Leigh!fic | What Happens When You Seek Relationship Advice From a Malfoy (1/1) | Ron/Pansy
Title: What Happens When You Seek Relationship Advice From a Malfoy (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Pairing: Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6,020
Warnings: None
Summary: Fighting defines Ron and Pansy’s relationship.
Author's notes: Written as a gift for cryptaknight for the 2014 round of smutty_claus. My thanks to carrie_leigh for her beta skills and feedback -- you’re the best, darling!
"Pansy Parkinson is irrational bint."
Ron tossed himself down on the leather sofa and huffed. "I don't know why I even bother with her, really. Nothing I do makes her happy. She complains about my job, she complains about my robes, she complains about the Cannons -- and I have no idea why she complains about the Cannons. She hates Quidditch. She hates my mum, my mum's cooking, my mum's Christmas jumpers, everything."
He groaned and crossed his arms over his chest. "And really, it isn't that unreasonable for me not to want to move into Parkinson Manor. I am the man in this relationship. I should be able to provide my woman with a house and not have to live in the mausoleum she inherited from her parents."
His gaze flickered to the ceiling, and Ron heaved a sigh of a man worn down with the weight of the world. At least in his own mind, he was. "I love her, don't get me wrong, but I don't like her, you know? Women. Who understands the way they think? No one does, that's who. Not even other women understand other women."
He glanced to the side and raised his brows. "You know what I mean?"
There was silence while Draco stared at him for a long while with a perplexed look on his face. Finally, he replied, "What are you doing here?"
Ron blinked and turned his head from side to side, looking around. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, Weasley, what are you doing in my study?" Draco drawled with an arched brow, his lips pursed to the side in displeasure.
"I'm... talking to you about my girlfriend?"
"From your ramblings, I deduced that. But why are you talking about her to me, in my house? I thought I had the wards changed last week."
The red haired man shrugged and straightened from his slouch. "You married my sister, Malfoy."
"I married Ginny. I do not recall marrying you."
There was a decanter of some dark, likely expensive liquor on the sideboard. Eyeing it, Ron stood and poured himself a glass, ignoring Malfoy's muttered, "Oh please, do help yourself to my whiskey." "Isn't the saying something like, you don't marry a person, you marry their family?"
"If that's the case, I demand an annulment."
Ron ignored him and poured a tumbler full of whiskey before settling back down on the leather sofa. "Get over it, Malfoy. I'm here, you're here, and Ginny's forbade you from kicking me to the kerb."
"Oh?" Ron's former arch-nemesis and newly minted brother-in-law gave him a skeptical look. "I missed that memo."
He smirked. "Look down at your desk."
Draco glanced down, taking notice for the first time of the crisp piece of white parchment with his wife's narrow, loopy handwriting. He mouthed the words, a scowl growing when he read that yes, his wife had indeed forbade him from banishing Ron from the manor. The pointy blonde glanced up and glared at him. "She said nothing about a Silencing Charm..."
With a wave of his hand, Ron took a sip of his whiskey. "Oh, piss off, Malfoy. Did I ever tell you about the first fight Pansy and I had? The first real fight, I mean."
"I don't need to know the details."
"It was about a year ago. We'd just gone back to her place after Neville's surprise party..."
Draco groaned and leaned forward, gently banging his head against the desk.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Storming into the house, Pansy slammed the door behind her. Only Ron's foot, hastily stuck into the door frame, kept it from banging into his nose. Cursing at the pain radiating out from his foot, he followed along behind her. "Bloody hell, woman, what is your problem?"
Pansy whirled around to face him. "What is my problem? You're the one with a problem!"
"I don't know what you're on about! I do not have a problem. You've been acting moody all night!" He paused for a moment and eyed his girlfriend critically. "Is it that time? That weird woman time?"
She threw her hands up in the air. "UGH! That is so typical of you. If something's wrong with me, it must be because it's my time of the month." Her heels were loud against the marble floor as she stomped across the foyer toward him. "For your information, Ronald," she emphasized his name with a poke in the middle of his chest, and he had to restrain the urge to rub it, "I'm not on my period tonight. You are just an inconsiderate jerk!"
The spot where she'd poked stung. Masculinity be damned, Ron reached up to rub it, giving her a wounded look. "How am I a jerk, Pans? I didn't do anything to you." Merlin, she was making shite up as she felt like it!
"That's exactly the point." She glared at him, her gaze holding his defiantly. "You. Did. Nothing."
His mind was racing at her pointed words. Was there something he was supposed to have done before the party? Their anniversary had been two months ago. Her birthday wasn't until December, and it was July. He hadn't made any promises to fix things up around her house -- mostly because every time she did, she crinkled her nose and told him an elf would take care of it. There was literally nothing he could think of; no broken promises, no looming dates on the calendar.
"You're going to have to fill in the blanks for me," he said slowly, "because really, I have no idea what you're talking about."
Her bright blue eyes flashed, and he could see her nostrils flare with a sharp breath. "Fine," she grated out. "Tonight. Your friends. Not my friends, might I remind you, but yours. Do they think I'm deaf or dim witted? My ears work perfectly well, thank you very much. The only reason I bothered showing up at that party was for you. Because you asked me to."
Ron knew that. "I know, Pansy. I told you I appreciated it. Did I not say it enough? Thank you for coming with me tonight. It meant a lot to me."
"Well, that was the last time I'm doing it."
He blinked in surprise. "What?"
"You heard me." She turned on her heel and made her way down the corridor. Ron sighed and followed along in her wake, following her into the kitchen. His girlfriend grabbed a bottle of merlot and a glass. Pouring herself a healthy glassful, she took a sip of it. Turning to face him, she leaned against the kitchen counter, her blue gaze accusing. "I'm not going to any more parties for your friends."
"I don't -- what do you --" Ron shook his head. "Why?"
Pansy smiled bitterly. "I'm not their circus freak, Ronald," she replied with a wry twist of her lips. "You don't hear them. I don't know if it's because you truly don't understand, or because you don't want to hear them. But they don't make much effort to hide it from me." She took a long drink from her glass, the wine bringing a healthy flush to her cheeks. "Traitor. Pure-blooded bigot. Wannabe Death Eater." She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "All because of something that happened when we were seventeen. Ten bloody years ago."
Ah. "Pansy..."
She held up her free hand. "Don't. Don't say it. He's your best friend, I know."
"And you tried to give him over to You Know Who!" The words came out sharper than he intended, and Ron immediately wished he could take them back.
"Not all of us have the self-preservation instincts of a sheep!"
"He would have been killed, Pans!" Ron's fingertips grasped the countertop, his knuckles turning white with the strength of his grip. He'd lost Fred that night -- the thought of losing Harry, no matter how distant a memory it was, brought out the worst in him. "My best friend. Is that what you wanted? Harry, dead? Me, dead?" His eyes were dark with his heated temper. "Shows how little you think of me."
In a flash, Pansy's hand shot out, and Ron's face was drenched with dark red wine. He sputtered and staggered back, wiping at his burning eyes with his hands. "Bloody hell!"
She hurled the wine glass at his head, and only a lucky duck had it missing his head. It shattered on the wall behind him, raining glass everywhere. Silence hung in the air between them for a long moment. When she spoke, though, her words were icy.
"Ten years, Ronald," she said softly, her words clipped. "Ten. Years."
He watched through one watery eye as she moved past him, tiptoeing through wine and glass. "Pansy --"
His girlfriend stilled, and for a moment, he thought it might be over. That she'd let out her temper, and they could move on. What a fool he was.
"Don't even think of trying to sleep in my bed tonight." And then she was gone.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"You deserved more than wine in your face for that, you know."
"I'm well aware of that, Malfoy," Ron sniped, glaring at his -- and he shuddered to even think the title -- brother-in-law. Why couldn't his sister have married Harry, like she'd always dreamed of doing?
"No, really." Draco arched a brow at him, his lips twisted in displeasure. "At the very least, Pansy should have eviscerated you for a comment like that. If you ask me --"
"And I didn't."
"-- you got off the hook easy." The blonde former ferret leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "I suppose she's getting soft, given her affections for you."
Ron flipped him two fingers. "Whatever. Wasn't like you were there or anything, making my poor sister go alone."
Draco scoffed. "I had the flu."
"You had poker night at Zabini's, Malfoy."
He shrugged. "Guilty, but I never pretended to be as selfless as my old friend, Pansy. Besides, Ginny didn't want me to go with her. Some rot about ruining the festive mood. No idea where she'd get that idea."
"From living with you?" Ron smirked and took a sip of his whiskey.
The blonde's lips curled. "Mmmm, cohabitation is a wonderful thing. I do enjoy seeing your sister naked every night."
Ron gagged. "Dear gods, stop. Keep my fragile illusions about my little sister's virtue intact, please." The idea of his baby sister engaging in... sex... with the bouncing blonde ferret himself -- or with anyone, really -- was enough to make him queasy. He was well aware she was married -- seemingly happily so -- but he did not care to think of her enjoying the more carnal things that came with marriage.
Never mind that he enjoyed them with his girlfriend. He was quite happy to be a hypocrite on that front.
Draco's smirk grew, and he rose to pour his own glass of whiskey. "I can't help your sweet, innocent baby sister is warm for my form," he commented idly, thoroughly enjoying himself as Ron's face turned from red to purple. "She's proven to have excellent tastes, her fondness for purple Pygmy Puffs aside."
"I beg to differ -- hey!" Ron blinked and glared at Malfoy as the last of his statement set in. "I bought her that Pygmy Puff for her birthday last year."
"I rest my case."
With a huff and a snarl, Ron sank back into the rich leather sofa and took a long pull from his whiskey. He wasn't sure how he'd ended up at Malfoy Manor in the first place. Pansy had been in a terrible mood for the last month, and nothing he tried to do for her could make her happy. When she'd come down with the flu, he'd tried to take care of her and be attentive. She'd pushed him away and made him sleep in a guest bedroom.
Her moods were swinging like crazy. In a fit of energy, she'd thrown out all his cologne -- bottles she'd purchased for him, claiming the smell of them made her sick to her stomach. The wards on the wine cellar and liquor cabinets had been changed, and Pansy refused to let him have access. He'd taken to spending his evenings with a pint at the local pub every night for the past two weeks. His girlfriend was barely being civil to him, and he had no bloody idea what to do about it.
He took another sip of his drink. "I don't even think I deserve it this time."
"Deserve what?" His own drink in hand, Draco settled back in his seat and fixed him with a pointed look.
"Whatever this punishment is that Pansy's decided to heap on me. It's not like the row we had last Christmas." He shook his head, remembering the tempers and hexes that'd flown. "If she ever casts that Stinging Hex again, it'll be too soon."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Pansy, I don't understand!" His girlfriend's back was to him as she continued to hang ornaments on the large tree dwarfing the private sitting room. "It's Christmas! We always go to the Burrow for Christmas! It's tradition!"
"One year does not a tradition make," she replied, casting him a look over her shoulder. She reached for another delicate glass ornament and, with a wave of her wand, placed it on a branch near the top of the tree. "We spent last Christmas with your family. We can spend this Christmas here, at the Manor."
He fixed the back of her head with an aghast look. "But why? You said you liked it last year! Remember how much fun we had?"
"You had fun, Ron. I spent the entire time trying to avoid your mother and your passel of sisters-in-law."
"You said you had fun!" he protested.
With a sigh, Pansy turned to face him, her arms crossed in front of her. "I lied," she said simply.
Ron stared at her, uncomprehending. She'd... she'd lied? They'd only spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his family -- just one night! Granted, it was a long night, and whenever Ron went home, he was relegated back to his childhood bedroom. It was hardly spacious or luxurious like she was accustomed to.
"Why would you lie, Pansy?" His voice was small, almost plaintive. "I thought you enjoyed yourself."
"Why?" One dark brow rose in question at him, her lips pursed to the side. "It was our first Christmas together, Ron. I wanted to make you happy, and you couldn't stop talking about how much fun it was when your family spent the holidays at home. Your mother thinks your lack of expertise in the kitchen is adorable, but mine is deplorable."
"My mum's old fashioned," he said in defense. "She likes keeping us all fed."
"Well, I'm not apologizing for having house elves," his girlfriend shot back, her hackles clearly up. "I don't need to know how to cook. I don't want to know how to cook. Why is this a black mark on my character?"
He took a step toward her and reached for her hands, but she shrugged away from his touch. Ron sighed and shook his head. "It's not, Pansy. I don't care if you know how to cook, you know I don't. I wish you hadn't lied to me, though. I want to make you happy, too."
"You do make me happy, Ron," she said softly. "But I want to spend Christmas here this year. That would make me very happy."
He felt a well of frustration bubble up inside of him. He knew what she was trying to say, that she was uncomfortable around his family -- though she seemed to get on with Fleur well enough when there were no children around -- but it still exasperated him. "Pansy, why? My family is at the Burrow, and your family --"
"What?" Her blue eyes flashed with anger. "My family what, Ronald?"
Warning bells were ringing in his head. Ron swallowed and, not for the first time, wished he could open his mouth and insert his foot. No matter what, every argument seemed to end with him digging himself into a deep, deep hole and being unable to climb out.
He sighed. "They're dead, Pansy."
She went still. The silence between them was only broken by the chimes of the grandfather clock marking the hour. He wished he could turn the hands back, take back what he'd said. Now it hung out there in the open air, the words raw and ugly. That had been uncalled for. Even though they'd both been gone for over five years, Pansy still grieved for them.
Finally, he took a step toward her. "Pansy, I..."
Quick as a flash, she whipped her wand out and hexed him. Ron yelped in pain and clutched at his face, trying to relieve some of the stinging radiating from his cheeks. The sensation spread over his body as she cast hex after hex after hex, hitting him in his legs, his shoulders, and -- most painfully of all -- his groin.
Ron dropped to the ground, groaning in pain and cupping his stinging bollocks. "Stop, stop! I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry."
"You may spend Christmas at the Burrow, or in Hell, wherever you like," she commented curtly, sheathing her wand. "I will be staying here."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Weasley," Draco said slowly, staring at him as if he'd grown a second head, "I knew you were thick. But honestly, I had no idea you were that big of an idiot." The blonde shook his head, then paused to reach up and push back a lock of blonde hair that had fallen from his perfectly styled hair. "I knew you'd rowed at Christmas. I could gather that much from the black cloud above Pansy's head. But I really don't think I could have imagined you'd done something that obtuse."
"Fuck. Off. Malfoy." Downing the rest of his whiskey, Ron pushed to his feet to fetch himself a refill. The crystal decanter clinked against his glass, sloshing a bit of the amber liquid onto his hand. Licking it off his fingers, he fixed the poncy blonde with a look. "It's not like you've never said anything monumentally stupid before."
Draco shrugged and leaned back. "I can neither confirm nor deny such allegations. But," he said, lifting one finger in emphasis, "if I did, I certainly did not bring up any dead family members!"
The memory of that fight still stung a year later. Ron's shoulders slumped, and he sighed. "I know. Trust me, I know. It was awful and terrible and rude of me, and I spent the next three weeks begging for forgiveness." He sprawled heavily into the sofa, leaning forward to rest his elbows on knees. "No matter what I do or say, I always say the wrong thing."
Pretending to think for a moment, the blonde's lips twitched. "You know what you need? A filter between your mouth and your brain, because I'm certain you're lacking that bit of tact."
Ron shot a peevish look at him. "That's a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh, that's rich." Ron laughed hollowly and shook his head. "Bury your head in the sand, Malfoy. I remember when someone wouldn't shut their trap about my mum's bangers and mash."
"I still don't see how I was in the wrong there." Draco sniffed and sipped at his drink. "I merely commented on the amount of butter and cream in the recipe."
"You called my sister fat!"
"I most certainly did not!"
He eyed the blonde critically. "You made a snippy comment about the nutritional comment of my sister's favorite food, to her, while she was getting a second helping. I'm not the only thick one around here."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Yet, I'm happily married, and you're the one singing sad songs of woe in my study. And I still have no idea why. Can't you just drown your sorrows at some dingy pub like every other Ministry worker?"
"I have been 'drowning my sorrows' at the pub most every night this week, Malfoy." That was the problem. He didn't want to be at the pub, or at his sister's home. He wanted to be at his home, with a beer in his hand and his girlfriend curled up next to him. It was a luxury he hadn't enjoyed in too long of a time. "My girlfriend has all but kicked me out of her house."
"Finally, she's come to her senses," the blonde drawled, and Ron had to restrain himself from reaching across the desk to throttle Malfoy. Fortunately for him, he remembered his sister's very specific threats all too well, and so no Weasley man had laid a hand on their sister's husband. Yet.
"I'm waiting for Ginny to come to hers," Ron sniped. Downing another drink of whiskey, he shrugged. "She blows hot and cold. She doesn't want me anywhere near here. We fight, and then she's ripping my clothes off."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Where have you been?" A shrill voice demanded a second after he'd Apparated into the foyer. Ron's shoulders slumped, and he sighed as he glanced up to where his girlfriend stood at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips and an angry expression on her face. "You said you'd be here an hour ago!"
He felt as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders as he trudged up the stairs to her. He didn't want to do this. Not again, not tonight. Pansy was angry at him for something, and he half-heartedly racked his brain to think of just what he'd done this time to set her off. Unlike most instances, he could think of nothing.
"I never specified what time I'd come over, Pans," he replied as he went up the stairs. Each step took him closer to his girlfriend until he was standing next to her, looking down. Where normally he would have reached out to draw her into his arms, he didn't even try. She'd just shake off his touch.
She eyed him, a testy look in her blue gaze, and her nose crinkled. "You smell like an alehouse. Is that where you've been, drinking?"
"I was at the pub having a pint, since someone won't deign to let me drink in her home," he snapped, a bit sharper than he'd intended. He didn't want to fight with Pansy. He just wanted to curl up in a soft bed and sleep away his problems, so he turned to walk down the corridor toward the master bedroom.
Pansy was hot on his heels. "Don't walk away from me!" As he stepped into her bedroom, she reached out and grabbed his upper arm. Ron shrugged it off and continued into the bedroom. "Ron! What is your problem?"
"What is my problem?" he shot back, whirling around to face her. He slung his shoulder bag off to the side, where it fell with a 'thunk.' "I don't have a problem! You're the one constantly on my case about something. About everything!"
She stared at him with an indescribable look on her face, but he pressed on. "What is it, Pansy? What have I done this time?" He stepped closer to his girlfriend, unable to stop the flow of words once the dam had burst. "I have tried, love. I've tried to be a good boyfriend to you. I'm not rich, and I'm never going to be. I'm not handsome or charming or witty or any other desirable trait in a partner. But I love you, despite everything you do to push me away."
"I do not --"
He shook his head, cutting her off. "Despite everything you do to push me away, I still love you. But I can't keep doing this. I can't keep having fights every night, or dreading coming over because I don't know what sort of mood you're going to be in. I'm not a masochist, love." He sighed and held his hands out to the side. "If you want me to go, then just say it. You're killing me this way."
Before he could blink, Pansy had crossed the room and flung her arms around his neck. Fisting her fingers in his unruly hair, she yanked his head down to hers and pressed her lips to his.
He froze for a moment while she moved her lips, tongue darting out to entice him to play. That lasted half a second before instinct took over. He groaned against her lips as his own parted, deepening the kiss. His arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her up. Pansy wrapped her slim legs around his waist, teeth nipping at his lower lip.
It had been too long since she'd let him touch her this way. At least a week -- maybe two. Or was it three? Ron didn't care to recall, but now that he had her in his arms, he wasn't going to waste the opportunity. He didn't break the kiss as he carried her the few steps to the large, soft bed that awaited them, laying her down gently.
The delicate silk robe she wore had shifted, parting low on her chest and giving him a teasing glimpse of her cleavage. Arousal pooled in his groin at the noticeable sight of her nipples, hard underneath silk. Ron grabbed the hem of his jumper, jerking it over his head and taking the undershirt with it.
He crawled onto the bed. There was a predatory gleam in his eyes as Pansy shifted, scooting further back toward the heaping mound of pillows near the headboard. Ron's lips curled when she could move no further, and he settled on his hands and knees over her. Beneath him, her body trembled. He could see the way her breaths came quickly, her chest rising and falling in shallow movements.
His body wanted to fuck her. It was crude, but true. His mind -- and his heart -- knew better. He was wound up tighter than a fiddle, but despite his aching need, he wanted to make it good for her, too.
Ducking his head low, he pressed his lips to her pulse point. Pansy sighed under his touch and tilted her head to the side. Ron didn't linger, though. He trailed delicate, nibbling kisses down her slender throat toward her breasts. As he moved, his hands went to the tie on her robe and undid the loose knot. Rough hands pushed the material to the side, revealing bare, creamy skin to his gaze.
The ache in his bollocks intensified. "God, Pansy," he rasped, flicking his tongue over a nipple. "You're perfect."
She whimpered and arched her back, pressing those perfect breasts closer to his touch. How could he deny such an invitation? He kissed his way across her chest to her other breast, taking the peak into his mouth while one hand covered its twin.
It was just a tease. Leaving off her breasts, he continued to kiss his way down her smooth, flat stomach until he reached the apex of her thighs. He inhaled deeply, his nose brushing against the thatch of dark, soft curls. Content to settle between her thighs, his hands moved them further apart, baring her sex to his gaze.
Pansy cried out when he touched his tongue to her swollen nub. He licked and teased her, alternating quick flicks of his tongue with long, dragging touches. Her head thrashed on the pillow, but her hold on his hair was tight, keeping his head right where it was. Experience told him she was wound just as tight as he, and it only took a few more licks to push her over the edge.
Drawing back to look at her, Ron had to pause to take in the pretty picture she painted -- legs spread, skin flushed with exertion, hair wild. She was a drug he could never get enough of.
Holding himself back long enough to undo his belt, he pushed his trousers down his hips and legs, awkwardly kicking them off. Crawling between her legs again, he took a firm grip on her hip and slid into her, groaning in pleasure as she moaned.
"God, Pans, you feel so fucking good," he murmured. Their bodies quickly fell into a familiar rhythm, hers rising to meet his with every thrust. It would have been embarrassing to think that he was likely to last as long as a sixteen year-old experiencing his first time, but he didn't care. All he could think about was how warm and soft Pansy's body was beneath his, how wet she was at his touch.
When he opened his eyes, he found her staring up at him. His hips increased in speed, snapping against hers with a force that was likely to bruise her thighs -- he knew she liked it. Ron leaned down to press his lips to hers, his hands seeking her own out to lace their fingers together.
His orgasm hit him suddenly and violently, and he cried out against her lips. Taking one hand from her touch, he reached between their bodies to tease between her legs. When her own climax came, it was quick and abrupt -- a sharp inhale and a soft shudder.
Why couldn't they do this every time they fought?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Malfoy was staring at him very intently. It was beyond disturbing.
"What?" he asked defensively. "It's not like you've kept your mouth shut about sex with my baby sister. I didn't even say anything about it!"
"The dazed look on your face was enough confirmation," the blonde said with a distracted wave of his hand. "I don't give a rot about your sex life, Weasley. That isn't the point?"
Ron muttered, "There's a point?" and took his last sip of whiskey. He eyeballed the decanter, weighing the pros and cons of another refill. It was very good alcohol...
Draco leaned forward and steepled his fingers together. "How long did you say Pansy's been acting a bit off?"
"She's always 'off.' Wouldn't be her if she wasn't finding some fault in me," he replied in a mournful tone.
With an eye roll, Malfoy retorted, "Focus, Weasley. You said she's been acting stranger than usual. How long, and in what ways?" At Ron's incredulous look, the blonde shrugged. "Pansy's one of my oldest friends. I'm concerned about her, and if you tell her that, I will string you up by your big toes."
The redhead huffed and set his empty glass down on the side table. "Well, for one," he said, counting off incidents on his fingers, "she's been moodier than usual. Goes from screaming to crying -- and not angry tears. I know the difference. Genuinely sad, weepy tears." The sight of his usually reserved girlfriend crying was not something he liked. It'd sent him into a fit trying to calm her down.
"She bought me some cologne for Christmas last year. Told me how much she liked it, how good I smelled when I wore it. Last week, she threw it out the window." And he was just starting to like the smell of it, too. "Changed the wards on the liquor cabinet and wine cellar. Won't let me drink at her place, and the few times she's come over to my flat, she's poured my beers down the drain."
Malfoy muttered something about cheap beer. Ron ignored him. "I don't know. She had the flu before that. Is there some kind of lingering side effects?"
The blonde straightened and peered sharply across the desk. "How long did you say she'd been like this?"
Ron shrugged. "I don't know. A month? Maybe a month and a half?" He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I love her. But part of me just wishes she'd get it over with and chuck me to the kerb."
Draco stared at him for a beat before his lips twitched. That small twitched melted into a smirk, and he began to chuckle. His chuckling grew into a full-out laugh, and he shook his head as Ron stared at him, bewildered.
"I'm glad the end of my relationship is funny to you, Malfoy," he sniped.
Holding up one hand, Malfoy paused for breath, his cheeks red with laughter. "I'm not apologizing, Weasley, but you are an idiot."
Glaring at him with a flat look on his face, Ron deadpanned, "You've established that, Malfoy. What the bloody hell is so funny?"
The blonde laughed for another long moment and shook his head again, reaching up to wipe a bit of moisture from his eyes. "You are." He leaned back in his chair and smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Isn't it obvious what's going on?"
"If it was obvious, do you honestly think I'd be sitting here with you?" Ron shot back. "Just spit it out already."
"Pansy doesn't have some side effects from the flu, Weasley," Malfoy said slowly, clearly enjoying Ron's mental anguish. "She's pregnant."
Ron's eyes widened, his brain stalling as Malfoy's words slowly made an impression in his brain. "She's what?" he breathed, shocked. It wasn't possible -- or was it? She was on a contraceptive potion! Took it every morning after she washed her face.
"Pregnant, Weasley. I assume you know how that works? You see, when a man and a woman love each other very much... or get very, very drunk..."
"Fuck you, Malfoy." Ron pushed to his feet and grabbed his empty glass. He definitely needed another drink. "How the hell can you tell just from that that she's pregnant? Since when did you become an expert on pregnant witches?"
"Since my wife joined their ranks!"
A pin dropping would have been louder than an explosion in that moment. Ron froze, the decanter halfway to his glass. Behind him, he heard Draco mutter, "Oh god. Fuck."
Slowly, Ron turned to face him, his own life-altering news shoved to the back of his mind. The great blonde impregnator already had his wand in hand, halfway out of his seat. "Ginny's pregnant?" His sister hadn't said a word! And he would have known if she'd told anyone -- there was no such thing as a secret in their family.
"You don't know that," his brother-in-law threatened, brandishing his wand. "I swear, Weasley, if you tell anyone, I'll --"
This was far too rich an opportunity to pass up. In a flash, Ron dropped his glass and decanter and grabbed his wand. "I can't wait to see the look on Pansy's face!" he shouted gleefully, smirking at Malfoy. "Enjoy your funeral!"
He Disapparated with a loud 'crack!' The hex Malfoy shot at him sailed through the air and his the wall behind where Ron had been standing. With an anguished groan, Draco dropped back down in his seat and buried his head in his hands.
Ginny was going to kill him.
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Pairing: Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6,020
Warnings: None
Summary: Fighting defines Ron and Pansy’s relationship.
Author's notes: Written as a gift for cryptaknight for the 2014 round of smutty_claus. My thanks to carrie_leigh for her beta skills and feedback -- you’re the best, darling!
"Pansy Parkinson is irrational bint."
Ron tossed himself down on the leather sofa and huffed. "I don't know why I even bother with her, really. Nothing I do makes her happy. She complains about my job, she complains about my robes, she complains about the Cannons -- and I have no idea why she complains about the Cannons. She hates Quidditch. She hates my mum, my mum's cooking, my mum's Christmas jumpers, everything."
He groaned and crossed his arms over his chest. "And really, it isn't that unreasonable for me not to want to move into Parkinson Manor. I am the man in this relationship. I should be able to provide my woman with a house and not have to live in the mausoleum she inherited from her parents."
His gaze flickered to the ceiling, and Ron heaved a sigh of a man worn down with the weight of the world. At least in his own mind, he was. "I love her, don't get me wrong, but I don't like her, you know? Women. Who understands the way they think? No one does, that's who. Not even other women understand other women."
He glanced to the side and raised his brows. "You know what I mean?"
There was silence while Draco stared at him for a long while with a perplexed look on his face. Finally, he replied, "What are you doing here?"
Ron blinked and turned his head from side to side, looking around. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, Weasley, what are you doing in my study?" Draco drawled with an arched brow, his lips pursed to the side in displeasure.
"I'm... talking to you about my girlfriend?"
"From your ramblings, I deduced that. But why are you talking about her to me, in my house? I thought I had the wards changed last week."
The red haired man shrugged and straightened from his slouch. "You married my sister, Malfoy."
"I married Ginny. I do not recall marrying you."
There was a decanter of some dark, likely expensive liquor on the sideboard. Eyeing it, Ron stood and poured himself a glass, ignoring Malfoy's muttered, "Oh please, do help yourself to my whiskey." "Isn't the saying something like, you don't marry a person, you marry their family?"
"If that's the case, I demand an annulment."
Ron ignored him and poured a tumbler full of whiskey before settling back down on the leather sofa. "Get over it, Malfoy. I'm here, you're here, and Ginny's forbade you from kicking me to the kerb."
"Oh?" Ron's former arch-nemesis and newly minted brother-in-law gave him a skeptical look. "I missed that memo."
He smirked. "Look down at your desk."
Draco glanced down, taking notice for the first time of the crisp piece of white parchment with his wife's narrow, loopy handwriting. He mouthed the words, a scowl growing when he read that yes, his wife had indeed forbade him from banishing Ron from the manor. The pointy blonde glanced up and glared at him. "She said nothing about a Silencing Charm..."
With a wave of his hand, Ron took a sip of his whiskey. "Oh, piss off, Malfoy. Did I ever tell you about the first fight Pansy and I had? The first real fight, I mean."
"I don't need to know the details."
"It was about a year ago. We'd just gone back to her place after Neville's surprise party..."
Draco groaned and leaned forward, gently banging his head against the desk.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Storming into the house, Pansy slammed the door behind her. Only Ron's foot, hastily stuck into the door frame, kept it from banging into his nose. Cursing at the pain radiating out from his foot, he followed along behind her. "Bloody hell, woman, what is your problem?"
Pansy whirled around to face him. "What is my problem? You're the one with a problem!"
"I don't know what you're on about! I do not have a problem. You've been acting moody all night!" He paused for a moment and eyed his girlfriend critically. "Is it that time? That weird woman time?"
She threw her hands up in the air. "UGH! That is so typical of you. If something's wrong with me, it must be because it's my time of the month." Her heels were loud against the marble floor as she stomped across the foyer toward him. "For your information, Ronald," she emphasized his name with a poke in the middle of his chest, and he had to restrain the urge to rub it, "I'm not on my period tonight. You are just an inconsiderate jerk!"
The spot where she'd poked stung. Masculinity be damned, Ron reached up to rub it, giving her a wounded look. "How am I a jerk, Pans? I didn't do anything to you." Merlin, she was making shite up as she felt like it!
"That's exactly the point." She glared at him, her gaze holding his defiantly. "You. Did. Nothing."
His mind was racing at her pointed words. Was there something he was supposed to have done before the party? Their anniversary had been two months ago. Her birthday wasn't until December, and it was July. He hadn't made any promises to fix things up around her house -- mostly because every time she did, she crinkled her nose and told him an elf would take care of it. There was literally nothing he could think of; no broken promises, no looming dates on the calendar.
"You're going to have to fill in the blanks for me," he said slowly, "because really, I have no idea what you're talking about."
Her bright blue eyes flashed, and he could see her nostrils flare with a sharp breath. "Fine," she grated out. "Tonight. Your friends. Not my friends, might I remind you, but yours. Do they think I'm deaf or dim witted? My ears work perfectly well, thank you very much. The only reason I bothered showing up at that party was for you. Because you asked me to."
Ron knew that. "I know, Pansy. I told you I appreciated it. Did I not say it enough? Thank you for coming with me tonight. It meant a lot to me."
"Well, that was the last time I'm doing it."
He blinked in surprise. "What?"
"You heard me." She turned on her heel and made her way down the corridor. Ron sighed and followed along in her wake, following her into the kitchen. His girlfriend grabbed a bottle of merlot and a glass. Pouring herself a healthy glassful, she took a sip of it. Turning to face him, she leaned against the kitchen counter, her blue gaze accusing. "I'm not going to any more parties for your friends."
"I don't -- what do you --" Ron shook his head. "Why?"
Pansy smiled bitterly. "I'm not their circus freak, Ronald," she replied with a wry twist of her lips. "You don't hear them. I don't know if it's because you truly don't understand, or because you don't want to hear them. But they don't make much effort to hide it from me." She took a long drink from her glass, the wine bringing a healthy flush to her cheeks. "Traitor. Pure-blooded bigot. Wannabe Death Eater." She laughed, but it was a hollow sound. "All because of something that happened when we were seventeen. Ten bloody years ago."
Ah. "Pansy..."
She held up her free hand. "Don't. Don't say it. He's your best friend, I know."
"And you tried to give him over to You Know Who!" The words came out sharper than he intended, and Ron immediately wished he could take them back.
"Not all of us have the self-preservation instincts of a sheep!"
"He would have been killed, Pans!" Ron's fingertips grasped the countertop, his knuckles turning white with the strength of his grip. He'd lost Fred that night -- the thought of losing Harry, no matter how distant a memory it was, brought out the worst in him. "My best friend. Is that what you wanted? Harry, dead? Me, dead?" His eyes were dark with his heated temper. "Shows how little you think of me."
In a flash, Pansy's hand shot out, and Ron's face was drenched with dark red wine. He sputtered and staggered back, wiping at his burning eyes with his hands. "Bloody hell!"
She hurled the wine glass at his head, and only a lucky duck had it missing his head. It shattered on the wall behind him, raining glass everywhere. Silence hung in the air between them for a long moment. When she spoke, though, her words were icy.
"Ten years, Ronald," she said softly, her words clipped. "Ten. Years."
He watched through one watery eye as she moved past him, tiptoeing through wine and glass. "Pansy --"
His girlfriend stilled, and for a moment, he thought it might be over. That she'd let out her temper, and they could move on. What a fool he was.
"Don't even think of trying to sleep in my bed tonight." And then she was gone.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"You deserved more than wine in your face for that, you know."
"I'm well aware of that, Malfoy," Ron sniped, glaring at his -- and he shuddered to even think the title -- brother-in-law. Why couldn't his sister have married Harry, like she'd always dreamed of doing?
"No, really." Draco arched a brow at him, his lips twisted in displeasure. "At the very least, Pansy should have eviscerated you for a comment like that. If you ask me --"
"And I didn't."
"-- you got off the hook easy." The blonde former ferret leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "I suppose she's getting soft, given her affections for you."
Ron flipped him two fingers. "Whatever. Wasn't like you were there or anything, making my poor sister go alone."
Draco scoffed. "I had the flu."
"You had poker night at Zabini's, Malfoy."
He shrugged. "Guilty, but I never pretended to be as selfless as my old friend, Pansy. Besides, Ginny didn't want me to go with her. Some rot about ruining the festive mood. No idea where she'd get that idea."
"From living with you?" Ron smirked and took a sip of his whiskey.
The blonde's lips curled. "Mmmm, cohabitation is a wonderful thing. I do enjoy seeing your sister naked every night."
Ron gagged. "Dear gods, stop. Keep my fragile illusions about my little sister's virtue intact, please." The idea of his baby sister engaging in... sex... with the bouncing blonde ferret himself -- or with anyone, really -- was enough to make him queasy. He was well aware she was married -- seemingly happily so -- but he did not care to think of her enjoying the more carnal things that came with marriage.
Never mind that he enjoyed them with his girlfriend. He was quite happy to be a hypocrite on that front.
Draco's smirk grew, and he rose to pour his own glass of whiskey. "I can't help your sweet, innocent baby sister is warm for my form," he commented idly, thoroughly enjoying himself as Ron's face turned from red to purple. "She's proven to have excellent tastes, her fondness for purple Pygmy Puffs aside."
"I beg to differ -- hey!" Ron blinked and glared at Malfoy as the last of his statement set in. "I bought her that Pygmy Puff for her birthday last year."
"I rest my case."
With a huff and a snarl, Ron sank back into the rich leather sofa and took a long pull from his whiskey. He wasn't sure how he'd ended up at Malfoy Manor in the first place. Pansy had been in a terrible mood for the last month, and nothing he tried to do for her could make her happy. When she'd come down with the flu, he'd tried to take care of her and be attentive. She'd pushed him away and made him sleep in a guest bedroom.
Her moods were swinging like crazy. In a fit of energy, she'd thrown out all his cologne -- bottles she'd purchased for him, claiming the smell of them made her sick to her stomach. The wards on the wine cellar and liquor cabinets had been changed, and Pansy refused to let him have access. He'd taken to spending his evenings with a pint at the local pub every night for the past two weeks. His girlfriend was barely being civil to him, and he had no bloody idea what to do about it.
He took another sip of his drink. "I don't even think I deserve it this time."
"Deserve what?" His own drink in hand, Draco settled back in his seat and fixed him with a pointed look.
"Whatever this punishment is that Pansy's decided to heap on me. It's not like the row we had last Christmas." He shook his head, remembering the tempers and hexes that'd flown. "If she ever casts that Stinging Hex again, it'll be too soon."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Pansy, I don't understand!" His girlfriend's back was to him as she continued to hang ornaments on the large tree dwarfing the private sitting room. "It's Christmas! We always go to the Burrow for Christmas! It's tradition!"
"One year does not a tradition make," she replied, casting him a look over her shoulder. She reached for another delicate glass ornament and, with a wave of her wand, placed it on a branch near the top of the tree. "We spent last Christmas with your family. We can spend this Christmas here, at the Manor."
He fixed the back of her head with an aghast look. "But why? You said you liked it last year! Remember how much fun we had?"
"You had fun, Ron. I spent the entire time trying to avoid your mother and your passel of sisters-in-law."
"You said you had fun!" he protested.
With a sigh, Pansy turned to face him, her arms crossed in front of her. "I lied," she said simply.
Ron stared at her, uncomprehending. She'd... she'd lied? They'd only spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his family -- just one night! Granted, it was a long night, and whenever Ron went home, he was relegated back to his childhood bedroom. It was hardly spacious or luxurious like she was accustomed to.
"Why would you lie, Pansy?" His voice was small, almost plaintive. "I thought you enjoyed yourself."
"Why?" One dark brow rose in question at him, her lips pursed to the side. "It was our first Christmas together, Ron. I wanted to make you happy, and you couldn't stop talking about how much fun it was when your family spent the holidays at home. Your mother thinks your lack of expertise in the kitchen is adorable, but mine is deplorable."
"My mum's old fashioned," he said in defense. "She likes keeping us all fed."
"Well, I'm not apologizing for having house elves," his girlfriend shot back, her hackles clearly up. "I don't need to know how to cook. I don't want to know how to cook. Why is this a black mark on my character?"
He took a step toward her and reached for her hands, but she shrugged away from his touch. Ron sighed and shook his head. "It's not, Pansy. I don't care if you know how to cook, you know I don't. I wish you hadn't lied to me, though. I want to make you happy, too."
"You do make me happy, Ron," she said softly. "But I want to spend Christmas here this year. That would make me very happy."
He felt a well of frustration bubble up inside of him. He knew what she was trying to say, that she was uncomfortable around his family -- though she seemed to get on with Fleur well enough when there were no children around -- but it still exasperated him. "Pansy, why? My family is at the Burrow, and your family --"
"What?" Her blue eyes flashed with anger. "My family what, Ronald?"
Warning bells were ringing in his head. Ron swallowed and, not for the first time, wished he could open his mouth and insert his foot. No matter what, every argument seemed to end with him digging himself into a deep, deep hole and being unable to climb out.
He sighed. "They're dead, Pansy."
She went still. The silence between them was only broken by the chimes of the grandfather clock marking the hour. He wished he could turn the hands back, take back what he'd said. Now it hung out there in the open air, the words raw and ugly. That had been uncalled for. Even though they'd both been gone for over five years, Pansy still grieved for them.
Finally, he took a step toward her. "Pansy, I..."
Quick as a flash, she whipped her wand out and hexed him. Ron yelped in pain and clutched at his face, trying to relieve some of the stinging radiating from his cheeks. The sensation spread over his body as she cast hex after hex after hex, hitting him in his legs, his shoulders, and -- most painfully of all -- his groin.
Ron dropped to the ground, groaning in pain and cupping his stinging bollocks. "Stop, stop! I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry."
"You may spend Christmas at the Burrow, or in Hell, wherever you like," she commented curtly, sheathing her wand. "I will be staying here."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Weasley," Draco said slowly, staring at him as if he'd grown a second head, "I knew you were thick. But honestly, I had no idea you were that big of an idiot." The blonde shook his head, then paused to reach up and push back a lock of blonde hair that had fallen from his perfectly styled hair. "I knew you'd rowed at Christmas. I could gather that much from the black cloud above Pansy's head. But I really don't think I could have imagined you'd done something that obtuse."
"Fuck. Off. Malfoy." Downing the rest of his whiskey, Ron pushed to his feet to fetch himself a refill. The crystal decanter clinked against his glass, sloshing a bit of the amber liquid onto his hand. Licking it off his fingers, he fixed the poncy blonde with a look. "It's not like you've never said anything monumentally stupid before."
Draco shrugged and leaned back. "I can neither confirm nor deny such allegations. But," he said, lifting one finger in emphasis, "if I did, I certainly did not bring up any dead family members!"
The memory of that fight still stung a year later. Ron's shoulders slumped, and he sighed. "I know. Trust me, I know. It was awful and terrible and rude of me, and I spent the next three weeks begging for forgiveness." He sprawled heavily into the sofa, leaning forward to rest his elbows on knees. "No matter what I do or say, I always say the wrong thing."
Pretending to think for a moment, the blonde's lips twitched. "You know what you need? A filter between your mouth and your brain, because I'm certain you're lacking that bit of tact."
Ron shot a peevish look at him. "That's a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh, that's rich." Ron laughed hollowly and shook his head. "Bury your head in the sand, Malfoy. I remember when someone wouldn't shut their trap about my mum's bangers and mash."
"I still don't see how I was in the wrong there." Draco sniffed and sipped at his drink. "I merely commented on the amount of butter and cream in the recipe."
"You called my sister fat!"
"I most certainly did not!"
He eyed the blonde critically. "You made a snippy comment about the nutritional comment of my sister's favorite food, to her, while she was getting a second helping. I'm not the only thick one around here."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Yet, I'm happily married, and you're the one singing sad songs of woe in my study. And I still have no idea why. Can't you just drown your sorrows at some dingy pub like every other Ministry worker?"
"I have been 'drowning my sorrows' at the pub most every night this week, Malfoy." That was the problem. He didn't want to be at the pub, or at his sister's home. He wanted to be at his home, with a beer in his hand and his girlfriend curled up next to him. It was a luxury he hadn't enjoyed in too long of a time. "My girlfriend has all but kicked me out of her house."
"Finally, she's come to her senses," the blonde drawled, and Ron had to restrain himself from reaching across the desk to throttle Malfoy. Fortunately for him, he remembered his sister's very specific threats all too well, and so no Weasley man had laid a hand on their sister's husband. Yet.
"I'm waiting for Ginny to come to hers," Ron sniped. Downing another drink of whiskey, he shrugged. "She blows hot and cold. She doesn't want me anywhere near here. We fight, and then she's ripping my clothes off."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Where have you been?" A shrill voice demanded a second after he'd Apparated into the foyer. Ron's shoulders slumped, and he sighed as he glanced up to where his girlfriend stood at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips and an angry expression on her face. "You said you'd be here an hour ago!"
He felt as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders as he trudged up the stairs to her. He didn't want to do this. Not again, not tonight. Pansy was angry at him for something, and he half-heartedly racked his brain to think of just what he'd done this time to set her off. Unlike most instances, he could think of nothing.
"I never specified what time I'd come over, Pans," he replied as he went up the stairs. Each step took him closer to his girlfriend until he was standing next to her, looking down. Where normally he would have reached out to draw her into his arms, he didn't even try. She'd just shake off his touch.
She eyed him, a testy look in her blue gaze, and her nose crinkled. "You smell like an alehouse. Is that where you've been, drinking?"
"I was at the pub having a pint, since someone won't deign to let me drink in her home," he snapped, a bit sharper than he'd intended. He didn't want to fight with Pansy. He just wanted to curl up in a soft bed and sleep away his problems, so he turned to walk down the corridor toward the master bedroom.
Pansy was hot on his heels. "Don't walk away from me!" As he stepped into her bedroom, she reached out and grabbed his upper arm. Ron shrugged it off and continued into the bedroom. "Ron! What is your problem?"
"What is my problem?" he shot back, whirling around to face her. He slung his shoulder bag off to the side, where it fell with a 'thunk.' "I don't have a problem! You're the one constantly on my case about something. About everything!"
She stared at him with an indescribable look on her face, but he pressed on. "What is it, Pansy? What have I done this time?" He stepped closer to his girlfriend, unable to stop the flow of words once the dam had burst. "I have tried, love. I've tried to be a good boyfriend to you. I'm not rich, and I'm never going to be. I'm not handsome or charming or witty or any other desirable trait in a partner. But I love you, despite everything you do to push me away."
"I do not --"
He shook his head, cutting her off. "Despite everything you do to push me away, I still love you. But I can't keep doing this. I can't keep having fights every night, or dreading coming over because I don't know what sort of mood you're going to be in. I'm not a masochist, love." He sighed and held his hands out to the side. "If you want me to go, then just say it. You're killing me this way."
Before he could blink, Pansy had crossed the room and flung her arms around his neck. Fisting her fingers in his unruly hair, she yanked his head down to hers and pressed her lips to his.
He froze for a moment while she moved her lips, tongue darting out to entice him to play. That lasted half a second before instinct took over. He groaned against her lips as his own parted, deepening the kiss. His arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her up. Pansy wrapped her slim legs around his waist, teeth nipping at his lower lip.
It had been too long since she'd let him touch her this way. At least a week -- maybe two. Or was it three? Ron didn't care to recall, but now that he had her in his arms, he wasn't going to waste the opportunity. He didn't break the kiss as he carried her the few steps to the large, soft bed that awaited them, laying her down gently.
The delicate silk robe she wore had shifted, parting low on her chest and giving him a teasing glimpse of her cleavage. Arousal pooled in his groin at the noticeable sight of her nipples, hard underneath silk. Ron grabbed the hem of his jumper, jerking it over his head and taking the undershirt with it.
He crawled onto the bed. There was a predatory gleam in his eyes as Pansy shifted, scooting further back toward the heaping mound of pillows near the headboard. Ron's lips curled when she could move no further, and he settled on his hands and knees over her. Beneath him, her body trembled. He could see the way her breaths came quickly, her chest rising and falling in shallow movements.
His body wanted to fuck her. It was crude, but true. His mind -- and his heart -- knew better. He was wound up tighter than a fiddle, but despite his aching need, he wanted to make it good for her, too.
Ducking his head low, he pressed his lips to her pulse point. Pansy sighed under his touch and tilted her head to the side. Ron didn't linger, though. He trailed delicate, nibbling kisses down her slender throat toward her breasts. As he moved, his hands went to the tie on her robe and undid the loose knot. Rough hands pushed the material to the side, revealing bare, creamy skin to his gaze.
The ache in his bollocks intensified. "God, Pansy," he rasped, flicking his tongue over a nipple. "You're perfect."
She whimpered and arched her back, pressing those perfect breasts closer to his touch. How could he deny such an invitation? He kissed his way across her chest to her other breast, taking the peak into his mouth while one hand covered its twin.
It was just a tease. Leaving off her breasts, he continued to kiss his way down her smooth, flat stomach until he reached the apex of her thighs. He inhaled deeply, his nose brushing against the thatch of dark, soft curls. Content to settle between her thighs, his hands moved them further apart, baring her sex to his gaze.
Pansy cried out when he touched his tongue to her swollen nub. He licked and teased her, alternating quick flicks of his tongue with long, dragging touches. Her head thrashed on the pillow, but her hold on his hair was tight, keeping his head right where it was. Experience told him she was wound just as tight as he, and it only took a few more licks to push her over the edge.
Drawing back to look at her, Ron had to pause to take in the pretty picture she painted -- legs spread, skin flushed with exertion, hair wild. She was a drug he could never get enough of.
Holding himself back long enough to undo his belt, he pushed his trousers down his hips and legs, awkwardly kicking them off. Crawling between her legs again, he took a firm grip on her hip and slid into her, groaning in pleasure as she moaned.
"God, Pans, you feel so fucking good," he murmured. Their bodies quickly fell into a familiar rhythm, hers rising to meet his with every thrust. It would have been embarrassing to think that he was likely to last as long as a sixteen year-old experiencing his first time, but he didn't care. All he could think about was how warm and soft Pansy's body was beneath his, how wet she was at his touch.
When he opened his eyes, he found her staring up at him. His hips increased in speed, snapping against hers with a force that was likely to bruise her thighs -- he knew she liked it. Ron leaned down to press his lips to hers, his hands seeking her own out to lace their fingers together.
His orgasm hit him suddenly and violently, and he cried out against her lips. Taking one hand from her touch, he reached between their bodies to tease between her legs. When her own climax came, it was quick and abrupt -- a sharp inhale and a soft shudder.
Why couldn't they do this every time they fought?
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Malfoy was staring at him very intently. It was beyond disturbing.
"What?" he asked defensively. "It's not like you've kept your mouth shut about sex with my baby sister. I didn't even say anything about it!"
"The dazed look on your face was enough confirmation," the blonde said with a distracted wave of his hand. "I don't give a rot about your sex life, Weasley. That isn't the point?"
Ron muttered, "There's a point?" and took his last sip of whiskey. He eyeballed the decanter, weighing the pros and cons of another refill. It was very good alcohol...
Draco leaned forward and steepled his fingers together. "How long did you say Pansy's been acting a bit off?"
"She's always 'off.' Wouldn't be her if she wasn't finding some fault in me," he replied in a mournful tone.
With an eye roll, Malfoy retorted, "Focus, Weasley. You said she's been acting stranger than usual. How long, and in what ways?" At Ron's incredulous look, the blonde shrugged. "Pansy's one of my oldest friends. I'm concerned about her, and if you tell her that, I will string you up by your big toes."
The redhead huffed and set his empty glass down on the side table. "Well, for one," he said, counting off incidents on his fingers, "she's been moodier than usual. Goes from screaming to crying -- and not angry tears. I know the difference. Genuinely sad, weepy tears." The sight of his usually reserved girlfriend crying was not something he liked. It'd sent him into a fit trying to calm her down.
"She bought me some cologne for Christmas last year. Told me how much she liked it, how good I smelled when I wore it. Last week, she threw it out the window." And he was just starting to like the smell of it, too. "Changed the wards on the liquor cabinet and wine cellar. Won't let me drink at her place, and the few times she's come over to my flat, she's poured my beers down the drain."
Malfoy muttered something about cheap beer. Ron ignored him. "I don't know. She had the flu before that. Is there some kind of lingering side effects?"
The blonde straightened and peered sharply across the desk. "How long did you say she'd been like this?"
Ron shrugged. "I don't know. A month? Maybe a month and a half?" He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I love her. But part of me just wishes she'd get it over with and chuck me to the kerb."
Draco stared at him for a beat before his lips twitched. That small twitched melted into a smirk, and he began to chuckle. His chuckling grew into a full-out laugh, and he shook his head as Ron stared at him, bewildered.
"I'm glad the end of my relationship is funny to you, Malfoy," he sniped.
Holding up one hand, Malfoy paused for breath, his cheeks red with laughter. "I'm not apologizing, Weasley, but you are an idiot."
Glaring at him with a flat look on his face, Ron deadpanned, "You've established that, Malfoy. What the bloody hell is so funny?"
The blonde laughed for another long moment and shook his head again, reaching up to wipe a bit of moisture from his eyes. "You are." He leaned back in his chair and smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Isn't it obvious what's going on?"
"If it was obvious, do you honestly think I'd be sitting here with you?" Ron shot back. "Just spit it out already."
"Pansy doesn't have some side effects from the flu, Weasley," Malfoy said slowly, clearly enjoying Ron's mental anguish. "She's pregnant."
Ron's eyes widened, his brain stalling as Malfoy's words slowly made an impression in his brain. "She's what?" he breathed, shocked. It wasn't possible -- or was it? She was on a contraceptive potion! Took it every morning after she washed her face.
"Pregnant, Weasley. I assume you know how that works? You see, when a man and a woman love each other very much... or get very, very drunk..."
"Fuck you, Malfoy." Ron pushed to his feet and grabbed his empty glass. He definitely needed another drink. "How the hell can you tell just from that that she's pregnant? Since when did you become an expert on pregnant witches?"
"Since my wife joined their ranks!"
A pin dropping would have been louder than an explosion in that moment. Ron froze, the decanter halfway to his glass. Behind him, he heard Draco mutter, "Oh god. Fuck."
Slowly, Ron turned to face him, his own life-altering news shoved to the back of his mind. The great blonde impregnator already had his wand in hand, halfway out of his seat. "Ginny's pregnant?" His sister hadn't said a word! And he would have known if she'd told anyone -- there was no such thing as a secret in their family.
"You don't know that," his brother-in-law threatened, brandishing his wand. "I swear, Weasley, if you tell anyone, I'll --"
This was far too rich an opportunity to pass up. In a flash, Ron dropped his glass and decanter and grabbed his wand. "I can't wait to see the look on Pansy's face!" he shouted gleefully, smirking at Malfoy. "Enjoy your funeral!"
He Disapparated with a loud 'crack!' The hex Malfoy shot at him sailed through the air and his the wall behind where Ron had been standing. With an anguished groan, Draco dropped back down in his seat and buried his head in his hands.
Ginny was going to kill him.