the below sink cabinet, he saw a wrapped bar of Scandinavian Skies and held it to his nose. Voila. Smirking, he placed the soap back where he'd found it before a familiar bottle caught his eye. He squatted down and reached in, pulling out a new bottle of Eau des Baux. Apparently Weasley really did have it bad for him if he'd gone out and bought some of Draco's cologne. Draco gently placed the bottle on the counter, unable to wipe the elated look from his face as he relieved himself. When he was done, he unscrewed the stopper to dab a tiny bit on his fourth finger and then rubbed it on the smooth skin of his sacs. It'd be a surprise for Weasley in a few hours, depending on how the match went. He placed the cologne back under the sink and flushed the commode. He washed his hands thoroughly to be sure he couldn't smell the scent on his finger anymore, cast an air-freshening spell, uncharmed the Silencio and went back to the living room.
"I'll just do the same," Ron said, ambling to the bathroom while Draco went to the hall closet and retrieved his coat. There were a couple of framed photographs on the fireplace mantle that he'd glanced at but hadn't investigated, so he walked over to look at them more closely. Unsurprisingly, there was one of Ron, flanked by Granger and Potter, Weasley's sister plastered to Potter's other side. It must have been taken not long after the end of the War, as both Ron and Potter's hair was no longer below their shoulders. That was a pity; Draco had really been taken with Ron's ginger mane, even when he'd so shockingly appeared at the Manor in the thick of the nightmare. The other picture was slightly older, one of Ron in front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, both twins present and making lewd gestures. Draco hadn't thought to ask Weasley how his family was doing; there had just been more enticing things to do with that tongue than merely talk.
"You ready?" Ron asked, his body language again one of tension between wanting to hold Draco and feeling he should keep his distance. Draco was very uncomfortable with the idea of walking down the street holding hands with anyone- unless he were with his mother, in which case she'd hold his arm, but that was quite a different situation.
"Yes."
Draco opened the door and stepped out into the corridor before putting his hands in his pockets. "Do we get out the same way I came in?"
"We can, or there's a spiral staircase that lets out into what looks like a closed bookshop. That's usually the way I go."
"I'll follow, then."
Ron took the lead and a few minutes later they were out on the busy streets of London. Draco pulled out a silver case and flicked it open, taking out a cigarette and offering the container to Ron.
"No thanks."
Draco shut the case and pocketed it, feeling about for the dragonhead lighter he had. Once lit, he took a drag off the cigarette, thinking momentarily of how striking they must look going down the street, two tall men with distinctive hair, and Weasley's constellations of freckles were hard to miss.
"How's your brother? George, I mean?" he asked, still mulling over the picture on Ron's mantle. His most memorable run-in with the Weasley twins had, of course, been when he'd engineered the capturing of them as they'd been pouring that insta-swamp thing toward the end of fifth year. Draco had had his wand at one of their throats, but he bloody well couldn't have told them apart. After the War, that was now only too easy.
"He's okay. For the most part, I guess." Ron's voice held surprise echoed in his expression. "Nice of you to ask. I try to go to Wheezes' once a week or so- you could come with me at some point. Only if you want."
Draco nodded, inhaling a warm breath of smoke before exhaling with a low hiss. "Maybe so. Do you have lots of family obligations? I've only been back a fortnight, but it was my mother's illness that was the impetus for me to leave Osaka."
Ron appeared thunderstruck, and then curious. Draco could only imagine he'd not expect to be invited to the Manor for dinner, not after his father's actions in years past had nearly caused Ron's sister's death, not to mention all the outright contempt that had remained between their families their whole lives.
"Is your mum okay? Harry told me what she did, lying outright to You Know Who. That was pretty fucking brave," he said, glancing up at the signs and pointing down the footpath. "I usually get takeaway up here, at Taste of Bombay."
"I'll trust your judgment." Draco took another drag, admiring the more hardened line of Weasley's jaw as he'd become a bit older. "As for mother, yes, she's very nearly recovered. She came down with Bloodcurdle, but it was caught early on. A family Healer took care of her. And yes, she's astonishingly brave. Tremendous woman."
Ron opened his mouth to say something, closed it, then went on anyway. "Does she know? They know? Your parents?"
"Know what?" Draco tapped at the cigarette and ash fell to the ground.
"About you."
There was a pleading timbre to his voice; it was obvious he didn't want to be forced into spelling it out. Since they were nearly at the restaurant, Draco obliged him.
"That I like being buggered up the arse? No. Do they suspect? Quite probably. Is it relevant to them? Only if I refuse to get married and procreate, which I do. But it will break my mother's heart," he said more to himself than Ron, dropping the cigarette and grinding it out under his shoe.
"Oh." Ron clearly didn't need to worry about a similar fate with his family. There were probably half a dozen Weasley children already, all born since the War. "Don't you want to have kids?"
Draco looked at him, shocked. "Do you?"
"Well, yeah! I thought everybody did," he said, opening the door as they went inside. There was a large chalkboard with dishes and prices listed on it. Changing topics, Ron pointed at it. "I usually get one of the combos, but you really can't go wrong. It's all delicious."
Draco scrutinised the menu, feeling Weasley's gaze intently on him. He'd not imagined having children, and the thought of what it would require to create offspring wasn't at all appealing. He glanced at his watch and saw how little time they had, so he quickly made up his mind and told Ron.
"Sorry we had to eat on the run," Weasley apologised a while later as they walked quickly to the closest Apparition point.
"It was worth it," Draco said, raising his eyebrows. He was gratified to see an impish smile settle on Ron's lips.
"You wrote that you hadn't seen any Quidditch in yonks. Did you watch some other sport while you were in Japan? And why on Circe's tits did you go all the way to Japan, anyway?" he asked in a rush as they went around a corner, getting ready to Apparate to the stadium entrance.
"I'll tell you all about it later, if you want," Draco promised. "As for this match, don't expect me to be all chummy with Potter just because he's your best mate. You and he are very different."
"I'm glad you chose me," Ron said a bit breathlessly, leaning in to suck lightly on Draco's neck just below his ear.
"I would never have chosen Potter for anything," Draco said with a shudder. "Not appealing in the least."
"But you hated me," Ron murmured before stepping back.
"I've always had strong feelings for you," Draco admitted with a smirk.
He focussed his thoughts until the world squeezed in and he vanished, reappearing in a noisy crowd. Ron appeared with a barely discernable crack! next to him and began rummaging through his jacket pockets for their tickets. He handed one to Draco and they followed the queue into the stadium. Ron was right; they were excellent box seats. Potter's smile blazed when he saw Ron and grew impossibly wider when he saw Draco behind him.
"You made it! Wondered if you might get held up," he said, the words dripping with innuendo.
"Piss off," Ron muttered. Though Draco couldn't see his face, he just knew there was a flush creeping up his throat yet again.
"Pleasure to have you here, Malfoy." Potter radiated excitement, and Draco was quite taken aback by it. He couldn't imagine he was thrilled that Ron had invited him, but maybe Potter was so sickeningly full of love for the world that he didn't care who Ron was with as long as he was happy.
"Thank you," Draco said obligingly, grateful to take his seat.
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Potter lean his head over and speak so only Ron could hear him, and sensed Ron's discomfort at whatever was being said. No doubt Potter was making commentary about when he and Draco had been up to, which was really none of his bloody business. He'd have to have a chat with Ron that in no uncertain terms was he to go mouthing off to Potter about their personal activities. He didn't care that they'd been best friends since first year; what he and Weasley did behind the privacy of a closed door needed to stay there. A strange calm settled on him when he saw Weasley shake his head, and he had the sense that he shared Draco's sentiments. Good.
The match went on for a couple of hours and was actually quite gripping to watch. Ginny Weasley-Potter earned her metal, and the Prides played full-bore, making the time fly as the game went on. Potter stood and shouted and gestured wildly; he turned and smiled or made despairing groans as the plays went for or against the Harpies. Ron got into it too, rooting for his sister and leaning over to Draco to make commentary throughout the game. The Harpies were down when Potter began alternately gesticulating and pulling on his jeans at the knees, saying, "She's seen it! She's seen it!"
True enough, Weasley-Potter caught the Snitch after an impressive dive, and the match came to a close with a roar of approval on their side of the pitch.
Potter grabbed Ron in a celebratory bear hug, though with their height difference, the effect to Draco's eye was comical more than anything. That they won boded well for just he and Weasley to go back to Weasley's flat, or out to a pub if that was what he wanted to do. No doubt they'd be spending the rest of the evening together, but Draco was uncertain about whether or not an overnight stay would be in the cards, or if he even wanted that. As Potter continued to whoop and Draco nodded and smiled, he let his mind ponder the different possible scenarios. It was one thing to spend the night in neutral territory, quite another to wake up in someone else's actual bed. Not that he knew what that was like; he'd never stayed with any of his fuckbuddies, and he'd certainly never asked any of them to stay with him until the morning- unless they'd literally been at it all night and the man in question left in the morning. Would he feel slighted if Ron didn't ask him to stay? Would he be inclined to ask Weasley to stay at his place, were the situation reversed? He really wasn't sure, and between that uncertainty and the deafening noise around him made him feel slightly queasy.
"You okay?" Ron yelled worriedly.
"Yes. But I wouldn't mind moving on," Draco shouted back. "Do we have plans with Potter?"
With a wide smile, Ron shook his head, getting as close as Draco suspected he dared in a public place so he could speak into Draco's ear. "No. But it means a lot that you asked. I know he's not somebody you think you'd want to hang around with, and I wouldn't push it. He's going to go to the Belligerent Badger with the team, though. We could go for one round, if you'd like."
"I'd rather have you to myself for a while, but if you're really keen, I'll go along. I won't stand for any negative comments about my family, though. Don't you think I'll be rather unwelcome, especially by your sister?"
Ron's face twisted into a look of genuine consternation. "Oh. Yeah. Ginny."
Draco let out a dark chuckle. "Yeah. Ginny. Potter may be reasonably open-minded, but I have the distinct feeling that you may want to keep our liaisons quiet or deal with the accusations that you're being mind-fucked by a Malfoy."
"They wouldn't do that!" Ron exclaimed, his expression thunderous.
"Why not?" Draco retorted. "You weren't the first to tell me I'd no business surviving, but no doubt the rest of your family would've been right in line behind you to do the same." He wasn't angry, not exactly, but he felt that this needed to be brought out in the open and dealt with sooner rather than later. If Weasley really thought his family would be jumping for joy at the thought that he and Draco had begun shagging like rabbits, he was utterly delusional.
"They can change their minds," Weasley insisted, reaching out to put his hand around Draco's wrist. "Don't judge them or you'll be just as narrow-minded as you're saying they are."
"I'm not judgmental, I'm a realist," Draco snapped. "And I need a cigarette. I'm going to the gents and then outside the front gates to get out of this noise and have a smoke. But I'll stay there until you come out. You have my word."
He added the last sentence as a reassurance. Draco had somehow recognised the look that flitted onto Ron's face; he thought Draco might ditch him. Ron finally nodded and released Draco's wrist. Draco leaned around him, yelled toward Potter his thanks for the match tickets and that his wife had played superbly, and then turned and left the stadium. When he was finally outside, bladder relieved and nicotine thankfully back in his bloodstream, he felt far more calm. He felt no guilt whatsoever in bringing up the fact that Weasley's family was going to think Ron was insane or under some kind of Dark Magic spell. Of course they would! Just as he and Ron had hated each other until that passion had suddenly turned inside-out into something even more potent, their families had no shortage of reasons to hold grudges against each other for eternity. Any other thinking was totally fanciful.
As a few more minutes went by, he indulged in a second fag, tightening his scarf around his throat and leaning back against the curved wall as people continued to straggle out. Just as Draco was beginning to feel unpleasant curling fingers in his gut as though he'd been stood up, Ron walked out, looking right and left until he saw Draco and his face relaxed. Draco sauntered over to him, keeping his comments to himself in case Weasley had something illuminating to say.
"I'm sorry," Ron said, his hands jammed into his pockets. "I needed to talk to Harry for just a little bit. I think you were right about not being around Ginny right at first. And I've told Harry to keep his mouth shut about me and the person I brought to the match."
"So that's how I'm being referred to?" Draco said dryly, taking a final hit off of his cigarette before flicking it off to the side.
"No, Draco. Well, yes, for now. Harry just wants me to be happy, he's my best mate after all. And he wants to know all kinds of details; he's really a bit pervy when it comes to my sex life. Which hasn't exactly been much to comment on," he said quickly.
Draco was highly amused. Amazing how much of an innocent Weasley still seemed to be, but better that than jaded. Draco could already feel that creeping in, and he couldn't stand it. "It's okay. Mine would make his eyes pop out, and we don't want Rita Skeeter putting that in the Prophet, do we? C'mon, why don't we go to one of the dozens of pubs you frequent. It's obvious you want a drink."
Ron began to put on a show of being contrary, but Draco knew it was an act. "It's fine. But we'll need to side-Along as I won't know where we're going. And my rule still applies," he said silkily near Ron's jaw. "If you get smashed, I'm going home to have a leisurely wank by myself. Pigwidgeon may know where I live, but you don't."
"One round it is, then," Ron said stoutly.
* * * * *
On to part three