-Why won't you love me? Ron asked the person sleeping in his bed. If the blond beauty lieing there was awake, Ron would never have asked.
You didn't go around asking Draco Malfoy just anything. No, because he was a man of etiquette and charm. And mostly he was a very straight man of etiquette and charm.
What if people found out that in his free time, between public apperences and fancy dinners with buissness associates, Draco Malfoy enjoyed his regular fucks with one Mr. Ronald Weasly, owner of a small broomstick shop in Diagon Alley? This Draco was so scared of that Ron wasn't eaven allowed to tell Harry and Hemiony.
To keep the love of his life hidden from his friends teared him down. And Ron was never compleatly happy. But it was what Draco wanted, and therefore, Ron obyed. No matter how hard it was. 'Cause Ron loved Draco. Always...
Draco loved the willingness of the boddy beneath him. He loved the freckles that was all over that body, and he loved the way that body would look after hours of sex. But Draco also loved the way that body moved in the air on a broom. He loved the way the boy, owner of that very body, would fight with him. How his voice would become darker and hoarse when he was horny, how his neck would go red when he was mad. He loved how sweat he tasted, he loved the way their seamen tasted together. And he loved how their hair blended on the white pillow since no-one wanted to sleep in the wet spot.
Draco loved this person. Draco loved... Ron.
He loved that redhaired, freckle-covered, poor boy with all his heart.
-Baby, Ron mumbled down into the pillow, go to sleep. I can't sleep if you're watching me.
But, thought Draco and frowned, I HATE when he calles me baby.
Draco watched, always... Ron was always to buisy to notice. Polishing and taking care of his battered broom, doing homework, eating, sniffing around, sleeping through class.
He watched as Ron dated Hermionie. Or the sad excuse for it anyway. They really did not fit together. She was not eaven remotley intrested in chess... not Quidditch either.
All they shared was comon friends and adventures.
Maby that was a lot, Draco didn't know. What he knew was that he loved the challange of chess, the speed of Quidditch and that he loved Ron.
How surprised wouldn't Ron be, if he hear how Draco really thought of him. If he heard how Draco dreamt of their bodies moving together.
But Draco knew the truth, Ron was not going to love him. So Draco fought with him, praying that Ron would not notice his hard-on as they fought with their fists. Or the small smile always threatening to show it self as they fought verbaly. He just hoped...