14. Make up and Make out
AN: JaceDamian23 can read my mind! It's completely nutters ! I plan on introducing Blaise – JaceDamian23 asks if perhaps I could add Blaise. I let Charlie and Bill find Draco – JaceDamian23 hopes Charlie and Bill find Draco. What will be next ! This is insanity !
WARNING: a scene from this chapter is rated M (forgot to warn you last time, sorry to the kiddies I shocked by letting Ron wank Drake off!)
When Draco woke up he could smell the sea and salt. His body was tense and it felt sticky. There was damp wood beneath him, and the room smelt of urine and semen. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt heavy, and he really didn't want to move. All he wanted to do was doze off again and sleep for years. He could hear seagulls and happy voices in the distance, and someone was calling his name. Then he realised that although the voice sounded far, a hand was going through his hair, and he knew immediately that he'd passed out—from heartache or the intense orgasm, he couldn't remember.
His eyes fluttered and were immediately drowned in the brightest of red—Ron?
"Ron?" his throat hurt, and it came out weak and wheezing.
"It's Charlie mate," he was disappointed, to say the least, but when his cloudy head noticed the worry laced to his voice, he decided that he should be glad that Charlie came to look for him, "Bill's here too," and Bill, of course, "Ron left you in quite a state. Where are your trunks?"
The question didn't come through in his head, and if he would've comprehended it correctly, he would've been ashamed. As it was, he closed his eyes away from the red hair, and felt the need to drown into the black oblivion.
"Stay awake Draco," Bill urged, and he took Draco's shoulders, shaking him lightly—Charlie soon found his trunks in the corner of the bathroom, "tell us what happened."
"We had a fight," Draco murmured, but the black was so inviting.
"It'll be okay Drake," Charlie tried to sound convincing, but he sounded too unsure, "you guys'll sort it out."
"What happened really," Bill urged, but Charlie shushed him—the voices were the only thing that Draco heard, even though they seemed lose and meaningless to him.
"He's bloody naked and sticky," Charlie hissed, "what the hell do you think happened? Ron was a jealous twat but they'll fix it."
"Yeah, if he manages to get away from Potter for five seconds," Bill sounded exasperated, and Draco felt cold water touch his chest, "it's like they're connected at the hip!"
The last thing the blonde heard before tumbling down into the dark, was a sigh.
--
When he woke up the second time, someone was carrying him, and there were a lot of people. He felt clean and knew the brothers had washed him up. Someone squeezed his arm and he heard Sirius mutter: "poor Draco, I didn't know he was so sleep-deprived."
He opened his eyes and recognised the dark chest of his best friend. It was comforting, to know that at least he was being held by someone he knew, someone who cared deeply for him.
"Well good morning sleeping beauty," Blaise looked down at him, a small smile on his lips, "you slept for two hours baby. I'm glad you're up now."
"'m sorry," Draco gave a yawn and Blaise chuckled.
"Don't be baby, I was just worried sick," Draco recognised the streets, which meant they hadn't flood home immediately, home, "when stud and his brother returned with you they said you'd fallen asleep on the loo, and now, I found it kinda funny, but then again, you are a funny bloke, aren't you?"
"Where are we?" Draco became more conscious of himself, and wondered if he still looked a mess, but does it matter, because real friends don't care about that—and Blaise proved this by giving his head a kiss.
"We went to a small shop, you'll be home soon love," his voice was sweet and Draco managed a little smile.
"What about Leonardo?"
"Went home half-an-hour ago," Blaise wrapped his arm more comfortable around Draco's back, "it was fun though. Bill and Charlie were very nice to me."
"You know..." Draco blinked twice, taking in his surroundings, "I think I can walk from here Blaise."
"No way in hell am I ever letting you go Dray," and he meant it—just not in the sticky-never-let-you-go way, because that's... Ron.
--
"Hey Dray, are you sure you're okay?" Blaise asked from his place on the bed, "you've been quiet ever since we returned home?"
Draco spit out the toothpaste, rinsing his toothbrush under the cold jet of water.
"I'm fine," he lied, "just a bit tired, 's all. So, what do you wanna do?"
"Drink," he answered, no hesitation, "but are you sure you'll manage? I don't want you to get sick because of me."
"I'm not sick," Draco turned off the lights in the bathroom, heading back into the bedroom, "I'll be fine—you got some firewhiskey?"
"Well of course I do," Blaise tugged his white sweats up, and got off the bed, going over to his bag, "I noticed none of your special souvenirs are in here Dray."
Draco nodded—when his father was still alive, he used to travel together with Draco. They'd been all around the world, and everywhere they went, his father had told him to pick one thing, a souvenir to remind him of the trip, that he should later give to his beloved. His father did the same, and told him he regretted every country he'd seen, without bringing something back for his one-and-only. Of course Draco knew his father didn't give the souvenirs to his mother—it wasn't until recently, that he understood who all the gifts went to.
"You should place them here, until you decide whether or not you're ready to give them away," Blaise was smarter than he looked—he knows I'm holding onto them because of my father.
"Fine," Draco leaned against the desk as his friend opened a bottle of the wizard whiskey, "help me?"
And Blaise's face split out into a full grin.
--
When Ginny opened the door to Draco's bedroom, she'd made up multiple scenarios in her head. Her plan was to pretend to sulk, and try and bride Draco into letting her stay, since she really didn't feel like having to sit through another Harry-Ron-Hermione talk. But when she saw what was going on, she was surprised, to say the least—for all she knew they'd been going at it up against the wall, but this was something she hadn't expected.
There were boxes scattered around the room, and Draco and Blaise were tiffing about, as they arranged things all around the blonde's chamber. Draco was busy setting something on his bookcase, and Blaise was hanging something, it glittered in the light, and with a start, Ginny realised it was jewellery.
"What on earth are you doing?" she asked, closing the door behind her.
Both boys turned to her, lopsided smiles on their faces, and Draco took a swig from a bottle—suddenly it downed on her: they were drunk.
"Decorating his room," Blaise tossed a jar over to her, and she barely caught it, "help us. Find a nice place to put that."
"What is it?" she asked, confused, but looked around for a place nonetheless.
Draco's room had some shelves, but most of them were covered in books. He had an old dresser, with a blotted mirror, and she put the jar there, next to a jug of water. The jar seemed to be holding sand.
"Saqqara sand," Blaise offered, but she frowned.
"It's sand from Saqqara," Draco fell in, and he handed the bottle of firewhiskey to his friend, "you know, the necropolis."
"And this?" she pointed to the clear blue water.
"Water from mangrove bay," he said, not even turning.
Ginny studied the two items curiously, before supplying: "need more help?"
"Sure," Blaise tossed her the firewhiskey, "have a drink. We went through the boxes, and all the things that need to be set in the room, are on the bed."
"And the rest?" she asked, fully prepared to do this—she was dying for a change of scene, and Draco and Blaise always were fun to watch.
"Mainly jewellery," Draco hiccupped once, "I'll put it in my drawer later."
She walked over to the bed—it was a complete mess, covered in all sort of objects—and let her gaze trail over them before continuing.
"The silk robe?" she questioned, as her eyes caught it.
It was beautiful, black silk with red flowers on it. She touched it briefly, and she swore she'd never felt anything so soft and cool.
"From Nagasaki," the blonde appeared next to her, and pointed to a weird dolly—it was round, no arms or legs, and had blank eyes, "that's from Japan too, a hime daruma doll. A female daruma. Literally, 'princess daruma'."
"What are they?" Ginny took the doll, it was a bit heavy in her palm, and she looked at its odd face—one of the eyes had been marked, a black spot gracing the white.
"Wish dolls," Draco pointed to the black dot, "you fill out one of the eyes while making a wish. When it's come true, you fill out the other. Place it somewhere high."
She did what she was told, and they worked in quiet, passing the bottle around—when the bed was almost cleared, Draco flopped onto it, wrapping himself into the comfortable robe. Blaise put the boxes back where they came from, then joined his friend on the bed—flinching painfully.
"Damnit," he swore and reached under his arse, tossing a key, attached to a necklace, onto Draco's chest, "what is that doing here?"
"It used to be my dad's," Draco muttered, fitting it around his neck, and gulped the last of the whiskey down, "you have more of this Blaise?"
"Sure baby," he wobbled over to his bag, just as Ginny sat down next to Draco.
"Your room looks amazing," she beamed, her cheeks flustered and red, "can I stay?"
Draco noticed her slight slur, and, figuring he'd be in trouble if Granger found her friend in such a state, nodded.
Oh, but it was going to be a long night.
--
Hermione had knocked two times—Draco hadn't heard her, the first, or the second time.
"We should let them sleep," Harry offered.
"She's in there, I know it!" Hermione knocked again, loudly, and they heard a groan.
Ron, with his usual temper, cut between the two others, and opened the door.
Draco was in the corner of the room, on a sofa, fast asleep. The silk robe was still on his body, and besides that he was only wearing black boxers. Blaise was sleeping on the carpet, right in front of him, at his feet—his white nightshirt and boxer briefs the only thing covering his body—he shivered a bit at the cold, and whimpered, flattering closer to the rug. Ginny was sprawled out on the bed—her pink nightdress a bit ruffled to reveal a piece of her thigh.
At the sound of the door clicking back into the hinges, Blaise woke, yawning widely. His hazy eyes focused on his position on the floor, then flipped to the bed. When he noticed the disturbing female-like form on it, he screamed loudly in shock—in less than a second he'd gotten to his feet and had locked himself in the bathroom.
"Shut up," Draco groaned, throwing a pillow at the source of the noise.
Blaise whimpered and called: "Draco, there's a woman on your bed!"
"No there isn't," just to be sure, he peeked one eye open, "Blaise, it's fine, she's died!"
Cautiously, Blaise opened the bathroom door. When he saw that Ginny was not moving, at all, he sighed in relief. Then he caught side of the three teens by the door, and smiled apologetically.
"My condolences—if you ask me, it's that horrid frock that caused it all," he explained with an encouraging nod.
Harry, Hermione and Ron were not amused.
Draco opened his eyes completely now, giving a jaw-cracking yawn, and stilled as he saw Ronald—staring at him with something curious in his eyes.
He got up immediately, wrapping his robe tighter around himself. Memories of the other day came flooding back, and he could suddenly feel Ron's hot skin on my hot flesh and… his knees buckled and Blaise caught him before he crashed down.
"There you go Dray," he helped him to the bed, and Draco refused to meet anyone's look, "I told you, you're getting sick."
"I'm not sick," he muttered, "we should wake up the Weaslette, her friends look worried."
"Well, I propose we poke her with a stick," Blaise offered cheerfully—Harry, Hermione and Ron looked scandalized.
Instead, Draco carefully prodded her side.
"Wake up Weaslette, I'd like my bed back," Draco calmly tried waking her, placing his palm on her shoulder and pushing, "I'm not kidding. I want it back!"
"Mrrm," she made a weird nose, flattering into the duvet, "but I help…" and she snored loudly.
"You know," Blaise took the empty transparent bottle of firewhiskey from next to the redhead's hand, inspecting it, "this was still half-full when we fell asleep…"
"Oy!" Draco poked her harshly, and she shrieked, "you are not drooling on that, get off!" and he hosted her up his arms.
She just turned and flattered her head against Draco's bare chest.
"I'm dropping you," he said flatly, and was about to do just that, when Ron heaved her from his arms, into his own—when Draco saw his face, red with furry, he started stuttering, "I wasn't… really going to—"
"Fuck off," Ron bit, and left the room without another word—Hermione and Harry followed him, and Draco dropped to the bed.
"Okay baby," Blaise said in his most-concerned tone, just as the door closed again, "can you now stop pretending nothing happened, and tell me what's going on?"
Now, being ignored by Ronald was not nice at all—but the grin on Blaise's face, after he'd told everything, is worse, because he'll make him pay, one way or another.
--
Draco had to admit that Blaise's plan of action might not be the best he'd ever had—making the redhead even more jealous than he already was? But then again, he reasoned, Ron saw them as through now, and if Draco could only make the redhead see that he didn't really want them to be through, it might just fix it.
All in all, it was a plan of many flaws. But if that failed, Draco decided that he would just have to talk to Ronald instead. As for now, everyone was already having breakfast when they entered the kitchen—except for Ginny, who was probably fast asleep in her own bed.
"Drake, sit here," Blaise pulled the blonde on his lap—he was on the chair next to Harry's—leaving no room for arguments, and Charlie gave them a wink, "I'm more comfortable than a chair baby."
"You just wanna have something to lean against, mean sod," Draco was proven right, as Blaise tipped his head down to lean on Draco's back, wrapping his arms securely around the slim waist, "coffee?"
"Mmm, yes please," Blaise nuzzled Draco behind his ear and watched the blonde pour him a cup—Bill offered his own, and Draco filled it too, before setting the pot back down, "thanks love."
They heard a small eep from by the door, and everyone turned to it, frowning—just in time to see a tuff of red hair running off.
"What was that?" Blaise asked, confused.
"That would be Ginny," Remus said, taking the pot of tea, "she's not very used to seeing half-naked boys."
He indicated the very dark, very naked chest of Blaise, and the raven chuckled.
"Ah, I get it," he turned to the blonde atop his lap—the boy was in his pyjama's, with a silk robe over it—he had felt quite sentimental, and had decided to wear his father's old robe, "Dray, give me your robe."
"What?" Draco glared—no way can I give him this, "no!"
"Ooh, are you naked under it," Blaise suddenly got a sneaky glint in his eyes, and he tugged the robe open—to reveal the black shirt, "you're wearing clothes under there! Give it to me!"
"I'm cold," Draco snarled—and some of the others laughed.
"But Dray, I'm nake—"
He was interrupted by Draco's loud voice, the boy's eyes dark grey in anger.
"It was my dad's and you're not getting it!" he got up, undid the robe, then pulled his shirt off over his head, and threw it on Blaise's lap—the boy's eyes were wide as saucers, and he pulled the fabric over his own head, just before Draco returned to his original place on top of the boy, "now you're not naked anymore."
When he looked up, he saw that everyone was a bit startled by his outburst. He coughed, and took some pumpkin juice for himself.
"Thank you Dray," as a matter of apology, he pressed a kiss to the back of Draco's neck—and when Ron does that it makes me shiver all over, but he felt nothing.
They jumped when Blaise's pants started vibrating, and he swore crudely.
"Damn, my mum," he urged the blonde to get off his lap, and fished his mobile from his pocket, "Leonardo told me earlier she knows he was with us at the beach," he bit his lip, staring at the small device, "I have to take this."
He left the kitchen, but not before Draco called: "Blaise? Be nice to her. I wouldn't much like it if you died."
He smiled and gave a small wave, before disappearing—they heard him answer, and then his voice was gone—Draco sat back on the chair, next to Harry.
"Why can't his mother know you went to the beach?" the raven asked, truly interested.
Draco took a piece of toast, and thought the question over.
"Well, if misses Zabini finds out Blaise enjoys the company of other boys, she would probably disown him, right?" he looked at Pothead to see if the boy understood—he nodded in answer, "if it so happens to be that he shagged the son of a servant, she will kill him."
"What would it matter that he's the son of a servant," Granger interfered bossily, "he could turn out to be a multimillionaire."
"You don't understand," Draco shook his head, "for all she cares he grows up to be a stripper. But he'll always remain the son of a servant."
"But—" she began to protest but Draco shushed her.
"Listen, that's just the way it goes, okay," he snapped at her and she leaned back in her chair, indignant and sulking, "I know I'm not one to speak since my parents had to die for me to find out that it's fucked up as hell," Sirius bit his lip, taking the blonde's hand in comfort, but I don't need it, "but misses Zabini is a very traditional pure-blood, and to fall in love with a servant's son would be a disgrace. The only thing worse would be if he shagged a muggle-born, I suppose she'd kill him slowly if that was the case."
He drank from his cup and bit in the bread, turning when Blaise re-entered the kitchen.
"What did she say?" he asked, and the raven swiped the sweat from his brow—he'd been very nervous and frightened as hell.
"She said that it's nice of me to show the boy around," he wrapped an arm around Draco's hips, pulled him off the chair, then pulled him back onto his own lap, "and she thinks I'm friendly for offering to be his friend, but she would prefer it if I didn't come anywhere near him again."
Draco kissed his forehead sweetly, in comfort, and muttered: "'m sorry Blaise."
"Oh please," he shrugged it off and rubbed his nose against Draco's, "we've been shagging for ages without her knowing—I'm not planning on stopping now. I just gotta make sure his mum keeps her crap mouth shut."
"How the hell was she supposed to know she couldn't say anything!" Granger fell in hotly—always fighting for everybody's rights.
Blaise scowled at her—and Draco rested his head in his hand—Blaise scowling was not a good thing.
"I don't give a fuck about how she's supposed to know," his voice was cold as ice, and Draco could see her shudder vaguely, "all I care about is how she nearly got me murdered—don't fucking mess with things you know nothing about you stupid—"
Draco covered his mouth with his hand, and kissed his forehead quickly, effectively shutting him up.
"Blaise, stop worrying," Blaise's eyes softened, and their looks met, "we're talking about the woman who finds porn under your bed every other day, but still believes you when you say you're not into boys and are still a virgin. You're a master at what you—your mother will not find out, she won't murder you, and you'll be just fine. She loves you no matter what, and Leonardo knows that this is dangerous but he's not going anywhere. Now eat," he let go of Blaise's mouth, and stuffed a bit of toast in it, making him splutter, "cause I wanna go do something fun."
"Then let's go," Blaise swallowed and Draco frowned, biting off some toast himself.
"You haven't eaten yet," he pointed out, but his friend just shrugged.
"'m full," he assured the blonde, and they stood.
Just to be sure he took some extra pieces of toast as Blaise left, calling: "I have a great idea of what we could do baby!"
Draco scowled, carefully wrapping the toast in a napkin.
"We're not having sex Blaise!"
And they heard a chuckle coming from the other boy.
--
"Are those pants?"
Draco and Blaise looked up when they heard Granger's voice—they were on the second floor, in the living room there, after asking permission from Sirius—the door was wide open and they could hear her talking clearly.
Not much later she appeared in the doorway, holding Blaise's pyjama-pants. Their clothes were on the sofa, mostly, but Blaise had lost his pants back in the hallway. They were on the floor, in their boxers—Blaise's briefs tight and white, Draco's boxer shorts pitch black, his father's key loosely around his neck—and they were claying.
"Ah, thanks," Blaise gave a nod, working on his figurine.
"Why are you guys naked?" Pothead wondered aloud, his eyes wide at the sight.
"We didn't want our clothes to get dirty," Draco didn't speak, focusing on his work, "it makes sense when you're tipsy."
"Again?" Ginny laughed—she'd gotten up not-so-long ago, and was holding her brother's hand, still a bit drowsy.
Blaise nodded, and poked Draco with his toe.
"Baby, we were in the middle of a conversation, remember?" he reminded the blonde—they'd been talking about sex.
"We can't, I promised Molly we'd try to behave in front of minors," he gave Ginny a point, and the girl's huffed, insulted.
"I can take it! I was there yesterday!"
"We didn't talk about sex yesterday," Blaise smashed his clay against the floor, kneading it, "we were talking about Draco's journeys."
"I could handle it," she huffed again.
"That's not the point. The point is I promised your mother I wouldn't, so I won't," he took a bottle of water, dipping his fingers in to better handle the clay, "because she's very nice to me and I don't want to go against her wishes when it comes to something as trivial as this. Now you can either shut the fuck up or leave us alone."
"I made a triangle!" Blaise exclaimed happily, showing Draco his perfect square—the blonde giggled, and the others rolled their eyes, leaving the room.
They spent the entire afternoon making figures out of the clay—each time Blaise was finished he swore he'd made a triangle, even though all his things were obviously squares—until they decided to show their things to Sirius. They ran through the house like headless chickens, in their sleeping shirts and boxers, until Blaise bumped into the man—and giggled cheekily.
"I made triangles!" he dropped his things in Sirius' hands, and went into the living room, crashing on the couch.
"He made squares," Draco corrected, and followed his friend—Sirius looked dumbfounded, and followed the blonde as he continued talking, "but he's in denial."
"I see you boys had fun," Remus smiled when he saw the state of them—little specks of clay everywhere, on their legs, their faces, their arms—he was busy talking to Hermione about Werewolf rights, but Draco was too busy shoving Blaise's feet away to notice.
"I made triangles!" Blaise repeated, and Sirius set his clay work on the side-table, showing one to Remus.
"They're squares," Remus said, confused.
"Don't ask," Draco shook his head and gave a tired yawn, "let's sleep!"
"What did you make Draco?" Sirius asked, wondering if perhaps he'd made squares which turned out to be circles.
"He made art!" Blaise gave him a drunken wink, and crawled over to the other side of the couch, flattering his head against the boy's chest, "show him!"
"It's not art," Draco grumbled, clamping on to the clay figurine he held in his hand.
"Is too!" the black boy turned to Sirius, eyes a bit queasy, "he's great at artistic crap!"
"Show me," the man sat down on the arm-rest, carefully taking the sculpture from the pale boy.
It was the beginning of the body of a man—perfect back, abs, chest—running from the neck to just below the thighs. It was unfinished, had no arms, legs or head. Sirius looked at it in awe—the muscles were perfectly depicted and rather realistic, even the male's anatomy was in perfect proportion with the rest of his body.
"Draco…" Sirius sounded rather breathless, and Remus looked up in confusion—Harry and Ron too, focused on the man, since he sounded as if he'd run a mile, "this is amazing, how did you…"
"I can tell you one thing," Blaise said, a soft, tired tone, "it sure as hell isn't based on my body."
"It's nothing," Draco waved it off, his eyes fixing on Sirius' expression, though he felt a bit lightheaded, Sirius interest clears my head.
"No Draco, this is fantastic," Sirius beckoned at Remus, and the brunette stood from his place on the ground, "you got to see this Remi, it's incredible. Where did you learn to do this?"
"From myself," Draco furrowed his brows, "where else?"
"You should see his drawings," Blaise patted the boy's back, as a sign to say, 'well done!' or something equally weird and Blaise-like.
"The details are very good," Remus' look flit to the blonde, before he looked back at the small figurine—it fit perfectly from the palm of Sirius' arm, to his elbow—running over the thighs of the man, "the muscles…"
"What am I supposed to say?" Draco asked coldly, "thank you? Please don't feel like you must be nice to me—I didn't even want to show you in the first place!"
"Draco, it's not a bad thing," Remus tried to explain, "why shouldn't we be allowed to praise your work?"
"You're just saying that because you feel like you have to," the blonde said—and there was a sombre tone set to his voice.
Sirius sighed and sat down on the armrest again, wrapping his arm around the blonde and pulling him to him—causing Blaise to slump down against the couch instead.
"That's not true," Remus frowned, "why would we say something like this if it's not true. There's no need to lie, and we wouldn't. You must understand that this," he indicated the statue, "really is a work of art. I know no one that can craft this sort of thing."
"It's just…" Draco blushed and Blaise chuckled, leaning his head against his shoulder.
"I have this drawing he made," the boy started feeling around in the pocket of his shirt, and Draco groaned, "I keep it with me wherever I go."
He unfolded the paper, and handed it to Remus—the drawing was of Blaise himself, reading a book, a small smirk on his face—he smiled at the sight of it, the shadows giving the picture a darker look, and everything in perfect detail. From the smirk on the boy's face to the folds of his shirt.
"You really are good at this," Remus leaned forward to kiss the blonde's cheek, "I don't care whether you want to see that yourself or not."
He sat back with Hermione, and Sirius set the figurine on the side table.
"You should keep it," he kissed the other cheek, "it might make you an even richer man one day. And you," he ruffled Blaise's hair, and the boy muttered something incoherently, eyes closed, "very nice triangles."
At this Draco laughed, shoved his friend off, and made himself comfortable on the couch. Blaise whined as he hit the floor, but rolled himself into a ball, and fell asleep not a second later—Draco yawned again, flattering his head against the side of the couch, my head's not spinning anymore, but he felt a bit tired and lanky, out-of-place.
When Ron left the room, Draco couldn't help but notice how his eyes flit to the statue on the side table, and how his eyes lit up at the mere sight of it.
--
"Blaise is leaving," Draco announced, as Blaise went over to thank Sirius.
"Thank you for letting me stay here," he kissed the man's cheek, then went to Remus, "mister Lupin."
"Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay for dinner mister Zabini?" misses Weasley smiled, setting the pans on the table.
"I'm sorry, I can't," he slipped his arm around Draco's waist, though his eyes were boring into Ron's—Draco didn't notice, he was too busy watching misses Weasley, "my mother demanded I'd come home for dinner tonight. Cookie's making my favourite."
"Cookie?" Molly asked, not understanding.
"What's her name again?" Blaise turned to Draco.
"Erm… the cook's name…" he thought it over, "the old woman? I think… isn't it something weird like Macy?"
"You... you have a cook?" Draco could see from the look in her eye that Molly really wanted to be Blaise in that moment—but the boy merely shrugged.
"My mother finds house-elves to be a nuisance," he let go of Draco, "I really have to go. Thanks for having me."
"I'll walk you to the door," Draco guided his friend out of the kitchen, and Blaise gave him a little strange look, "what?"
"Talk to him," Blaise said simply, "he's been close to murdering me every single time I even as much as touched you. I don't know if he loves you—I'm sure he does—but I know he wants you. And that's something to go by," they stopped at the door, "so talk to him."
The only problem was that talking, was not what Draco had in mind for his beautiful redhead.
--
It was already dark outside, the light of the pale half-full moon shining into the house through every window. Draco had made himself comfortable against the wall in the hallway—he knew Ron passed here every day, to go say goodnight to his mother before going to sleep. There was a very convenient, empty room, not a step away, and what was best, was the big window inside of it. It was guaranteed to be filled with light, so Draco wouldn't have to worry about not being able to see Ron as they talked.
He looked up when someone turned the corner, glad to see it was Ronald—already in his too small pyjamas, focused on buttoning up his shirt as he walked—he started smiling prematurely. When Ron noticed him, he paused only briefly, before continuing, deciding he could just ignore the blonde if necessary.
"Come with me," when Ron was at eyelevel with him, Draco pulled him into the empty room—Ron protested, but Draco pushed him into the wall, putting a finger to his lips to shush him, "I think it's only fair I get a chance to say something."
He waited for Ron to calm down, before stepping back, willing to show the boy that if he really insisted on leaving he could do so. Ron looked at him curiously, but didn't move, leaning into the wall, the last button on his shirt still undone.
"I understand that you don't like Blaise," he started, trying to sound composed, even though it is killing me, "and I respect that—but you have to understand that I don't love him like I love you," he bit his lip, and saw Ron's eyes light up at the simple words, "he could never make me feel this way and I understand if you think we're through, but I need you—I don't know what you did to me," and suddenly he sounded desperate, and he felt all alone, "but it doesn't even seem to matter anymore, anything, and the only thing I care about is naming the exact shade of your hair and counting all the freckles on your skin," Ron placed his hands carefully on the blonde's hips, but Draco wasn't finished, "I need you to know I never cheated, or intend to do so, because only you can have me like this, and I love no one in the way that I love you. I wish there was some way I could prove to you that only you can have me—I am only yours."
He averted his eyes, nervous. Ron—assured the blonde was done ranting—didn't say a word, but pulled him into his own body, and then connected their lips hotly. Draco couldn't help but moan into the kiss, it's been so long, and his arms wrapped around Ron's shoulder on instinct. He pressed into the other as hard as he could, needing to feel him against him—Ron pushed back just as hard, so it was okay. Their lips refused to separate, kissing hungrily, biting and licking at each other.
Draco used Ron's shoulders to jump up, wrapping his legs around the redhead's waist, as they finally stopped their kiss, in need for air. Ron stared at the blonde's reddened lips, wanting them on his own again. But before he could react, Draco was kissing down his neck, tearing his shirt open, buttons flying everywhere.
"Oh Merlin," Ron gasped and his head tipped back, connecting with the wall harshly—his hand settled on Draco's bum, groping as he brought him up closer, "baby... we..."
The blonde pushed their bodies away from the wall, clamping his thighs around Ron's hips and effectively turning their positions, so that now it was him being driven into the tapestry. Ron made a small noise in the back of his throat when he felt Draco's tongue slide down his chest, circling his nipples and going up again—he squeezed his arse tighter, digging his fingers into his thigh—and tried his best to focus long enough in order to get Draco's shirt off.
"Drake..." he tried to let the blonde know he was teetering, and with a grunt of dissatisfaction, Draco untangled himself long enough to pull his shirt off over his head.
Satisfied at seeing the pale chest, Ron kissed his lover again, and their hands worked their ways down each other's body—Draco just couldn't get enough, and he slid them up and down over the broad back, over and over again. He gave Ron's face kisses all over, sweetly mapping his cheeks, his nose, his chin, not letting a single spot go untouched, as Ron's hands returned to his ass.
Ron grew aggravated when he stumbled again, unable to undo the buttons on the blonde's jeans. The noises he made when Ron brushed against him—trying to succeed in his task—didn't help either, and only managed to distract him further. Draco had no trouble getting Ron naked, tugging the pyjama bottoms down, he then pushed them further off the tanned body with his feet, until they pooled at Ron's ankles—his boxers following not far after.
Their lips met again in an unhurried kiss, Ron's palms cupping the blonde's head, as the other's nails dug into his own back. Their tongues twisted lazily, contradicting the urge Draco felt, building up in his loins. His hands slipped down Ron's sweaty shoulders—softly stroking at his bum—and he relished the groan Ron let slip between their lips. When they pulled apart—a single string of salvia connecting their lips—Draco suddenly noticed that he wasn't naked yet, though wanting Ron, very bad.
"Ronald..." his voice was squeaky, and he thrust his hips against Ron's, trying to make clear what he wanted, "please hurry," he begged, and the redhead groaned at the wanton sound, leaning his weight into the smaller body completely, "please..."
"I can't..." Ron's head dropped against Draco's shoulder, and for an anxious minute the blonde stopped his trashing—eyes shifting nervously—afraid he'd done something wrong. Ron's breath was hot against his damp skin, and he swallowed thickly, "I can't get them off."
He moaned when their hips moved together, and Draco sighed in relief. His hands left Ron's back, undoing the buttons quickly, even though his fingers were slippery. He unwrapped himself from the taller body, dropped to the floor, pushed down his jeans and underwear, and clambered back up—Ron helped him, jabbing his fingers into the pale ass and holding him so he could wrap his legs around his waist again—and held onto Ron for dear life.
"Do you have..." Ron's voice faltered and he kissed the blonde again—Draco's eyes were roving his body appreciatively, and the tension was too much—meshing their waists together, "I need lube..."
"No," the blonde purred darkly at the sensation, and moved his hips, shifting slightly, "please Ron."
The soft demand broke Ron's resolve, and he nodded, sliding his body against the smaller one. He angled his hips, securing his hands on his lover's arse, so he could hold him tight to his body.
"Please," Draco pleaded again, and their eyes locked. The blonde brought his knees up higher, his heels sliding against the other's lower back—he grasped onto a tan shoulder with one hand, while he brought Ron's head down into a kiss with the other one, "Ronald, please."
He could feel the redhead's breath against his cheek, and as he pushed in—slow but pinpointed—they both stopped breathing, a gasp stealing away their air. Draco watched Ron's eyes flutter shut for a mere second, before they opened again, staring at the pale face with a look of pure bliss. He made a pleased noise, and kissed the blonde's chin, as he began moving carefully, watching Draco for any signs of discomfort. When none where shown, he trusted himself to move slightly faster, knowing that he wouldn't be able to take much more. Draco knew they were already close, the lack of contact in the past days making them reach their peak much faster than usually—they were throbbing and hot and sweating and panting, bodies slipping against each other's—and he did his best to meet Ron's thrusts, already worn out. His thighs trembled and he arched his back, purring softly, before letting a harsh moan slip past his lips—he pushed closer to Ron, his hand sticky against the broad back, while he placed the other on Ron's cheek.
Ron was still intently watching him, as he bit his lip—even when his own eyes trailed down to look at their interlinked waists briefly—and he let out a soft hum of contentment, each time Draco moaned when their hips met.
"I..." Ron tried talking, and his breath heated the skin of Draco's neck, as he kissed it softly—his hands dug deeper into his ass possessively, and Draco knew he was leaving a lovebite, "...missed you."
In answer Draco whimpered, pushing his shoulder blades against the wall—he knew he was going to regret that later, and that his shoulders would be sore—wanting to feel Ron's chest against his own. Ron's hands slipped over his bum and settled on his hips, holding him as they moved faster, until the redhead groaned Draco's name and came, pulling Draco's waist tight against his own.
Draco mewled hoarsely at the sensation—his lover spilling himself into his spent body, causing him to purr in acquiescence—the feeling was always odd, but he liked it anyways. His fingers scraped over Ron's skin, as he too, came hard—hoarsely calling Ron's name into the hot air.
The redhead's knees wobbled, too weak to keep them up they fell to the floor, since Draco didn't trust his own legs to carry the both of them. They were trembling, and he had goosebumps all over his skin—their figures shivered and shook in their climax, reducing them to sweaty messes of blubber—Ron collapsed into the blonde's chest, laying oddly between his thighs, their waists still connected.
Draco brought his hands down—trembling still, his breathing hard—to Ron's abs, carefully pushing him out of his body. The move resulted in another shake, and his spine shivered, his eyes hazy. He could feel Ron moving carefully, softly sighing as he flattered against Draco's chest, his eyes drooping shut. His hands lay unmoving on Draco's hips, and Draco stroked some of the sweaty red hair from the tanned face, tracing his jaw with a finger.
"That felt amazing," he whispered, and Ron nodded in consent, "I missed you too Ronald."
"I'm sorry," Ron murmured, his sweaty cheek against Draco's sweaty chest, and it's fine, "I know I haven't been good to you lately," he sounded ashamed, but all Draco did was run his fingers through the vibrant red, "Sirius and Remus told Harry about their relationship, and he's been really angry because they told you first, but trying to be nice because it shows they care about you," this came as a surprise to Draco—why didn't they tell me about it?—but he didn't let it show, "and I suppose I was a bit upset too, because you didn't tell me—even though I know you weren't supposed to—and then that stupid faggot came along and... I'm just..." he sighed, and tipped his head to look up at his lover, "sorry."
"Don't be," Draco bent over—a little awkwardly—to press a chaste kiss to the other's lips, his breathing still too hard, "as long as you know that Blaise is just my best friend—we've always been like this towards each other. I don't love him like this—I want no one else but you Ronald."
Ron's eyes shimmered dangerously at the mentioning of Blaise, and for a minute Draco feared he might have pissed him off again—but Ron smiled feebly, and gave him another kiss—and I know it's going to be a while before he gets over it, but at least he's trying.
"This has to be the best birthday present I've ever gotten," the redhead said with a yawn, a satisfied smile on his face, "I love you."
Draco blinked in confusion instead of returning the murmured words—his birthday?
"It's your birthday?" he asked, in shock—how couldn't he have known that it was Ron's birthday?
"No," Ron chuckled, "tomorrow, I'm turning seventeen."
"I can't believe you're a year older, I turned sixteen in June," Draco sulked, and he wiped the sweat from his brow, "and that I didn't know. Or that I didn't get you a present!"
"I can think of one or two things," Ron murmured hoarsely, and he lifted himself lazily, attaching his lips to Draco's neck.
"I meant something giftwrapable," Draco tipped his head back for easier access, "you can't put a ribbon around sex."
"I could put a ribbon around you," Ron took a hold of Draco's thighs, and pulled him down from his seated position against the wall, under his own body until he just had to bend down in order to kiss his lips, "I would like you in a ribbon."
"But you can't brag with me in a ribbon Ronald," Draco bit his lip playfully, and Ron nuzzled his ear.
"I think a lot of people would be jealous if they knew I had you in a ribbon," he commented, before slacking again—realising his arms were too weak and he was drained—he fell down atop the blonde.
"I think you need sleep," the blonde manoeuvred out from under his lover, getting to his feet slowly—once almost tripping, but he managed to stay upright by using the wall as leverage—before helping Ron up, "come on."
Draco took their clothes, deciding that they were close enough to his own room to make it without being seen completely naked. He wrapped his arm around the redhead's waist when he realised just how weak his knees were, and helped him to the door, his head leaning against Draco's shoulder.
"Baby," Ron kissed the lovebite he'd left on the pale skin, and Draco turned his head to meet his gaze, "let me sleep with you? Please?"
"Only if you hurry," Draco kissed him quickly, before opening the door.
After checking if the coast was clear, they made a run for it, spurting to the other side of the hallway to reach Draco's door—and it was insane, because they were too tired, and Draco could feel all his muscles protesting, but he'd be damned if he got dressed now.
Inside Draco dropped their clothes by the door, before they collapsed onto the bed, lying horizontal, even though it's wrong, I don't care. Draco gave a tired yawn, and Ron swore, muttering about his legs seemingly being made of blubber. The blonde reached over for a pillow, propping it under his head while Ron made himself at home on the blonde's chest, his feet dangling from the side of the bed. It was hot inside the room, and their bodies had yet to cool down, so they didn't take the blankets, but instead lay there in silence, completely exposed to whoever walked through the door.
Soon, Draco heard Ron's soft breathing even out, a sure sign he'd fallen asleep—and it wasn't until he was assured that his redhead was comfortable and resting, that he himself fell asleep.
AN: I know clay doesn't dry this fast. I needs an entire night, at the least, but I'm pretending it's magical clay and dries faster. Kudos for those who figure out who it's based on –pff, like it's hard ! wait… that sounded wrong…
I hate it when they talk after sex -_-' I hate it even more when I make them... was I too sappy? Probably... well, figures if your head is filled with the nonsense mine is ! I also suppose that the sex was bad... even though they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Ah well... review if you want the next lovies !
Love,
Li'll ol' Crazy4Moony ^^