Crown of Rope, part IV
Continued from here
Monday arrived, chill and slick with sheets of rain. At the appointed time in the afternoon, Draco went back to Slade School. He was taken to the appropriate administrator by the Pansy-like woman with the look-at-my-chest tattoos. He filled out the required paperwork and was told when and where the classes were held and how glad they were to have a male model. Draco took it all in stride, saying little. The figure drawing class was led by a junior professor, who showed him a corner space with a tri-fold screen. Behind it was his changing area, where he could come out in a dressing gown, if he wished.
"I didn't bring one," Draco pointed out.
"That's shoddy preparation, my apologies," the man said, waving dramatically as Draco headed for the corner.
"It's fine."
He did realise the infinitesimal potential for disaster in that he'd need to hide his wand. He tucked it into his jeans pants leg once they were folded up and rationalised that the likelihood of him needing it was nearly none.
Out in the centre of the room, he stood and sat for a series of fifteen-minute poses over the next hour and a half. It was a pleasant enough time; his mind wandered, though he had to be careful about it straying to his weekend's activities as that could have created something other than a still life in his posing. Once the class was over and he'd dressed, the professor thanked him, gushing again in gratitude to a male physique for his students to draw. He also complimented Draco's creative stances and his ability to stay still. Draco merely thought of his experiences being bound and smiled, accepting the accolade. Several of the girls and a couple of the boys - youths, not much younger than he was - asked him a few questions. No, he wasn't a student. Yes, he lived in London. No, he wasn't available, yes, he was seeing someone, no, he wasn't giving out his mobile number.
He was still smiling to himself at his new notoriety when he decided to pay Gabriel a visit and have dinner at the Manor. Despite all that had been stripped from them, his parents still believed in having a routine, and in keeping as much normalcy as possible. Dinner was always at seven o'clock. Ducking into a public toilet he'd found during his initial walkabout, Draco Apparated to the grounds just outside the front door. He let himself in, as the locks opened to his voice. Doubtless they'd open to anybody the Ministry sent calling as well, but the Malfoys were allowed at least the appearance of sanctity in their own home.
"Hello, mother," he called out, figuring she was in the sitting room.
"Draco! What a splendid surprise."
He pulled her to him, grateful to see that she appeared to be nearly back to full health, her skin luminous in the candlelight and her beauty flawless. She'd proven to be braver than he'd ever believed possible, and being around her now humbled him.
"I'm going to the owlery to spend a little time with Gabriel, then join you and Father for dinner, if that's all right."
"That would be lovely. I'll let Flissy know."
Dobby, of course, had been freed by Potter years before, and he'd heard he was dead now. Another distant relative had taken pity on them, however, and bequeathed them a different house-elf. Once the dinner plans were settled, Draco headed outside. He went out to the small owlery where his eagle owl sat, perched on a stand that resembled an upside-down tree. He was asleep, and Draco called to him softly before he awakened.
"Hi, beautiful," he said, petting the owl's soft plumage as Gabriel hooted sociably at him. He'd had Gabriel since his first year at Hogwarts, though he'd not taken him to Japan. Draco quite missed him, but even now that he was back, he knew that his flat was no place to keep such a magnificent creature as Gabriel.
"But you like it here, don't you," he said soothingly, pleased when the owl nipped playfully at his fingers. He soared off and circled once before landing on his shoulder. One of his father's few remaining white peacocks began to strut into the owlery, its neck dipping forward and back like a camel's. As a child, Draco had always wished they'd had proper peacocks with rainbow feathers, but the albinos were more rare, more costly- ergo, they had more worth. Draco still believed in that tenant applying to a good many things, though not to the extreme his father had taken it.
Suddenly Gabriel bristled, hooting irritably as a diminuative owl Draco immediately recognised came barreling into the owlery, diving and flying in loop-de-loops, chittering away.
"Pigwidgeon? What're you doing here?" Draco asked, though of course the reason was obvious. Weasley hadn't been able to wait for Draco to owl him first. It was a good thing he'd not told Ron where he lived, or he suspected he might have come home one afternoon to find Ron lounging around his front door. Not that that was a horrible thing, but honestly. Even the Grandest Passions had rules and decorum, of a sort.
Gabriel hooted in greeting to the little owl, who seemed not to know where to land. The peacock had walked hastily away when Pigwidgeon had first arrived, dropping a few white downy feathers in its wake. Draco pointed at the stand.
"There," he said and the owl swooped down. It grabbed hold of one of the twisted branches, nearly toppled over, righted itself, and then started to preen. Draco turned to look at Gabriel, still perched on his shoulder, who seemed unimpressed by their visitor. "It's a Weasley owl," he confided. "Doubt you've ever seen one of theirs before."
After a couple more endearments, Draco shook his shoulder and Gabriel flew up to one of the set-in cloisters, looking down on Ron's owl.
"You just couldn't wait," Draco said to Ron in his absence, taking off the note from Pigwidgeon's leg. He ambled over to get him an owl treat from a secured box when he heard his mother call him for dinner.
"Oh. Just-" he waved at both owls, their wide eyes fixed unblinkingly on him. "Talk. Or something. I'll be back after dinner."
Shaking his head at this newest absurdity, he pocketed the parchment and strode quickly to the Manor. Draco greeted his father, who appeared pleased to see him, but also preoccupied. As they sat down to a dinner of cornish hens, Draco watched his father drink most of his glass of wine and summon Flissy for the bottle before he started in on his food.
"Is something the matter?" Draco asked, sliding a piece of colourful stuffed pasta in its sauce, trying to figure out what made it look purple. Once he tried one of the little pillowed morsels, he figured out it had beetroot mixed in the dough, and a rich cheese filled centre. Flissy had really outdone herself.
"Yes. I want to take your mother on holiday and the asinine Ministry is making it beyond impossible. The only way they will even consider letting us go to our summer home in Antibes is if we agree to wear bands." He fumed, pouring himself another full glass of wine and taking a healthy swallow. He made a low, displeased sound when Narcissa gently tutted in his direction.
"What kind of band? It sounds like they're putting the Trace back on you again, or something ludicrous like that," Draco said in disgust, his sympathies very much with his father. Lucius had wanted power, it was true, and believed that wizarding lines should stay pure- very nearly to the point of extinction. But he'd never been as psychopathically swayed by the Dark Lord like Draco's aunt Bellatrix. Lucius loved his wife, and he loved Draco.
"That is essentially their order," his mother agreed, delicately eating some glazed carrots. "Not that there are any alternatives. But I feel it would be worth it to get away, just for a little while. I am grateful to be allowed to stay in our home, but it's been a long, long few years."
With natural elegance she drank from her water goblet. Draco sat, feeling no small weight of guilt lowering onto him. He possessed freedoms they didn't, and had taken advantage of that. Still, it wasn't as though his father would go running away while out of the country or would he?
"You wouldn't leave Britain forever, would you? If you could?" Draco asked, suddenly unsure of the answer.
His parents looked at each other, their wordless communication as effective as Legilimency, at least to Draco's eyes. Lucius cut a piece of meat and chewed it before looking back at him.
"This is our home. The idea of starting over elsewhere is quite unappealing, but your mother and I have discussed it. Our memories and history is here, both the wonderful and the grotesque. If I must be constantly under surveillance wherever I am for the rest of my days, I'd prefer it to be in the country I know best. I'm somewhat free, I suppose; I'm not dead, nor in Azkaban. A second time," he said menacingly, jabbing at the fuchscia ravioli.
"Well, it doesn't seem fair to have you Traced, but if it means that you and mother can spend some time away, I'd think it'd be worth it," Draco said, helping himself to his own goblet of water.
"The Healer says I'm recovered, and now that you're no longer halfway around the world, I would very much like a month or so at the Mediterranean," Narcissa stated in her subtle, but commanding voice. "I've never liked autumn, not since you began going off to school," she said, looking ruefully at Draco.
That comment came as a surprise; he'd corresponded with his mother and she'd always seemed to have plenty of social activities and gatherings, though he supposed she'd spent a lot of time by herself in the house. She wasn't really the hobby-pursuing type, either.
"Then you two should go. If the Ministry knows where you Apparate and what spells you're casting, well, who really cares? You weren't thinking of doing anything that would get you in serious trouble, were you?" Draco asked, eyebrows raised.
"The time for that has passed," Lucius said with a forceful breath, his eyes betraying more thought on the matter than he chose to say aloud. "What have you been doing this week?" he asked instead as he changed the subject.
Draco filed away the snippet of barely-disguised rebellion to ponder at another point. "I took a job," Draco said smartly, determined to keep the topic as far away from his new, quite particular social life as possible. Weasley's unread note crinkled in his pocket as he shifted, adjusting his serviette over his lap.
"Really?" His mother's gaze, bright and curious, latched onto him.
"Yes. I'm nude modeling for some drawing classes at a Muggle art institute. Rather spontaneous, how it all happened, but I've already posed for one class. It doesn't take a lot of skill, unless you're unable to sit still."
Narcissa's light eyes grew wide and she slowly lowered her fork to the table. Draco's father also sat in stunned silence until a darkly droll expression rose on his features.
"You mean to tell me that there may end up being framed portraits of you, naked, in Muggle households?" He seemed amused by the concept.
"I doubt it," Draco said, smirking a bit himself. "They're just learning how to draw the human form with an actual person in front of them. Nobody's painting actual portraits."
His mother had regained her composure, but her disapproval was evident in her lips, now set in a thin line.
Draco managed to get through the rest of the meal without any other invasive questions, and he begged off a post-dinner cup of tea to get back to his flat. He made up some excuse about having dropped something at the owlery so he could return without suspicion. Once there, he saw Gabriel and Pigwidgeon sittting next to each other on one of the stand branches, apparently fast friends.
"Oh, for Circe's sake," Draco half-scolded his owl. Gabriel merely looked at him with his wide amber eyes and let the small owl continue its high hooting and occasionally stroke its feathers with its small curved beak. Draco cast a Lumos in the dim room to read Ron's parchment at last.
"You're unbelievable," Draco uttered quietly into the room, breathing in the air pungent with decades of bird dander. Still, what was the harm in being so avidly pursued by the person who had made an undeniably permanent mark on him? He glanced again at Ron's miniature owl, continuing to cosy up to Gabriel, and shook his head. Cassandra would find this whole situation adorable; Blaise- he'd need to tread lightly, there. Gabriel trilled a low cry of contentment, which spurred Draco into action. Luckily he kept a Muggle biro in his overcoat and he found a clean enough surface to write on. Holding his wand over the parchment for light, he wrote a hasty response.
He wound the parchment into a tight roll and tied it to Pigwidgeon, who now seemed quite reluctant to leave.
"Go on!" Draco said reprovingly. "Take that back to Ron. He'll think you've been in an accident, most likely, since you've been loungnig about here with Gabriel for so long."
The little owl spun its head at a disconcerting angle as Draco smoothed the downy tufts on its head before commanding it again to get home to its owner. Draco made his goodbyes to Gabriel and Apparated home, relaxing with his usual cups of tea and cigarettes before spending some time at his computer. He lurked at an online community of amateur haiku writers, entranced by the simplicity and power that could be held in such a contained piece of poetry. In a slim red notebook he held a collection of his own attempts at haiku, but he had yet to share any of his with even the faceless people in this virtual community. Frankly, he was intimidated, as some of them were very talented.
At last he tired of staring at the unnatural beaming glow of the screen and he went to bed.
* * * * *
Draco was willing to feel an inappropriate amount of smug superiority in the fact that he continued to turn heads wherever he went. He strode confidently across the marble floors of the Ministry, raising his head slightly higher as he heard the unmistakable commanding steps he made, the sound unique to the soles of the expensive shoes he wore. He'd dressed to the nines and pulled his shoulder length hair back into a ponytail. Draco adored this particular suit; it was made by an exquisite French wizarding designer, whom the Japanese practically as a culture seemed to love. Draco had splurged on this when he'd seen the colour: black, with a lustre of a primordial evergreen, like the recessed depths in a woodland lake. The slim trousers showcased his long legs, and the fit of the jacket enhanced the vee shape of his torso. People couldn't keep their eyes off him, and he gloried in it. In a fit of true vanity, he'd even polished his signet ring, which gleamed in the light cast by the torches lining the corridors. He was a Malfoy and proud of it; he shone, burnished with an inner glow, the legacy of his ancestry of powerful wizards.
As he stepped into the lift, barely acknowledging the presence of the other people with him, the succulent irony that he was meeting Ron Weasley for lunch seeped into his mouth and he licked his lips. The lift seemed ancient and faulty, but he managed to disembark on the second floor, snapping his head to the right and left to figure out in which direction to go. He was passed by a pair of Aurors, looking eager and cocky. They could have been his age- maybe they'd even gone to Hogwarts. A distinguished older witch in aubergine robes blew past him from behind as he resumed his search for Weasley's office, though he smirked to himself when he saw her pause in a doorway down the corridor to give him a surreptitious second look.
Finally he was in front of what could aptly have been called a broom cupboard, or perhaps a place to house cleaning supplies. "Ronald B. Weasley, Junior Auror, Second Class" illustriously proclaimed his title from a placard placed on the door, which was open. Draco placed a hand against the doorjamb, revelling in Ron's expansive gaze of awe and raw lust. Drips like hot oil slid to Draco's groin as Ron slowly stood up from behind his small desk, his attentions locked on Draco like a hawk diving for its prey.
"Malfoy," he said, finally coming to himself and brushing some crumbs off of his slightly worn work robes on to the floor. As he glanced around the tiny offce and then back at Draco, now standing just inside the threshhold, an expression Draco knew well floundered onto Ron's face. Draco could tell the instant it happened, when Ron's sense of inferiority flooded through him. That hadn't been Draco's intent, not now, not when he'd already been making plans for a grand seduction this upcoming Friday, hopefully to culminate in him rogering Ron silly.
"Ron," Draco replied purposefully, stepping forward to clasp Ron's hand in his before letting go. "Thank you for your owl. So this is your office, is it?"
Ron barked a short, mortified laugh. "Yeah. Merlin, Draco," he said, lowering his voice and furtively glancing at the open doorway before back at Draco. "You look fucking amazing. You dressed like that for lunch? I'm just in my bloody work robes, and you're sex in a suit."
His words were complimentary, but the dejection and sense of worthlessness in his voice was equally stamped on his face. Somehow Draco knew this was a pivotal moment; the sails of destiny were snapping as his course stood poised to charter one way or another. At a different point in his life, he might have believed he'd been put on the earth to effectively shatter Ron's ego to its core, but that time was long gone.
"I dressed for you."
Disbelief hung in Ron's eyes before transforming to gratitude.
"Oh. Wow. That's Thanks." Ron blinked a few times, seemingly not trusting himself to speak for a few moments.
Draco nodded and turned to investigate the books of spells and laws on a nearby shelf, giving Ron a chance to collect himself. Here on the wall was the obligatory Chudley Cannons poster, as Draco had noticed there wasn't one in Weasley's flat.
"Well, I'm famished," Ron said, clearing his throat and trying to sound matter-of-fact.
Draco could still see the joyful incredulity in Ron's face and felt something infinitely taut deep within himself stretch past its breaking point and snap. His knees wanted to give way and he had an irrational wish to shut the door, lock it, and have Ron take him on top of his desk, certain that the tattoo on his back would fly all over his fucking body if they did. Instead, he took a deep breath, placed his hand on Ron's hip to give it a small squeeze, and tilted his head toward the doorway.
"Let's go get some lunch, then."
Ron's attempts to curb his beaming smile were laughable, but Draco didn't make any snide comments as Ron shed his robes and put on an overcoat instead. On their way out he placed a note on his door that indicated he'd be back in about an hour. They walked back toward the lifts, keeping a respectable distance, but Draco could tell Ron was using everything he had not to grab his hand and clench it tightly into his own. Draco made a bit of small talk about Gabriel and Pigwidgeon, trying to keep topics in fairly neutral territory as they were swept up into the hive of activity in the Ministry. Finally they were spat out into the world above ground, another sodden day with blustery wind.
"I hate this weather," Ron grumbled as Draco quickly engorged his umbrella and hefted it over them, shielding them from the rain, at least when it wasn't blowing sideways.
Draco led the way to the restaurant where they ate a delicious and unpretentious meal with their hands. Ron found it rather disconcerting at first, but once he got the hang of scooping things up with the injera and eating without utensils, he happily scarfed down the meal. Once they'd finished and were in the process of paying, Ron looked down at his watch and then over at Draco with apology in his eyes.
"I wish I could just nick off for the whole afternoon," he said, the words heartfelt.
"Well, Friday is a couple of days away. Perhaps you'd like to come over to my flat this evening after work?" Draco found himself suggesting, even though he'd not planned at all for that. It wouldn't take him long to tidy up, though, and he could throw together some pasta and salad without too much effort. Mostly he wanted Ron there, in his own space, in front of the fireplace. Naked.
"Really?" Ron slid his hand behind Draco's back as they made their way out into the chilly drizzle. "I mean, I'd love to see your place. No doubt it's swankier than mine."
He pulled Draco closer to him so they were hip to hip as they walked down the footpath. "Have I told you recently how amazing you look?"
"Yes, Ron," Draco said, feigning irritation. "You're quite a looker yourself. And my flat isn't at all posh, it's a small place. But I've just had a thought "
He let the words fade away as he'd spoken without thinking, a rarity for him these days, at least until Ron had suddenly shown up into his life again. It had occurred to him that Ron might wish to see the Manor now, not as a prisoner of war, but as Draco's- companion.
"Yes?"
"In the near future my parents are, in all likelihood, going to be spending a few weeks at our summer home in Antibes. I'm guessing you don't have very good memories of the Manor, given all that happened there, but it does have some amenities my flat doesn't. A huge bathtub like the Prefect's bath at Hogwarts, a sauna, grounds to practise golf on, or go flying but only if you'd find that at all appealing. It's been stripped of the Dark artifacts, though I'm certain there's still some nasty spellwork in the very stones of the place."
They were approaching the phone box to enter the Ministry from the Muggle street. Ron looked over at him, disengaging his arm.
"I'd- Yes. And I'm not taking my arm away because I'm embarrassed, it's that I don't want to be showy, and yes, I'd love to come over, to your flat," Ron rambled on as they stood in front of the red box. Ron cast a Disillusionment charm on them as an extra precaution, Draco assumed. "Will you come back to my office, just for a few minutes?" he pleaded, intertwining their fingers. "I've been dying to kiss you without being stared at, and I'll go fucking nuts if I have to wait until tonight."
Draco grazed his thumb along Ron's palm and wet his lips with his tongue. "Certainly. I'd rather not wait until tonight either."
Ron pushed in the fold of the door and they squeezed in together before the carriage descended into the bustle of the Ministry. "I think I wouldn't mind visiting the Manor. It'd be good for me to get some different memories of it. You haven't told your parents-" he asked, leaving the implied question hovering between them as they walked into the busy entranceway, yet again.
A very handsome, European-looking man came towards them, his gaze fixated on Draco. Draco had no idea who he was, though given the cut of his dress robes, he was aristocracy of some kind. He gave Draco a thorough going-over and then nodded, and then glanced at Ron and back again. He raised his hand so that Draco paused.
"Le Paon?" he asked.
"Bien sûr," Draco replied, arching an eyebrow. He could sense Ron glowering at his side, but he couldn't resist engaging in the brief reparte.
"Ah. Yes. Well, good day," he continued in a heavy French accent as Ron pulled Draco along to the lifts.
"I'm not at all interested, I'll have you know," Draco said under his breath, trying to be reassuring. He didn't mind the attention, and Ron had to get his inflammatory jealousy under control; Draco couldn't abide that. Beautiful things and people were meant to be admired and appreciated, but it didn't mean he was going to go seek out whomever the gentleman was, even with his glacier aquamarine eyes and sculpted nose.
"Good. He's the son of the French Wizarding Ambassador." Ron still looked very put out, and he took advantage of them having the lift to themselves, continuing the conversation. "What did you say, anyway?"
"Oh. He just recognised the designer of my suit, it's a French wizarding label. I told him he was right. It's you I want, Ron," he said, turning to look at him full in the face, all levity gone. "I may not date, but you're my lover. The only one. Understood?"
Ron nodded, and he seemed as though he wanted to say something, but he remained mute as they exited the lift and returned to his office. A small note fluttered against the door, the bit of parchment resembling nothing so much as a butterfly. Ron snatched at it and unlocked the door, seemingly preoccupied. He waved Draco through and tossed the paper onto his desk, closing the door behind him and stepping two paces to grab Draco in his arms.
"I've never wanted anyone like you," he said helplessly before Draco latched his mouth onto Ron's, his lips open in an instant so he could spear into the heat of Ron's mouth with his tongue. The kiss was molten, tangy with possession and the noises in Ron's chest that Draco inherently knew to mean 'mine, mine, mine.'
The door flew open. Draco and Ron jerked away from each other, hands still grasping at each other's neck and back, breathing heavily.
"Ron! Why oh!" Potter said, startled, his hand glued to the door handle as he stared at them.
"Knocking! Common courtesy! Heard of it?" Ron yelled, his face beginning to turn crimson. He eased away from Draco, but turned so he could slide his arm down to anchor at the small of Draco's back.
"Never needed to, before," Potter said, still agog, but a mischievious smile was lighting on his lips. "Malfoy. Nice to see you. Um, Ron, didn't you see my note, mate? We've got to go. Now."
"Now? What?" Ron said confusedly as Draco stepped away and watched Ron grab up the folded piece of parchment.
"We're heading up to the Isle of Lewis again. Kelpies. I'm sorry to have to interrupt, but you've got to pack and meet me at our portkey in about-" he glanced at his watch, "fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen minutes?!" Ron squawked. "Why didn't you owl me or something?"
"I thought you would've been back sooner. I didn't know you had company," Potter leered.
"I'll just be going," Draco said, disappointment churning unpleasantly in his stomach. "Owl me when you get back, if you don't mind."
"No. Yes. I mean, of course," Ron said fervidly before scowling at Potter. "I'll be at the portkey. Where is it?"
"Room twenty-four at the Hog's Head. Well, see you around, Malfoy," Potter said with a grin before he sprinted out of the room.
"I-" Ron started.
"You need to go. Just owl me when you get back," Draco said smoothly, straightening his coat.
"It could be a couple of days."
Ron was obviously as disappointed as Draco, though he'd become a necessary whirlwind of activity. He threw a few things into a dark reddish-brown satchel, shoved some papers and two well-gnawed quills into a folder which also were stuffed into the case, and a braided twine armband that he grabbed from a crowded shelf.
"Just come back safely." Draco closed the door again and walked over to give Ron a brief but firm kiss. "Consider yourself mine this weekend. Don't even wank between now and when I see you again."
Ron moaned, but nodded, a look of panic rising to his features. "Fuck! I've really got to run. I'll send Pig as soon as I'm back."
"I'll be glad to see him." He walked to the door and let himself out, turning to say, "Be careful."
"I will."
Ron regarded him solemnly before he started muttering to himself about seals and badges and bloody Scotland as Draco left the Auror wing.
He decided to take the Floo network to the Leaky Cauldron and then Diagon Alley. He didn't really need anything, but he wasn't ready to go home, either. As he threw in the green powder and announced his destination, he realised how rattled he was by his own proclamations, and the fact that Ron had been pulled away at just a moment's notice. Then there was the lovely Frenchman, though he was nothing but unexpected eye candy. And now he really was going to have to wait at least a day, and probably more, before he'd get to have a shag, much less whole hours of sexual exploration with Weasley's magnificent physique. He was not pleased.
Once out on the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, Draco lit a cigarette, wondering why he'd decided to come here. He wandered slowly along the road, which wasn't all that busy, perhaps due to the inclement weather. He'd shrunk his umbrella down to an appropriate size for one person and glanced in the windows of the various shops he'd known well as a child. There were a few new ones, but mostly it appeared to house the same shops with relatively unchanging items in the windows. He did pause in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, admiring the sleek lines of the new Cloudracer. His own broom had plenty of grace and speed, though he'd not flown on it in ages. Maybe that was something he could do to let out some of his frustrated energy.
As he walked on, he finished his fag and dropped it to the ground. After grinding it out, he took notice of where he was; it should have been hard to miss with its garish signage and merriment within, despite the dismal weather outside. Draco shook out his umbrella, and pushed the door open into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It was a riot of colours and textures, bins overflowing from nearly every surface, tiny brooms flying around, and a rather risqué song by Anson Astrolabe belting out through the shop. It stopped seconds after he entered as a voice carried across the room, welcoming him to the mayhem as only a Quidditch announcer could.
The wide smile on Lee Jordan's face slid off as he saw Draco stride into the centre of the room. "Malfoy?" he stated, though it came out as a question. "Draco Malfoy?"
"No, I'm sure it's Ron. He's been working on his glamour spells," George said confidently, strolling past Jordan and pinching his arse.
Draco couldn't help but stare, gobsmacked, at the healed but gaping wound where his left ear should have been, all while trying to reconcile George's actions. He was queer, too? And with the announcer from their school matches? From dusty depths in his memory, Draco remembered Jordan had also been in Gryffindor, so perhaps they'd known each other for some time.
"Nicely done, Ronniekins!" George said approvingly, walking all around Draco and even trailing his fingers through Draco's hair and down his bicep. "Excellent attention to detail. But why pick somebody as sickening as Malfoy?" he asked, coming to a stop in front of him.
"I'm not Ron," Draco seethed, his voice as cold and piercing as ice shards. It was unfathomable how he'd spent so few seconds in this Weasley's presence and already he loathed him anew. Apparently the lingering animosity and disgust also still ran unabated in George.
"I really am Draco Malfoy," he went on, his voice menacing. "Is my money too sickening for you to accept?"
George's hazel eyes narrowed as Jordan began to look both confused and nervous. "Yeah, sure. Ron, give it up. You're giving me the creeps."
"Glamours can only change appearance, and they only produce facsimiles of items," Draco said curtly, quoting from the standard advanced spell book they all knew. He shoved his hand in front of George's face, determined to expose how wrong the twin was and then leave. If Ron really thought his family would be accepting of the two of them as anything at all, he was obviously delusional. "Try to cast a Revelatio on this," he hissed, jabbing his half-closed fist at George's chest, the Malfoy signet ring shining in the glaring lights of the shop.
"Um, George? I think it's really him," Jordan said awkwardly, his gaze never leaving Draco. "Weren't you gone? For a couple of years? And why would you buy anything here?"
"I doubt I'll get anything now," Draco snarled, waiting as George got his wand and with a smirk, cast the spell. Nothing happened to the ring, of course. George looked up at him, anger clouding his features, the cheekbones and structure echoing Ron's face but somehow very dissimilar.
"What're you playing at?" he said, his voice sparking with irritation and rage. Draco was bemused to see Jordan stand next to him and try to calm George down, but Weasley would have none of it. "Who sent you, and why? I should throw you out on your worthless, Death Eater arse."
"I'm quite capable of leaving on my own," Draco said coldly, having drawn his wand, seeing as how George was also armed. "I actually visited because Weasley - Ron - said he came here once a week."
"Since when have you seen Ron? He hates you more than anyone else in existence!"
"I saw him in the park."
They were now mere inches apart, Jordan continuing to hang behind George, but he hadn't yet seen the need to pull him away. George's face was a mottled, ruddy shade, and Draco couldn't help feeling his gaze slide toward the space where his ear should have been. Draco felt a righteous, perverse need to make Ron's brother as furious as possible without being explicit. "We've been getting reacquainted."
"You'd better keep your hands off him!" George roared, his chest beginning to heave and his clenched fist creeping up his strenum.
"Too late for that, but I'm quite sure he didn't mind!" Draco yelled back, wrenching away. He stormed to the door. "You don't fucking know the half of it," he growled, jerking the door open and almost falling over his own feet to walk furiously away.
He'd wished the door had benged shut behind him, but doubtless it was charmed against such dramatics. The cold drops of rain stung his forehead and cheeks, but he ignored them for a bit, pacing forward with his jaw clenched and eyebrows knitted to the point that his whole face hurt. The anger began to seep from him, however, and eventually he put his umbrella back over his head, protecting his designer suit if nothing else. With a last bitter shake of his head, he Apparated home.
He spent the rest of his afternoon and evening indulging himself in an effort to regain the very pleasant feelings he'd had prior to the catastrophic run-in at Wheezes. He took a long, hot shower, drank loads of savoury tea, and even watched some decently-filmed Muggle porn he could find so easily on his computer. A couple of glasses of sake made the crashing strife with George seem slightly more comical, though he cast a sobering charm before crawling into his soft bed. He spared more than a thought for Ron, and kelpies, and wondering what all in Hades Potter was grilling him about, since surely he was. Draco put a hand on his torpid cock, stroking it half-heartedly, but then he decided he'd force himself to wait for Ron's return as well.
* * * * *
"The model's moving," Draco announced before he eased out of his standing pose to sit on a pillow and rub the soles of his feet. The instructor had asked if he'd do just one pose through the couple of hours, taking breaks when needed. Draco had chosen something he thought would be interesting from an aesthetics view, but now towards the end his knees and feet were beginning to ache. There was a small commotion as one of the girls gestured at the window and Draco glanced up, his eyes growing wide when he saw Pigwidgeon fluttering outside, thwarted by the glass.
"Can we open the window? He's mine," Draco said hastily, trying to figure out how to explain this phenomenon without the student asking too many questions. "And he's trained. Carries messages," he went on as casually as possible once the little brown owl had come in and hooted excitedly at him. It was comical, how he seemed to bounce while he flew, before landing on a nearby easel one of the students was using.
"How did you do that?" the professor asked in astonishment as Draco took off the slip of parchment tied on Pigwidgeon's leg. "Its like the old carrier pigeons! I didn't think you could train owls to do anything. Hawks, yes, but not owls."
"He's a bit off," Draco said matter-of-factly. "Excuse me for a moment while I read this and send him on his way. I'm sorry for the disruption."
"No, no. Take your time," the instructor said, his voice and manner filled with restrained curiosity.
Draco strolled back to his pile of clothes behind the folded modesty screen and cradled the paper, his heart racing. It had been two days since Ron had been called away, but with his imagination, it had felt like years.
"Mine?" Draco marveled. Squatting down, he rummaged through his coat pocket and ferreted out his biro.
He paused, chewing on the end of his pen. He'd always hated closing bits to letters, if he were writing anyone other than his parents. 'Crazy about you'? 'Yours fondly'? He was still rolling exuberantly in Ron's "yours," much like a child in a pile of freshly raked leaves.
He frowned at it, wondering where the poetic 'deeply marked' had come from and even what he thought he meant by it. There was nothing for it now, though; he wasn't going to use magic to remove the ink and start over.
With a minimum of fuss, he attached his reply and told Pigwidgeon to return to Ron at once, speaking quietly to the owl. It chittered happily and flew away as Draco got back to the business of standing still. He had to be especially careful of his mind wandering now, so he forced himself to go through the few recipes he had memorised and started in on potions ingredients lists until finally it was 5:40, and the class was over.
Striding purposefully out of the Art school and to an out-of-the-way loo he'd found in another campus building, he Apparated to a point a couple of blocks from the pub he'd suggested. It was mad how giddy he felt that Ron was back, but he knew it must be due to the profound shift that had occurred two days ago. It was as though his reality had been cleaved; all of the fear and raw unknowing had been cut from him as he accepted the undeniable homecoming of Ron's palm pressed to his. A widening sliver of irrationality in him suggested that he tell Ron absolutely everything about himself, but the rest of him decided that might not be for the best. All things in time beat in his pulse, which quickened as he rounded the corner. Ron was standing outside of the pub rather than inside, well into a pint, as Draco had fully expected him to be.
Ron's smile as Draco approached was warm and shone with relief. "Great to see you," he said brusquely, drawing Draco into a tight hug before standing back, evidently not wishing to attract attention.
"You too. I'd never have thought that Kelpies would require instant Auror interference, but I'm glad that you and Potter got things straightened out, wherever you went." He gave Ron a perfunctory once-over and deemed him uninjured. "Shall we?"
"Yes, please."
The yearning in Ron's voice unwound Draco's reserve further, like a fern frond unfurling axiomatically toward sunlight. "Let's go back to the Apparition point on Hyacinth's Row, and I'll side-along you to my flat."
"You lead, I'll follow."
They walked down the road, Ron at his side, filling him in on the malevolent horse-creatures who'd been troubling some of the nearly-isolated lochs. Once they'd discreetly manoeuvred between the hedgerows and Draco's hands were clasped to Ron's arse, he Apparated them directly into his kitchen. Ron grimaced once they'd arrived, until the unpleasant, flattening feeling of Apparition passed.
"I always feel like my insides have been smashed by an anvil when I side-along," Ron grumbled, taking a deep breath as he glanced about the room. "Doesn't matter, though. I'm here, I'm at your flat. Will you give me the tour?" he asked before Draco grabbed his shoulders and kissed him, plundering his mouth with his hungry tongue.
"Yes," Draco said when he pulled back, licking his lips with no small amount of self-satisfaction. "The tour will be brief. I live here, there are a few rooms. I've missed you, and-"
"I know you don't drink, not much, anyway, but I have something I want to ask, and I wish I could have a little something before I do. Not a lot," Ron insisted, frotting against Draco, his hands never having left Draco's back. "But I've never- well, never wanted this. Fuck. Cigarette?" he asked finally, his demeanour apologetic, which Draco couldn't stand.
"Ron. I hate rules. No, I take that back. Rules are important. Rule number one: don't apologise to me. If you want something, want it, and tell me. Ask me. Don't dance around things, for Merlin's sake. It doesn't suit you."
As the unplanned words tumbled from Draco's tongue, he realised how true they were. Somehow in the years of their antagonism, he'd learned a lot about how Ron worked. Draco found Ron's sometimes explosive, but impassioned personality appealing now, and he couldn't stand the thought of Ron self-censoring himself around him.
"No. You're right," Ron said, steeling himself against whatever seemed so challenging to say. He clung to the wings of Draco's shoulder blades, edging his hips forward, staring at him as though Draco were in the Wizengamot and about to sentence him. "I want you to fuck me. I've not done that, but I couldn't get the thought out of my head. Would that be okay?"
Draco blinked, his mind jumping to the glorious image of Ron spread out beneath him, his own cock sliding in and out of the grasping heat below his thatch of copper curls.
"Of course. My cock loves arse as much as yours. Well, maybe not quite as much as yours," he said demurely, leaning in to claim Ron's mouth in a smouldering kiss before resting their foreheads together. "I'd be honoured," he said, his voice low. "There's schnapps in the pantry. You pour for both of us, and I'll make sure everything I want is in the bedroom."
Ron's relief at the presence of the spirits was palpable and Draco kissed him again for it. "Nice to know I'm at least as important as your liquor," he joked.
"I don't have to have it," Ron said, indignant and evidently hurt. "Just wanted to relax a bit, that's all."
Draco hadn't meant to put Ron on the offensive. "I know you don't," he replied, shaking his head. "I'm sorry if I implied that. I'm just so glad you're here. It's been awful with you gone. And I can't believe I just said that out loud," Draco marvelled, a smile stealing onto his face as Ron poured them each a respectable serving of the cinnamon liqueur and followed Draco to his bedroom.
"You're not as cold and unfeeling as you've made yourself out to be," Ron said before tossing back his drink and eyeing Draco.
Draco took a sip of his, relishing the cinnamonhot slide down his throat as he put the glass on the bedside table. He couldn't believe that Ron really wanted him to have sex with him like this now, in Draco's flat, just shy of a fortnight after they'd run across each other in Regent's Park. And yet, nothing made more sense. The axis of Draco's world had been rather violently shunted and realigned, the moorings now even more solid than they had been in the past. They undressed and kissed, hands everywhere, grasping and smoothing as Draco rutted against Ron, wishing there was a way he could slide into Ron's skin until Ron gasped, "Getting close. Need you in me, now."
Draco at last pressed his slicked, stiff cock into Ron's branding heat, and Ron's face contorted at the intrusion. Draco stopped, trembling at the effort.
"It burns. 'S'okay. Keep going, fuck, yes, fuck, all the way in," Ron said through gritted teeth and Draco yielded gladly. He eased his hips back and forth, waiting for Ron to relax until Ron nodded and Draco sped up his thrusts. Their movement became as inevitable and organic a motion as a rushing tide. Draco came first with a litany of moans, the heat uncoiling from the base of his spine and bursting out of him like the suddenness of a vibrant, summer dawn. Once he'd caught his breath and breathed his thanks into Ron's mouth, he gently uncoupled them, and gave Ron a drawn-out blowjob until Ron's released flooded into Draco's throat and he smiled at Ron's shouts.
Later, after Draco had rubbed some salve on Ron's tender hole, they stood on Draco's porch. They smoked, wrapped up in a cashmere blanket nicked from a chest stashed away in a closet. Ron snuggled up next to him, a sensation that Draco knew he could well get used to.
"I still need the tour, but maybe we could eat something first?" Ron suggested, his left hand rubbing feathered arcs on Draco's hip.
"Yes. Food's an excellent idea," Draco agreed, pulling the blanket more tightly around them, glancing up at the panoply of stars glistening above them. "But really, you've seen all of my place, except the study. What're you hungry for?"
Ron looked sheepish, tightening his grip on Draco's upper thigh. He leaned in, nuzzling against the side of Draco's mouth. "There's this really delicious dish called pizza. Ever heard of it?"
"No. Never," Draco drawled, tilting his head back toward the dining room. "But I'll try anything once."
They shuffled in as one unit back into his flat. Ron poured himself another drink and Draco waited, thinking they'd go back to his bedroom, get dressed and go out. Ron's face bore a contemplative expression, and Draco suspected it didn't have to do with potential pizza toppings.
"Have you had sex like that with a lot of guys?" Ron asked, ambling down the short corridor to Draco's room.
"Topped? No, not that many. I don't have anything against it, though," Draco said, stepping behind Ron and running his hands along the furred trail from his chest to his groin. "You felt amazing. I'll bugger you anytime you ask me." He sucked on Ron's shoulder blade enough to leave a faint red bruise.
"Think I may opt not to hop on my Firebolt tonight," Ron said with a short huffed laugh.
"Are you sore?" Draco asked with concern as they put on their clothes.
"No, not really. Just rather more aware of that part of me, if that makes sense."
Draco nodded, angling his head toward the front of the flat. "Yes, it does. I'm going to use the loo and you're welcome to investigate the study if you'd like, then we'll go to whatever pizza place you recommend. I'll buy."
"That's right, Mister I Earn Muggle Money." Ron laughed outright at that. "I still don't get how you went from being a pointy-faced, supremely obnoxious Slytherin to posing nude in art classes at a Muggle London Art school, and somebody I want to spend all of my time with. I must be mad," he said, the last words pouring over Draco like warm honey.
"Then we both are," Draco purred into Ron's ear, delighting in the low groan that rolled up from Ron's chest. "And don't touch my computer. I spent a lot of money on it and I don't want you breaking it."
He went down the hallway, smiling to himself as he closed the door to the bathroom, listening to Ron's muttered questions and commentary about his dad having a field day were he there.
* * * * *
On to part five and the conclusion
Monday arrived, chill and slick with sheets of rain. At the appointed time in the afternoon, Draco went back to Slade School. He was taken to the appropriate administrator by the Pansy-like woman with the look-at-my-chest tattoos. He filled out the required paperwork and was told when and where the classes were held and how glad they were to have a male model. Draco took it all in stride, saying little. The figure drawing class was led by a junior professor, who showed him a corner space with a tri-fold screen. Behind it was his changing area, where he could come out in a dressing gown, if he wished.
"I didn't bring one," Draco pointed out.
"That's shoddy preparation, my apologies," the man said, waving dramatically as Draco headed for the corner.
"It's fine."
He did realise the infinitesimal potential for disaster in that he'd need to hide his wand. He tucked it into his jeans pants leg once they were folded up and rationalised that the likelihood of him needing it was nearly none.
Out in the centre of the room, he stood and sat for a series of fifteen-minute poses over the next hour and a half. It was a pleasant enough time; his mind wandered, though he had to be careful about it straying to his weekend's activities as that could have created something other than a still life in his posing. Once the class was over and he'd dressed, the professor thanked him, gushing again in gratitude to a male physique for his students to draw. He also complimented Draco's creative stances and his ability to stay still. Draco merely thought of his experiences being bound and smiled, accepting the accolade. Several of the girls and a couple of the boys - youths, not much younger than he was - asked him a few questions. No, he wasn't a student. Yes, he lived in London. No, he wasn't available, yes, he was seeing someone, no, he wasn't giving out his mobile number.
He was still smiling to himself at his new notoriety when he decided to pay Gabriel a visit and have dinner at the Manor. Despite all that had been stripped from them, his parents still believed in having a routine, and in keeping as much normalcy as possible. Dinner was always at seven o'clock. Ducking into a public toilet he'd found during his initial walkabout, Draco Apparated to the grounds just outside the front door. He let himself in, as the locks opened to his voice. Doubtless they'd open to anybody the Ministry sent calling as well, but the Malfoys were allowed at least the appearance of sanctity in their own home.
"Hello, mother," he called out, figuring she was in the sitting room.
"Draco! What a splendid surprise."
He pulled her to him, grateful to see that she appeared to be nearly back to full health, her skin luminous in the candlelight and her beauty flawless. She'd proven to be braver than he'd ever believed possible, and being around her now humbled him.
"I'm going to the owlery to spend a little time with Gabriel, then join you and Father for dinner, if that's all right."
"That would be lovely. I'll let Flissy know."
Dobby, of course, had been freed by Potter years before, and he'd heard he was dead now. Another distant relative had taken pity on them, however, and bequeathed them a different house-elf. Once the dinner plans were settled, Draco headed outside. He went out to the small owlery where his eagle owl sat, perched on a stand that resembled an upside-down tree. He was asleep, and Draco called to him softly before he awakened.
"Hi, beautiful," he said, petting the owl's soft plumage as Gabriel hooted sociably at him. He'd had Gabriel since his first year at Hogwarts, though he'd not taken him to Japan. Draco quite missed him, but even now that he was back, he knew that his flat was no place to keep such a magnificent creature as Gabriel.
"But you like it here, don't you," he said soothingly, pleased when the owl nipped playfully at his fingers. He soared off and circled once before landing on his shoulder. One of his father's few remaining white peacocks began to strut into the owlery, its neck dipping forward and back like a camel's. As a child, Draco had always wished they'd had proper peacocks with rainbow feathers, but the albinos were more rare, more costly- ergo, they had more worth. Draco still believed in that tenant applying to a good many things, though not to the extreme his father had taken it.
Suddenly Gabriel bristled, hooting irritably as a diminuative owl Draco immediately recognised came barreling into the owlery, diving and flying in loop-de-loops, chittering away.
"Pigwidgeon? What're you doing here?" Draco asked, though of course the reason was obvious. Weasley hadn't been able to wait for Draco to owl him first. It was a good thing he'd not told Ron where he lived, or he suspected he might have come home one afternoon to find Ron lounging around his front door. Not that that was a horrible thing, but honestly. Even the Grandest Passions had rules and decorum, of a sort.
Gabriel hooted in greeting to the little owl, who seemed not to know where to land. The peacock had walked hastily away when Pigwidgeon had first arrived, dropping a few white downy feathers in its wake. Draco pointed at the stand.
"There," he said and the owl swooped down. It grabbed hold of one of the twisted branches, nearly toppled over, righted itself, and then started to preen. Draco turned to look at Gabriel, still perched on his shoulder, who seemed unimpressed by their visitor. "It's a Weasley owl," he confided. "Doubt you've ever seen one of theirs before."
After a couple more endearments, Draco shook his shoulder and Gabriel flew up to one of the set-in cloisters, looking down on Ron's owl.
"You just couldn't wait," Draco said to Ron in his absence, taking off the note from Pigwidgeon's leg. He ambled over to get him an owl treat from a secured box when he heard his mother call him for dinner.
"Oh. Just-" he waved at both owls, their wide eyes fixed unblinkingly on him. "Talk. Or something. I'll be back after dinner."
Shaking his head at this newest absurdity, he pocketed the parchment and strode quickly to the Manor. Draco greeted his father, who appeared pleased to see him, but also preoccupied. As they sat down to a dinner of cornish hens, Draco watched his father drink most of his glass of wine and summon Flissy for the bottle before he started in on his food.
"Is something the matter?" Draco asked, sliding a piece of colourful stuffed pasta in its sauce, trying to figure out what made it look purple. Once he tried one of the little pillowed morsels, he figured out it had beetroot mixed in the dough, and a rich cheese filled centre. Flissy had really outdone herself.
"Yes. I want to take your mother on holiday and the asinine Ministry is making it beyond impossible. The only way they will even consider letting us go to our summer home in Antibes is if we agree to wear bands." He fumed, pouring himself another full glass of wine and taking a healthy swallow. He made a low, displeased sound when Narcissa gently tutted in his direction.
"What kind of band? It sounds like they're putting the Trace back on you again, or something ludicrous like that," Draco said in disgust, his sympathies very much with his father. Lucius had wanted power, it was true, and believed that wizarding lines should stay pure- very nearly to the point of extinction. But he'd never been as psychopathically swayed by the Dark Lord like Draco's aunt Bellatrix. Lucius loved his wife, and he loved Draco.
"That is essentially their order," his mother agreed, delicately eating some glazed carrots. "Not that there are any alternatives. But I feel it would be worth it to get away, just for a little while. I am grateful to be allowed to stay in our home, but it's been a long, long few years."
With natural elegance she drank from her water goblet. Draco sat, feeling no small weight of guilt lowering onto him. He possessed freedoms they didn't, and had taken advantage of that. Still, it wasn't as though his father would go running away while out of the country or would he?
"You wouldn't leave Britain forever, would you? If you could?" Draco asked, suddenly unsure of the answer.
His parents looked at each other, their wordless communication as effective as Legilimency, at least to Draco's eyes. Lucius cut a piece of meat and chewed it before looking back at him.
"This is our home. The idea of starting over elsewhere is quite unappealing, but your mother and I have discussed it. Our memories and history is here, both the wonderful and the grotesque. If I must be constantly under surveillance wherever I am for the rest of my days, I'd prefer it to be in the country I know best. I'm somewhat free, I suppose; I'm not dead, nor in Azkaban. A second time," he said menacingly, jabbing at the fuchscia ravioli.
"Well, it doesn't seem fair to have you Traced, but if it means that you and mother can spend some time away, I'd think it'd be worth it," Draco said, helping himself to his own goblet of water.
"The Healer says I'm recovered, and now that you're no longer halfway around the world, I would very much like a month or so at the Mediterranean," Narcissa stated in her subtle, but commanding voice. "I've never liked autumn, not since you began going off to school," she said, looking ruefully at Draco.
That comment came as a surprise; he'd corresponded with his mother and she'd always seemed to have plenty of social activities and gatherings, though he supposed she'd spent a lot of time by herself in the house. She wasn't really the hobby-pursuing type, either.
"Then you two should go. If the Ministry knows where you Apparate and what spells you're casting, well, who really cares? You weren't thinking of doing anything that would get you in serious trouble, were you?" Draco asked, eyebrows raised.
"The time for that has passed," Lucius said with a forceful breath, his eyes betraying more thought on the matter than he chose to say aloud. "What have you been doing this week?" he asked instead as he changed the subject.
Draco filed away the snippet of barely-disguised rebellion to ponder at another point. "I took a job," Draco said smartly, determined to keep the topic as far away from his new, quite particular social life as possible. Weasley's unread note crinkled in his pocket as he shifted, adjusting his serviette over his lap.
"Really?" His mother's gaze, bright and curious, latched onto him.
"Yes. I'm nude modeling for some drawing classes at a Muggle art institute. Rather spontaneous, how it all happened, but I've already posed for one class. It doesn't take a lot of skill, unless you're unable to sit still."
Narcissa's light eyes grew wide and she slowly lowered her fork to the table. Draco's father also sat in stunned silence until a darkly droll expression rose on his features.
"You mean to tell me that there may end up being framed portraits of you, naked, in Muggle households?" He seemed amused by the concept.
"I doubt it," Draco said, smirking a bit himself. "They're just learning how to draw the human form with an actual person in front of them. Nobody's painting actual portraits."
His mother had regained her composure, but her disapproval was evident in her lips, now set in a thin line.
Draco managed to get through the rest of the meal without any other invasive questions, and he begged off a post-dinner cup of tea to get back to his flat. He made up some excuse about having dropped something at the owlery so he could return without suspicion. Once there, he saw Gabriel and Pigwidgeon sittting next to each other on one of the stand branches, apparently fast friends.
"Oh, for Circe's sake," Draco half-scolded his owl. Gabriel merely looked at him with his wide amber eyes and let the small owl continue its high hooting and occasionally stroke its feathers with its small curved beak. Draco cast a Lumos in the dim room to read Ron's parchment at last.
- DEAR DRACO-
I DID BELIEVE YOU WHEN YOU SAID YOU'D OWL, I PROMISE, BUT I WONDERED IF YOU MIGHT WANT TO MEET ME FOR LUNCH TOMORROW. I'D LIKE TO HEAR HOW YOUR MODELING WENT. I CAN'T IMAGINE STANDING STARKERS LIKE THAT IN FRONT OF PEOPLE I DON'T KNOW - THE WAY YOU'VE BEEN ON MY MIND, THAT COULD LEAD TO SOMETHING EMBARRASSING IF I JUST STOOD AND THOUGHT. ANYWAY, PLEASE GIVE A REPLY TO PIG, AND I'LL HOPE TO SEE YOU TOMORROW. I'M ON THE 2ND FLOOR IN THE JUNIOR AUROR WING. I'VE AN OFFICE THAT'S REALLY MORE A CUPBOARD THAN ANYTHING ELSE, BUT IT'S NICE NOT TO HAVE TO SHARE. IF YOU CAN, COME AROUND 12:30.
FONDLY,
RON
"You're unbelievable," Draco uttered quietly into the room, breathing in the air pungent with decades of bird dander. Still, what was the harm in being so avidly pursued by the person who had made an undeniably permanent mark on him? He glanced again at Ron's miniature owl, continuing to cosy up to Gabriel, and shook his head. Cassandra would find this whole situation adorable; Blaise- he'd need to tread lightly, there. Gabriel trilled a low cry of contentment, which spurred Draco into action. Luckily he kept a Muggle biro in his overcoat and he found a clean enough surface to write on. Holding his wand over the parchment for light, he wrote a hasty response.
- Ron-
My apologies in taking so long to reply- I was just about to have dinner with my parents when your owl arrived. I'll meet you at your office at 12:30. There's a good Ethiopian restaurant not too terribly far from there, the Blue Nile. It's my suggestion for lunch.
Getting my kit off isn't all that exciting. Besides, you've seen it all before. A few of the students tried to chat me up afterwards, both sexes. That's more interesting conversation, though of course I turned them down.
Until tomorrow,
Draco
He wound the parchment into a tight roll and tied it to Pigwidgeon, who now seemed quite reluctant to leave.
"Go on!" Draco said reprovingly. "Take that back to Ron. He'll think you've been in an accident, most likely, since you've been loungnig about here with Gabriel for so long."
The little owl spun its head at a disconcerting angle as Draco smoothed the downy tufts on its head before commanding it again to get home to its owner. Draco made his goodbyes to Gabriel and Apparated home, relaxing with his usual cups of tea and cigarettes before spending some time at his computer. He lurked at an online community of amateur haiku writers, entranced by the simplicity and power that could be held in such a contained piece of poetry. In a slim red notebook he held a collection of his own attempts at haiku, but he had yet to share any of his with even the faceless people in this virtual community. Frankly, he was intimidated, as some of them were very talented.
At last he tired of staring at the unnatural beaming glow of the screen and he went to bed.
* * * * *
Draco was willing to feel an inappropriate amount of smug superiority in the fact that he continued to turn heads wherever he went. He strode confidently across the marble floors of the Ministry, raising his head slightly higher as he heard the unmistakable commanding steps he made, the sound unique to the soles of the expensive shoes he wore. He'd dressed to the nines and pulled his shoulder length hair back into a ponytail. Draco adored this particular suit; it was made by an exquisite French wizarding designer, whom the Japanese practically as a culture seemed to love. Draco had splurged on this when he'd seen the colour: black, with a lustre of a primordial evergreen, like the recessed depths in a woodland lake. The slim trousers showcased his long legs, and the fit of the jacket enhanced the vee shape of his torso. People couldn't keep their eyes off him, and he gloried in it. In a fit of true vanity, he'd even polished his signet ring, which gleamed in the light cast by the torches lining the corridors. He was a Malfoy and proud of it; he shone, burnished with an inner glow, the legacy of his ancestry of powerful wizards.
As he stepped into the lift, barely acknowledging the presence of the other people with him, the succulent irony that he was meeting Ron Weasley for lunch seeped into his mouth and he licked his lips. The lift seemed ancient and faulty, but he managed to disembark on the second floor, snapping his head to the right and left to figure out in which direction to go. He was passed by a pair of Aurors, looking eager and cocky. They could have been his age- maybe they'd even gone to Hogwarts. A distinguished older witch in aubergine robes blew past him from behind as he resumed his search for Weasley's office, though he smirked to himself when he saw her pause in a doorway down the corridor to give him a surreptitious second look.
Finally he was in front of what could aptly have been called a broom cupboard, or perhaps a place to house cleaning supplies. "Ronald B. Weasley, Junior Auror, Second Class" illustriously proclaimed his title from a placard placed on the door, which was open. Draco placed a hand against the doorjamb, revelling in Ron's expansive gaze of awe and raw lust. Drips like hot oil slid to Draco's groin as Ron slowly stood up from behind his small desk, his attentions locked on Draco like a hawk diving for its prey.
"Malfoy," he said, finally coming to himself and brushing some crumbs off of his slightly worn work robes on to the floor. As he glanced around the tiny offce and then back at Draco, now standing just inside the threshhold, an expression Draco knew well floundered onto Ron's face. Draco could tell the instant it happened, when Ron's sense of inferiority flooded through him. That hadn't been Draco's intent, not now, not when he'd already been making plans for a grand seduction this upcoming Friday, hopefully to culminate in him rogering Ron silly.
"Ron," Draco replied purposefully, stepping forward to clasp Ron's hand in his before letting go. "Thank you for your owl. So this is your office, is it?"
Ron barked a short, mortified laugh. "Yeah. Merlin, Draco," he said, lowering his voice and furtively glancing at the open doorway before back at Draco. "You look fucking amazing. You dressed like that for lunch? I'm just in my bloody work robes, and you're sex in a suit."
His words were complimentary, but the dejection and sense of worthlessness in his voice was equally stamped on his face. Somehow Draco knew this was a pivotal moment; the sails of destiny were snapping as his course stood poised to charter one way or another. At a different point in his life, he might have believed he'd been put on the earth to effectively shatter Ron's ego to its core, but that time was long gone.
"I dressed for you."
Disbelief hung in Ron's eyes before transforming to gratitude.
"Oh. Wow. That's Thanks." Ron blinked a few times, seemingly not trusting himself to speak for a few moments.
Draco nodded and turned to investigate the books of spells and laws on a nearby shelf, giving Ron a chance to collect himself. Here on the wall was the obligatory Chudley Cannons poster, as Draco had noticed there wasn't one in Weasley's flat.
"Well, I'm famished," Ron said, clearing his throat and trying to sound matter-of-fact.
Draco could still see the joyful incredulity in Ron's face and felt something infinitely taut deep within himself stretch past its breaking point and snap. His knees wanted to give way and he had an irrational wish to shut the door, lock it, and have Ron take him on top of his desk, certain that the tattoo on his back would fly all over his fucking body if they did. Instead, he took a deep breath, placed his hand on Ron's hip to give it a small squeeze, and tilted his head toward the doorway.
"Let's go get some lunch, then."
Ron's attempts to curb his beaming smile were laughable, but Draco didn't make any snide comments as Ron shed his robes and put on an overcoat instead. On their way out he placed a note on his door that indicated he'd be back in about an hour. They walked back toward the lifts, keeping a respectable distance, but Draco could tell Ron was using everything he had not to grab his hand and clench it tightly into his own. Draco made a bit of small talk about Gabriel and Pigwidgeon, trying to keep topics in fairly neutral territory as they were swept up into the hive of activity in the Ministry. Finally they were spat out into the world above ground, another sodden day with blustery wind.
"I hate this weather," Ron grumbled as Draco quickly engorged his umbrella and hefted it over them, shielding them from the rain, at least when it wasn't blowing sideways.
Draco led the way to the restaurant where they ate a delicious and unpretentious meal with their hands. Ron found it rather disconcerting at first, but once he got the hang of scooping things up with the injera and eating without utensils, he happily scarfed down the meal. Once they'd finished and were in the process of paying, Ron looked down at his watch and then over at Draco with apology in his eyes.
"I wish I could just nick off for the whole afternoon," he said, the words heartfelt.
"Well, Friday is a couple of days away. Perhaps you'd like to come over to my flat this evening after work?" Draco found himself suggesting, even though he'd not planned at all for that. It wouldn't take him long to tidy up, though, and he could throw together some pasta and salad without too much effort. Mostly he wanted Ron there, in his own space, in front of the fireplace. Naked.
"Really?" Ron slid his hand behind Draco's back as they made their way out into the chilly drizzle. "I mean, I'd love to see your place. No doubt it's swankier than mine."
He pulled Draco closer to him so they were hip to hip as they walked down the footpath. "Have I told you recently how amazing you look?"
"Yes, Ron," Draco said, feigning irritation. "You're quite a looker yourself. And my flat isn't at all posh, it's a small place. But I've just had a thought "
He let the words fade away as he'd spoken without thinking, a rarity for him these days, at least until Ron had suddenly shown up into his life again. It had occurred to him that Ron might wish to see the Manor now, not as a prisoner of war, but as Draco's- companion.
"Yes?"
"In the near future my parents are, in all likelihood, going to be spending a few weeks at our summer home in Antibes. I'm guessing you don't have very good memories of the Manor, given all that happened there, but it does have some amenities my flat doesn't. A huge bathtub like the Prefect's bath at Hogwarts, a sauna, grounds to practise golf on, or go flying but only if you'd find that at all appealing. It's been stripped of the Dark artifacts, though I'm certain there's still some nasty spellwork in the very stones of the place."
They were approaching the phone box to enter the Ministry from the Muggle street. Ron looked over at him, disengaging his arm.
"I'd- Yes. And I'm not taking my arm away because I'm embarrassed, it's that I don't want to be showy, and yes, I'd love to come over, to your flat," Ron rambled on as they stood in front of the red box. Ron cast a Disillusionment charm on them as an extra precaution, Draco assumed. "Will you come back to my office, just for a few minutes?" he pleaded, intertwining their fingers. "I've been dying to kiss you without being stared at, and I'll go fucking nuts if I have to wait until tonight."
Draco grazed his thumb along Ron's palm and wet his lips with his tongue. "Certainly. I'd rather not wait until tonight either."
Ron pushed in the fold of the door and they squeezed in together before the carriage descended into the bustle of the Ministry. "I think I wouldn't mind visiting the Manor. It'd be good for me to get some different memories of it. You haven't told your parents-" he asked, leaving the implied question hovering between them as they walked into the busy entranceway, yet again.
A very handsome, European-looking man came towards them, his gaze fixated on Draco. Draco had no idea who he was, though given the cut of his dress robes, he was aristocracy of some kind. He gave Draco a thorough going-over and then nodded, and then glanced at Ron and back again. He raised his hand so that Draco paused.
"Le Paon?" he asked.
"Bien sûr," Draco replied, arching an eyebrow. He could sense Ron glowering at his side, but he couldn't resist engaging in the brief reparte.
"Ah. Yes. Well, good day," he continued in a heavy French accent as Ron pulled Draco along to the lifts.
"I'm not at all interested, I'll have you know," Draco said under his breath, trying to be reassuring. He didn't mind the attention, and Ron had to get his inflammatory jealousy under control; Draco couldn't abide that. Beautiful things and people were meant to be admired and appreciated, but it didn't mean he was going to go seek out whomever the gentleman was, even with his glacier aquamarine eyes and sculpted nose.
"Good. He's the son of the French Wizarding Ambassador." Ron still looked very put out, and he took advantage of them having the lift to themselves, continuing the conversation. "What did you say, anyway?"
"Oh. He just recognised the designer of my suit, it's a French wizarding label. I told him he was right. It's you I want, Ron," he said, turning to look at him full in the face, all levity gone. "I may not date, but you're my lover. The only one. Understood?"
Ron nodded, and he seemed as though he wanted to say something, but he remained mute as they exited the lift and returned to his office. A small note fluttered against the door, the bit of parchment resembling nothing so much as a butterfly. Ron snatched at it and unlocked the door, seemingly preoccupied. He waved Draco through and tossed the paper onto his desk, closing the door behind him and stepping two paces to grab Draco in his arms.
"I've never wanted anyone like you," he said helplessly before Draco latched his mouth onto Ron's, his lips open in an instant so he could spear into the heat of Ron's mouth with his tongue. The kiss was molten, tangy with possession and the noises in Ron's chest that Draco inherently knew to mean 'mine, mine, mine.'
The door flew open. Draco and Ron jerked away from each other, hands still grasping at each other's neck and back, breathing heavily.
"Ron! Why oh!" Potter said, startled, his hand glued to the door handle as he stared at them.
"Knocking! Common courtesy! Heard of it?" Ron yelled, his face beginning to turn crimson. He eased away from Draco, but turned so he could slide his arm down to anchor at the small of Draco's back.
"Never needed to, before," Potter said, still agog, but a mischievious smile was lighting on his lips. "Malfoy. Nice to see you. Um, Ron, didn't you see my note, mate? We've got to go. Now."
"Now? What?" Ron said confusedly as Draco stepped away and watched Ron grab up the folded piece of parchment.
"We're heading up to the Isle of Lewis again. Kelpies. I'm sorry to have to interrupt, but you've got to pack and meet me at our portkey in about-" he glanced at his watch, "fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen minutes?!" Ron squawked. "Why didn't you owl me or something?"
"I thought you would've been back sooner. I didn't know you had company," Potter leered.
"I'll just be going," Draco said, disappointment churning unpleasantly in his stomach. "Owl me when you get back, if you don't mind."
"No. Yes. I mean, of course," Ron said fervidly before scowling at Potter. "I'll be at the portkey. Where is it?"
"Room twenty-four at the Hog's Head. Well, see you around, Malfoy," Potter said with a grin before he sprinted out of the room.
"I-" Ron started.
"You need to go. Just owl me when you get back," Draco said smoothly, straightening his coat.
"It could be a couple of days."
Ron was obviously as disappointed as Draco, though he'd become a necessary whirlwind of activity. He threw a few things into a dark reddish-brown satchel, shoved some papers and two well-gnawed quills into a folder which also were stuffed into the case, and a braided twine armband that he grabbed from a crowded shelf.
"Just come back safely." Draco closed the door again and walked over to give Ron a brief but firm kiss. "Consider yourself mine this weekend. Don't even wank between now and when I see you again."
Ron moaned, but nodded, a look of panic rising to his features. "Fuck! I've really got to run. I'll send Pig as soon as I'm back."
"I'll be glad to see him." He walked to the door and let himself out, turning to say, "Be careful."
"I will."
Ron regarded him solemnly before he started muttering to himself about seals and badges and bloody Scotland as Draco left the Auror wing.
He decided to take the Floo network to the Leaky Cauldron and then Diagon Alley. He didn't really need anything, but he wasn't ready to go home, either. As he threw in the green powder and announced his destination, he realised how rattled he was by his own proclamations, and the fact that Ron had been pulled away at just a moment's notice. Then there was the lovely Frenchman, though he was nothing but unexpected eye candy. And now he really was going to have to wait at least a day, and probably more, before he'd get to have a shag, much less whole hours of sexual exploration with Weasley's magnificent physique. He was not pleased.
Once out on the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, Draco lit a cigarette, wondering why he'd decided to come here. He wandered slowly along the road, which wasn't all that busy, perhaps due to the inclement weather. He'd shrunk his umbrella down to an appropriate size for one person and glanced in the windows of the various shops he'd known well as a child. There were a few new ones, but mostly it appeared to house the same shops with relatively unchanging items in the windows. He did pause in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, admiring the sleek lines of the new Cloudracer. His own broom had plenty of grace and speed, though he'd not flown on it in ages. Maybe that was something he could do to let out some of his frustrated energy.
As he walked on, he finished his fag and dropped it to the ground. After grinding it out, he took notice of where he was; it should have been hard to miss with its garish signage and merriment within, despite the dismal weather outside. Draco shook out his umbrella, and pushed the door open into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It was a riot of colours and textures, bins overflowing from nearly every surface, tiny brooms flying around, and a rather risqué song by Anson Astrolabe belting out through the shop. It stopped seconds after he entered as a voice carried across the room, welcoming him to the mayhem as only a Quidditch announcer could.
The wide smile on Lee Jordan's face slid off as he saw Draco stride into the centre of the room. "Malfoy?" he stated, though it came out as a question. "Draco Malfoy?"
"No, I'm sure it's Ron. He's been working on his glamour spells," George said confidently, strolling past Jordan and pinching his arse.
Draco couldn't help but stare, gobsmacked, at the healed but gaping wound where his left ear should have been, all while trying to reconcile George's actions. He was queer, too? And with the announcer from their school matches? From dusty depths in his memory, Draco remembered Jordan had also been in Gryffindor, so perhaps they'd known each other for some time.
"Nicely done, Ronniekins!" George said approvingly, walking all around Draco and even trailing his fingers through Draco's hair and down his bicep. "Excellent attention to detail. But why pick somebody as sickening as Malfoy?" he asked, coming to a stop in front of him.
"I'm not Ron," Draco seethed, his voice as cold and piercing as ice shards. It was unfathomable how he'd spent so few seconds in this Weasley's presence and already he loathed him anew. Apparently the lingering animosity and disgust also still ran unabated in George.
"I really am Draco Malfoy," he went on, his voice menacing. "Is my money too sickening for you to accept?"
George's hazel eyes narrowed as Jordan began to look both confused and nervous. "Yeah, sure. Ron, give it up. You're giving me the creeps."
"Glamours can only change appearance, and they only produce facsimiles of items," Draco said curtly, quoting from the standard advanced spell book they all knew. He shoved his hand in front of George's face, determined to expose how wrong the twin was and then leave. If Ron really thought his family would be accepting of the two of them as anything at all, he was obviously delusional. "Try to cast a Revelatio on this," he hissed, jabbing his half-closed fist at George's chest, the Malfoy signet ring shining in the glaring lights of the shop.
"Um, George? I think it's really him," Jordan said awkwardly, his gaze never leaving Draco. "Weren't you gone? For a couple of years? And why would you buy anything here?"
"I doubt I'll get anything now," Draco snarled, waiting as George got his wand and with a smirk, cast the spell. Nothing happened to the ring, of course. George looked up at him, anger clouding his features, the cheekbones and structure echoing Ron's face but somehow very dissimilar.
"What're you playing at?" he said, his voice sparking with irritation and rage. Draco was bemused to see Jordan stand next to him and try to calm George down, but Weasley would have none of it. "Who sent you, and why? I should throw you out on your worthless, Death Eater arse."
"I'm quite capable of leaving on my own," Draco said coldly, having drawn his wand, seeing as how George was also armed. "I actually visited because Weasley - Ron - said he came here once a week."
"Since when have you seen Ron? He hates you more than anyone else in existence!"
"I saw him in the park."
They were now mere inches apart, Jordan continuing to hang behind George, but he hadn't yet seen the need to pull him away. George's face was a mottled, ruddy shade, and Draco couldn't help feeling his gaze slide toward the space where his ear should have been. Draco felt a righteous, perverse need to make Ron's brother as furious as possible without being explicit. "We've been getting reacquainted."
"You'd better keep your hands off him!" George roared, his chest beginning to heave and his clenched fist creeping up his strenum.
"Too late for that, but I'm quite sure he didn't mind!" Draco yelled back, wrenching away. He stormed to the door. "You don't fucking know the half of it," he growled, jerking the door open and almost falling over his own feet to walk furiously away.
He'd wished the door had benged shut behind him, but doubtless it was charmed against such dramatics. The cold drops of rain stung his forehead and cheeks, but he ignored them for a bit, pacing forward with his jaw clenched and eyebrows knitted to the point that his whole face hurt. The anger began to seep from him, however, and eventually he put his umbrella back over his head, protecting his designer suit if nothing else. With a last bitter shake of his head, he Apparated home.
He spent the rest of his afternoon and evening indulging himself in an effort to regain the very pleasant feelings he'd had prior to the catastrophic run-in at Wheezes. He took a long, hot shower, drank loads of savoury tea, and even watched some decently-filmed Muggle porn he could find so easily on his computer. A couple of glasses of sake made the crashing strife with George seem slightly more comical, though he cast a sobering charm before crawling into his soft bed. He spared more than a thought for Ron, and kelpies, and wondering what all in Hades Potter was grilling him about, since surely he was. Draco put a hand on his torpid cock, stroking it half-heartedly, but then he decided he'd force himself to wait for Ron's return as well.
* * * * *
"The model's moving," Draco announced before he eased out of his standing pose to sit on a pillow and rub the soles of his feet. The instructor had asked if he'd do just one pose through the couple of hours, taking breaks when needed. Draco had chosen something he thought would be interesting from an aesthetics view, but now towards the end his knees and feet were beginning to ache. There was a small commotion as one of the girls gestured at the window and Draco glanced up, his eyes growing wide when he saw Pigwidgeon fluttering outside, thwarted by the glass.
"Can we open the window? He's mine," Draco said hastily, trying to figure out how to explain this phenomenon without the student asking too many questions. "And he's trained. Carries messages," he went on as casually as possible once the little brown owl had come in and hooted excitedly at him. It was comical, how he seemed to bounce while he flew, before landing on a nearby easel one of the students was using.
"How did you do that?" the professor asked in astonishment as Draco took off the slip of parchment tied on Pigwidgeon's leg. "Its like the old carrier pigeons! I didn't think you could train owls to do anything. Hawks, yes, but not owls."
"He's a bit off," Draco said matter-of-factly. "Excuse me for a moment while I read this and send him on his way. I'm sorry for the disruption."
"No, no. Take your time," the instructor said, his voice and manner filled with restrained curiosity.
Draco strolled back to his pile of clothes behind the folded modesty screen and cradled the paper, his heart racing. It had been two days since Ron had been called away, but with his imagination, it had felt like years.
- DEAR DRACO - I'M BACK. KELPIES WEREN'T BAD, BUT THEY DID HAVE TO BE REINED IN. A COUPLE OF THEM WERE QUITE FEISTY; I'LL TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT SOON. MISSED YOU. WANT YOU. NOW. WHERE ARE YOU? PLEASE WRITE AS SOON AS YOU GET THIS.
YOURS,
RON
"Mine?" Draco marveled. Squatting down, he rummaged through his coat pocket and ferreted out his biro.
- Dear Ron,
So glad to hear from you. I'm still in class. If you can, meet me at the Cloak and Dagger at six o'clock. We'll go to my flat from there, if that suits. Can't wait to get my hands on you. It's been a long two days.
He paused, chewing on the end of his pen. He'd always hated closing bits to letters, if he were writing anyone other than his parents. 'Crazy about you'? 'Yours fondly'? He was still rolling exuberantly in Ron's "yours," much like a child in a pile of freshly raked leaves.
- Until I see you, very soon.
Deeply marked,
Draco
He frowned at it, wondering where the poetic 'deeply marked' had come from and even what he thought he meant by it. There was nothing for it now, though; he wasn't going to use magic to remove the ink and start over.
With a minimum of fuss, he attached his reply and told Pigwidgeon to return to Ron at once, speaking quietly to the owl. It chittered happily and flew away as Draco got back to the business of standing still. He had to be especially careful of his mind wandering now, so he forced himself to go through the few recipes he had memorised and started in on potions ingredients lists until finally it was 5:40, and the class was over.
Striding purposefully out of the Art school and to an out-of-the-way loo he'd found in another campus building, he Apparated to a point a couple of blocks from the pub he'd suggested. It was mad how giddy he felt that Ron was back, but he knew it must be due to the profound shift that had occurred two days ago. It was as though his reality had been cleaved; all of the fear and raw unknowing had been cut from him as he accepted the undeniable homecoming of Ron's palm pressed to his. A widening sliver of irrationality in him suggested that he tell Ron absolutely everything about himself, but the rest of him decided that might not be for the best. All things in time beat in his pulse, which quickened as he rounded the corner. Ron was standing outside of the pub rather than inside, well into a pint, as Draco had fully expected him to be.
Ron's smile as Draco approached was warm and shone with relief. "Great to see you," he said brusquely, drawing Draco into a tight hug before standing back, evidently not wishing to attract attention.
"You too. I'd never have thought that Kelpies would require instant Auror interference, but I'm glad that you and Potter got things straightened out, wherever you went." He gave Ron a perfunctory once-over and deemed him uninjured. "Shall we?"
"Yes, please."
The yearning in Ron's voice unwound Draco's reserve further, like a fern frond unfurling axiomatically toward sunlight. "Let's go back to the Apparition point on Hyacinth's Row, and I'll side-along you to my flat."
"You lead, I'll follow."
They walked down the road, Ron at his side, filling him in on the malevolent horse-creatures who'd been troubling some of the nearly-isolated lochs. Once they'd discreetly manoeuvred between the hedgerows and Draco's hands were clasped to Ron's arse, he Apparated them directly into his kitchen. Ron grimaced once they'd arrived, until the unpleasant, flattening feeling of Apparition passed.
"I always feel like my insides have been smashed by an anvil when I side-along," Ron grumbled, taking a deep breath as he glanced about the room. "Doesn't matter, though. I'm here, I'm at your flat. Will you give me the tour?" he asked before Draco grabbed his shoulders and kissed him, plundering his mouth with his hungry tongue.
"Yes," Draco said when he pulled back, licking his lips with no small amount of self-satisfaction. "The tour will be brief. I live here, there are a few rooms. I've missed you, and-"
"I know you don't drink, not much, anyway, but I have something I want to ask, and I wish I could have a little something before I do. Not a lot," Ron insisted, frotting against Draco, his hands never having left Draco's back. "But I've never- well, never wanted this. Fuck. Cigarette?" he asked finally, his demeanour apologetic, which Draco couldn't stand.
"Ron. I hate rules. No, I take that back. Rules are important. Rule number one: don't apologise to me. If you want something, want it, and tell me. Ask me. Don't dance around things, for Merlin's sake. It doesn't suit you."
As the unplanned words tumbled from Draco's tongue, he realised how true they were. Somehow in the years of their antagonism, he'd learned a lot about how Ron worked. Draco found Ron's sometimes explosive, but impassioned personality appealing now, and he couldn't stand the thought of Ron self-censoring himself around him.
"No. You're right," Ron said, steeling himself against whatever seemed so challenging to say. He clung to the wings of Draco's shoulder blades, edging his hips forward, staring at him as though Draco were in the Wizengamot and about to sentence him. "I want you to fuck me. I've not done that, but I couldn't get the thought out of my head. Would that be okay?"
Draco blinked, his mind jumping to the glorious image of Ron spread out beneath him, his own cock sliding in and out of the grasping heat below his thatch of copper curls.
"Of course. My cock loves arse as much as yours. Well, maybe not quite as much as yours," he said demurely, leaning in to claim Ron's mouth in a smouldering kiss before resting their foreheads together. "I'd be honoured," he said, his voice low. "There's schnapps in the pantry. You pour for both of us, and I'll make sure everything I want is in the bedroom."
Ron's relief at the presence of the spirits was palpable and Draco kissed him again for it. "Nice to know I'm at least as important as your liquor," he joked.
"I don't have to have it," Ron said, indignant and evidently hurt. "Just wanted to relax a bit, that's all."
Draco hadn't meant to put Ron on the offensive. "I know you don't," he replied, shaking his head. "I'm sorry if I implied that. I'm just so glad you're here. It's been awful with you gone. And I can't believe I just said that out loud," Draco marvelled, a smile stealing onto his face as Ron poured them each a respectable serving of the cinnamon liqueur and followed Draco to his bedroom.
"You're not as cold and unfeeling as you've made yourself out to be," Ron said before tossing back his drink and eyeing Draco.
Draco took a sip of his, relishing the cinnamonhot slide down his throat as he put the glass on the bedside table. He couldn't believe that Ron really wanted him to have sex with him like this now, in Draco's flat, just shy of a fortnight after they'd run across each other in Regent's Park. And yet, nothing made more sense. The axis of Draco's world had been rather violently shunted and realigned, the moorings now even more solid than they had been in the past. They undressed and kissed, hands everywhere, grasping and smoothing as Draco rutted against Ron, wishing there was a way he could slide into Ron's skin until Ron gasped, "Getting close. Need you in me, now."
Draco at last pressed his slicked, stiff cock into Ron's branding heat, and Ron's face contorted at the intrusion. Draco stopped, trembling at the effort.
"It burns. 'S'okay. Keep going, fuck, yes, fuck, all the way in," Ron said through gritted teeth and Draco yielded gladly. He eased his hips back and forth, waiting for Ron to relax until Ron nodded and Draco sped up his thrusts. Their movement became as inevitable and organic a motion as a rushing tide. Draco came first with a litany of moans, the heat uncoiling from the base of his spine and bursting out of him like the suddenness of a vibrant, summer dawn. Once he'd caught his breath and breathed his thanks into Ron's mouth, he gently uncoupled them, and gave Ron a drawn-out blowjob until Ron's released flooded into Draco's throat and he smiled at Ron's shouts.
Later, after Draco had rubbed some salve on Ron's tender hole, they stood on Draco's porch. They smoked, wrapped up in a cashmere blanket nicked from a chest stashed away in a closet. Ron snuggled up next to him, a sensation that Draco knew he could well get used to.
"I still need the tour, but maybe we could eat something first?" Ron suggested, his left hand rubbing feathered arcs on Draco's hip.
"Yes. Food's an excellent idea," Draco agreed, pulling the blanket more tightly around them, glancing up at the panoply of stars glistening above them. "But really, you've seen all of my place, except the study. What're you hungry for?"
Ron looked sheepish, tightening his grip on Draco's upper thigh. He leaned in, nuzzling against the side of Draco's mouth. "There's this really delicious dish called pizza. Ever heard of it?"
"No. Never," Draco drawled, tilting his head back toward the dining room. "But I'll try anything once."
They shuffled in as one unit back into his flat. Ron poured himself another drink and Draco waited, thinking they'd go back to his bedroom, get dressed and go out. Ron's face bore a contemplative expression, and Draco suspected it didn't have to do with potential pizza toppings.
"Have you had sex like that with a lot of guys?" Ron asked, ambling down the short corridor to Draco's room.
"Topped? No, not that many. I don't have anything against it, though," Draco said, stepping behind Ron and running his hands along the furred trail from his chest to his groin. "You felt amazing. I'll bugger you anytime you ask me." He sucked on Ron's shoulder blade enough to leave a faint red bruise.
"Think I may opt not to hop on my Firebolt tonight," Ron said with a short huffed laugh.
"Are you sore?" Draco asked with concern as they put on their clothes.
"No, not really. Just rather more aware of that part of me, if that makes sense."
Draco nodded, angling his head toward the front of the flat. "Yes, it does. I'm going to use the loo and you're welcome to investigate the study if you'd like, then we'll go to whatever pizza place you recommend. I'll buy."
"That's right, Mister I Earn Muggle Money." Ron laughed outright at that. "I still don't get how you went from being a pointy-faced, supremely obnoxious Slytherin to posing nude in art classes at a Muggle London Art school, and somebody I want to spend all of my time with. I must be mad," he said, the last words pouring over Draco like warm honey.
"Then we both are," Draco purred into Ron's ear, delighting in the low groan that rolled up from Ron's chest. "And don't touch my computer. I spent a lot of money on it and I don't want you breaking it."
He went down the hallway, smiling to himself as he closed the door to the bathroom, listening to Ron's muttered questions and commentary about his dad having a field day were he there.
* * * * *
On to part five and the conclusion