Disclaimer: I own neither Ron nor Draco, a fact for which I'm very relieved given the state of their habitation in this drabble.
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As he looked from the expensively-dressed form sprawled out on the sofa to the detritus of dirty crockery and discarded sweet wrappers that had accreted around it, Ronald Weasley cursed the day he'd staggered drunkenly out of that rural pub and come face to face with the Magical World's Most Disgraced.
But then, how was he to know that one awkward and ill-advised fumble in a hedgerow would be taken by the now-penniless Malfoy heir as an invitation to come and inhabit his tiny flat in Diagon Alley.
A pale and distinctly annoyed face turned to regard him.
"Weasely, you've really got to get yourself a House Elf."
"What?"
"This place looks like a Muggle landfill and it's perfectly clear that you're unable to maintain basic standards of indoor hygiene on your own."
"Landfill?" He gaped. "You're the one who can't be arsed to tidy up."
"No Malfoy has 'tidied-up' in seventeen generations," snapped Draco, clearly deeply affronted by the suggestion.
Ron gave a heavy sigh. Why the hell hadn't he thrown this… this bane of his existence out yet?
He knew the answer, of course. He also knew that said answer would have most reasonable people shaking their heads with a mixture of pity and contempt.
However, the irrefutable fact remained that as stroppy, whiny, snobby, petty and downright obnoxious as Draco Malfoy was, he gave damned good blowjobs.