21. Touch and Talk
AN: Nana was beginning to feel a little left out. She's still there of course, but she's leaving by the end of chapter 23. Not because she's staying all these days, just that describing one day takes two chapters, apparently. I know I haven't mentioned her in a while, but she has been there all the time ^-^
WARNING: a scene is rated M.
MY SPECIAL THANKS GO TO: ANIMEBUG, because you're just the nicest person I have ever met. Sweet and kind and whatnot, and just basically 3 I'm honoured to have you as my reader !
I ALSO WELCOME: all the new readers who've just joined us (and there's quite a lot of them) hope you havefun reading this!
TO SirTheoWolfy: You are epic. And I get to say this, because I am me, and therefore I will say that you are epic ^-^ I'm glad to have you as a new reader !
Spellchecker's Note: I would just like to thank Crazy4Moony for allowing me to spellcheck this chapter (thereby seeing it sooner :3), and I would like to tell her that she should stop being so modest! - You're a fantastic writer, so just.. live with it! :D
AND THANK YOU, Alaie! And you guys should thank her too, if it wasn't for her, it would've taken another couple of days for me to update this :D Since well, I was lazy, and too engrossed in writing the next chapters XP hehe. Thank you very much ^-^ This one's for you !
"Good, you're back," Ginny sounded remarkably relieved by the time they arrived back at their seats—Harry's nose cleanly mended by the bouncer outside—a concerned look on her face, "I was just about to go out and see if you'd really taken off!"
"Yes," Granger pursed her lips when she saw her two best friends smiling—knowing that now it was no longer okay for her to act like a bitch towards the blonde, "We didn't want to run off as well, in case the waiter thought we were leaving without paying first."
"Tough luck with that, I paid in advance," Blaise smirked and sat back down, acting as if he had just been in need of a bathroom break—as if he didn't run off all angry and upset, "So, what's all that about the movies?"
Ginny animatedly began talking about their trip after dinner, and Ron entwined his hand with Draco's under the table, smiling when Harry gave him a wink. And yeah, it was weird, but it'll be alright.
Eventually they ended back up at Grimmauld Place—Ginny slightly intoxicated from all the wine she'd had over dinner—Granger shushing them as they entered the darkened hallway. Draco had half-expected Molly to be waiting for them, angrily tapping her foot, but when she did not suddenly appear out of nowhere in the dark hall, he figured Sirius had probably warned her that they were alright. The man had texted him when it had passed ten and they still had not arrived home, but the movie had been much longer than either of them had anticipated.
Pothead—Harry—nearly tripped over the seam of the carpet on his way in, Weaslette catching him in time with a drunk giggle. Granger rolled her eyes and took her friend by the arm, dragging her up the stairs without a second glance—though she did actually throw a dirty look at Draco over her shoulder when she thought he wouldn't notice—the younger girl giggling a goodnight.
Slowly, they made their way upstairs as well, Ron and Harry talking quietly, the redhead's fingers looped in Draco's belt. Draco listened only partly, his thoughts straying constantly from the subject, —they were discussing Quidditch players—to his father or Blaise or Sirius. Well at least he stayed within the category; guys that like themselves some good hard wood.
"So…" They stopped when they reached Harry's bedroom—formerly Harry and Ron's bedroom—and Harry gave a nervous cough.
Ron fidgeted with his sweater, avoiding his friend's stare, and Draco knew he's not sure it's okay yet.
"So..." Ron repeated—he was chewing his lip anxiously to release some of the tension he was feeling—and then he gave a weird sort of wave, and said: "goodnight!"
Before Harry could even reply, or protest, Ron pulled Draco with him to the end of the hall, leaving Harry behind.
Draco tried not to notice how utterly disappointed Harry looked—well, he tried not to be satisfied when he saw how disappointed Harry looked—and paused the redhead when they had turned the corner.
"Ron, are you sure you wouldn't rather—" he began, but was silenced when Ron gently forced him into the wall and kissed him.
He was surprised at the sudden action—Ron's hand cushioning his head from the wall, their bodies suddenly so close—and gasped, before his eyes slipped shut and he kissed back. It was short though, and Ron pulled away all-too-soon, tugging Draco down the hall before stopping again and repeating the action—attaching their lips and coaxing the blonde's mouth open—though this time Draco was prepared. He grasped at the black waistcoat, meshing Ron's chest against his own, the touch of tan skin sending a shiver up his spine when his fingertips brushed past it.
Sloppily, they moved towards Draco's bedroom—nipping and grabbing all the while—pausing every couple of steps to lean against the wall and enjoy some more intense snoggage.
Ron moaned into the kiss when one of Draco's hands tangled into his hair, the other creeping up under the white shirt. Their lips separated, Draco's up in a smirk, and their eyes met—so, so hot. He made quick work of Ron's waistcoat, and was dragged to his own door, before he was pushed against it, the reddened lips locking once more with his own.
They managed to get inside Draco's bedroom without too much of a hassle, Draco closing the door hastily with his hip—their bodies detaching momentarily—his lips still biting at Ron's hungrily, while the redhead nearly ripped the pristine dress-shirt in his haste to get it off. He was pulled back into his lover's arms, the boy looping his fingers into Draco slacks, capturing him once more, but it feels so safe.
Ron pulled Draco with him to the bed—their lips separated for a moment, the redhead grinning broadly—knees bumping the side they fell down in a tangle of limbs, and struggled to sit back up straight, the sides of their thighs touching through their trousers. They took some time listening to each other's panting, Draco taking off Ron's waistcoat completely while those big hands slid across his chest. It was a strong contrast, Ron's hands, rather callused, lightly tanned with a scar running across his palm, touching at the pure, soft flesh of Draco's chest, so damn pale, almost like milk, smooth and unmarred. The only part of his chest that differed, were his nipples, a soft rosy colour.
The redhead grazed a thumb over one of the nubs—Draco gasped, hastily pushing Ron's shirt down over his shoulder—watching it stand to attention immediately. He stared, amazed he could see the goosebumps form, watching a small droplet of sweat running down Draco's neck, over his sternum, and dip into his bellybutton. Transfixed by his lover's body, he poked at the other pink nipple, then followed the trail the drop had led, with his thumb. When he encountered black slacks, he pushed back up and focused once more on the nubs, jutting out so proudly against the otherwise pale skin.
His eyes moved away from the intriguing sight to meet Draco's—the blonde's were lit with swirling silver, exploding when they locked with Ron's, and it was simply breathtaking to see that colour shift, and become something much darker—I want you. For a single, earthshaking second, they just sat looking at each other, hands set on each other's body, but not moving.
Then, gradually, Ron turned his head to the side, leaning in to catch Draco's mouth in a kiss. As soon as their lips touched, they began moving again. Ron accommodated his hips when Draco fumbled with his fly, groaning into the open-mouthed kiss. The blonde fought to get the jeans down Ron's thighs, while Ron merely undid the button of Draco's slacks and pushed his hand inside.
Draco pulled away from the kiss so he could bite his lip instead, —Ron's experienced fingers slithering into his boxer-briefs—pushing down Ron's old-fashioned underwear just enough to reveal the boy's own erection.
They shifted, closer to each other and kissed again, a brief peck this time, panting against each other's lips. Both of their breathing was shallow, and Draco's skin felt brackish with transpiration. His thighs too, were hot and slick, and as they were still concealed by his pants, it was a bit uncomfortable, though he ignored it.
He kissed Ron's neck affectionately, nipping at his collarbone before slowly, ohsodamnagonisinglyslow, twisting his wrist. Ron's reaction was immediate, a sharp cry and a shudder, racking his whole frame.
"Draco," he bit out, slender fingers wrapping around his hard flesh, "look at me."
Draco did as he was told, straightening—even though he was mildly disappointed not to be able to taste Ron's skin any longer, the look of pure bliss on Ron's face made up for that—and then moaning wildly when Ron suddenly started moving his hand as well, his voice hitching.
At first it was a bit awkward, mismatched rhythms, shifting to make it easier—gasping into the empty air, so close they could feel the other breathe. Then, suddenly, as if by accident, their jerks fell perfectly into place, completely in sync. It even became easy to use their free hand—grasping as much wonderful skin as they could, teasing each other with feather light touches.
Draco smeared the redhead's precome over the boy's shaft with his thumb, giving it a squeeze—Ron groaned in surprise, his usual gruff bedroom-voice making it sound more like a growl—he licked his own lips when more pearly liquid leaked from the tip, wondering if it would still taste the same as it did the last time it touched his tongue.
The idea of bending over and finding out occurred to Draco, but frankly, he did not think he could handle it. His skin was sweaty and his hips were thrusting into Ron's hand relentlessly, no matter how he tried to control his body's movements, he seemed to fail. They were both already so close, and as he watched Ron's dick bob in his hand, sweeping his thumb over the tip again, he realised the redhead was perhaps even closer than he was, his strong abdomen trembling out of control, his muscles flexing.
Draco focused his gaze on Ron's face once more—the boy was looking at him intently, eyes clouded over with lust—his pale cheeks reddening when Ron made him moan hoarsely. He was glad to see the redhead was in the same state as him: sweaty and flustered, biting his lip to silence himself somewhat. Even though kissing would be an easy solution, Draco liked seeing Ron's face when they were like this, and it seemed to make it even more intense. Seeing every single emotion cross his face like that, there were no secrets between them, and it was so insanely erotic, it made him moan again. Draco couldn't imagine anything purer than that, fucking perfect.
He nearly lost it when Ron sped up, and the redhead leaned into the pale body next to his, panting into Draco's shoulder. Draco had never, by comparison, felt small, really. He was rather tall, and was very proud of his body and his goods, but somehow, with Ron, he felt frail and fragile, as if he could just break—knowing fully well that Ron would pick up the pieces and put them back together again—because Ron was just so big compared to him. Big hands, big heart, big, beautiful everything. Even so, Ron was totally spent, and he buried his head in Draco's neck, groaning.
"Draco," it was a deep, dark sound—pure sex and absolutely gorgeous to hear his name falling so carelessly from Ron's lips—all for me.
Draco kissed his temple, straining to keep going at the same, fast pace, even though his muscles were twitching with tension. Ron shuddered against him, and he swallowed a moan of his own, barely managing to purr: "together?"
Gasping against Draco's shoulder, Ron nodded: "together."
Draco pushed his free hand up Ron's sweaty chest, to his neck. He cupped his cheek, drawing the parted lips up to meet his in a kiss—the second Draco felt Ron push his body closer to him, their sides meshed together completely, they both came, swallowing their names rolling off the other's tongue. It was almost obscenely hot, so Draco noticed, Ron's pulsing heat in his fist, the redhead's tongue in his mouth, with his pulse thundering and light searing up his spine.
They fell back to the mattress—sweaty and panting, everything ridiculously hot and Draco's heart beating through his chest—the tumble over the edge so intense he had shot his load against his own chest, Ron's spunk sticky between Draco's fingers. He licked them clean contemplatively, studying the taste. Ron groaned when he saw the action, covering his forehead with his arm, averting his eyes from the sight.
"Baby, don't do that," his voice was deep and almost completely gone, barely above a whisper, "you'll make me hot again."
Draco just shrugged, sucking them clean one by one. He noticed how Ron pretended not to watch, though the redhead was peering at him all the while. He enjoyed watching him lay there, hair matted to his forehead, body spent and covered with droplets of sweat, shining in the light coming through the window. It was good to know that Draco too, could make his lover boneless, a privilege usually reserved for Ron.
When he had removed the last of the fluids from his fingers, he took his shirt off the floor, tossing it over into the hamper in the corner of his room. Ron watched as he undid the laces of his shoes, his own breathing still too hard, too tired to move an inch. Draco hooked his finger in the heel of his sock, pulling it off, before continuing with the other. He gave his lover time to regain his breath while he undid his slacks properly, disposing them in the hamper as well. As last he pushed his briefs down his thighs, glad that the clothes were no longer restricting his damp skin.
Ron groaned softly when every inch of the milky skin was revealed before him, and Draco turned to him with a raised eyebrow. Languidly, the redhead straightened next to the naked blonde, kissing him tenderly. When they separated, Draco was grinning, his hand already pushing down Ron's jeans, fingers worming themselves back into the underwear.
"Again?" he asked hoarsely, kissing the tan skin of Ron's chin.
"Yeah," Ron nodded fervently—carefully pushing the smaller body to the mattress—Draco tugging at his boxers to get him to lie down on top of his naked flesh, "I'd like that."
"I thought you would," Draco smirked, kissing him once more—determined that I won't be the only one out-of-breath by the time we're through.
Afterwards they lay basking in the afterglow, Ron's arm comfortably around Draco's shoulder—and even though he pretended to detest post-coitus snuggles, it was still damn nice. Draco flattened his head into the broad chest and sighed delicately, because I can hear his heart beat and it's the best thing I've ever experienced.
Ron's fingers carded through the hairs at the back of Draco's neck absentmindedly, and they both stared up at the ceiling, the Sirius star shining down brightly. He unconsciously tightened his arm around Ron's hip and pressed a kiss to his chest, before lying back down contently.
"Drake, I was just wondering..." Ron kept his eyes firmly on the ceiling, the tops of his ears flushing slightly—Draco didn't notice, too busy enjoying the feel of the rippling muscles under his hands, entwining his leg with one of the tan ones, sweaty against sweaty, "I mean... was that good for you too?"
Draco frowned at the question, trying to see the redhead's face without having to move—he failed though, their position making it impossible—instead he focussed on his finger, drawing a nonsensical figurine around a nipple.
"Of course," the confusion sounded through his voice, as if he was wondering whether or not his lover had lost his mind, "I came, didn't I?"
Ron rolled his eyes at how careless the answer was—but what does he want me to say? He always makes me feel amazing in that stupid butterflies-in-the-stomach way, the bastard.
"But... the first time, it was..." he stumbled over words to try and explain what was bothering, him, sighing deeply, troubled, "you deserve a really great first time and I... couldn't even give you that."
"Ron, honestly, no one's first time is perfect," it was Draco's time to roll his eyes, and he propped himself up on his elbow so he could look the redhead in the face, "no one could've given me a better first time than you."
And he meant it, too.
"Zabini could've," Ron grumbled darkly, a childish frown on his face.
"I sincerely doubt that," Draco lay his head back down, flattening his hand against Ron's chest, "he's my best friend, but he's nothing like you. I mean, he doesn't have any freckles, at all," as if to show his appreciation, he kissed one of the spots in the hollow of his throat, "worse even, is that he's in no way burly like you."
"Only you could make that sound like a good thing," Ron muttered petulantly, pouting cutely—at which Draco rolled his eyes again, his ignorance just never seems to astonish me.
"Ronald," he began exasperated, sliding his hand over the span of the tan chest, "it's fucking sexy that you're broad like this. Now this is the last time I'm going to tell you, and you better listen," he poked the boy's torso ominously, threatening: "or I'm kicking you out. You're absolutely gorgeous."
Ron blushed an endearing shade of pink, rolling his eyes to try and cover up his embarrassment. It almost made Draco laugh, but only almost, and he flattered his head closer into Ron's chest, feeling the other boy's arms tighten around him. They went quiet again, staring at the ceiling, even though Draco couldn't help but wonder, 'can you hear this?' every time the mere slide of Ron's hand over his hip made his heart skip a beat. Draco could hear Ron's beat through his chest, when he pressed his ear against the boy's upper torso, and it was the most astonishing sound he'd ever heard. He vaguely remembered that apparently Ron had forgotten all about the bracelet, and he felt rather relieved about it, since I'm not sure I'm ready to tell him yet.
The stars on the ceiling twinkled relentlessly, and watching them made Draco's eyelids feel tired, and he knew he was going to fall asleep soon—even if he aimed to stay awake until Ron fell asleep first—so he tried counting them to keep himself awake.
"I don't think..." a jaw-cracking yawn broke Ron off, mid-sentence, and he brought a hand up to try and stifle it, to no avail, "I wouldn't have wanted it with anyone else either."
He smacked his lips tiredly, and when Draco lifted his head off his chest, he saw that he had closed his eyes already, half-asleep. He didn't say anything, but resumed watching the ceiling—determined to stay awake until the Sirius star faded and went black, blending in with the rest of the darkness, but that never happened and he fell asleep, the light so bright he could see it even in his dreams.
Draco woke up with his head still on Ron's chest, their bare legs entangled. It was a bit too melancholic for his taste, but it was still nice, and he chose to ignore the unsettling feeling in his stomach. He kissed the tan skin his lips could reach, stretching delicately as he sat up straight. The curtains were still drawn shut, but light was creeping in through the cracks, the light of the Sirius-star dulled out by the sun.
Utterly careful not to wake the redhead up, he left the bed, swinging his legs over the side. The floorboards had a sort of hot feel where the sun touched them, having been soaked in its warmth. It was actually really nice, typical honest summer weather, where you wake up in the morning and you just know that today will be a good day.
Or, maybe, he was just still particularly giddy after Ronald making love to him—multiple times—that could be it, too.
Draco realised very well, that that probably was it, but he ignored that fact, because sunny weather made him want to smile either way. He stretched a couple of times, trying to chase the tension from his shoulders. Then he went over to his dresser to put on a pair of clean briefs, and a white pyjama short.
He was about to go into the bathroom to refresh—he just felt a bit sweaty, but figured he could still shower with Ron later—when he heard a soft huff and he faced the bed again. Ron had thrown the blankets off his body in his sleep—the room clearly too hot for his liking—wearing only a flimsy pair of briefs. He appeared to be having a rather vivid dream, flopping onto his stomach as he groaned.
Draco knew he was probably suffering from sunstroke or something, but everything about Ron, in that moment, was pure perfection. It wasn't very special, really; his head buried in his arms, since his uneasy sleep had caused his pillow to fall to the floor, his body resting easily against the sheets, tangled red hair brushing against his slumbering face.
But really, the way his back curved up into his arse, then went down to his strong thighs and eventually ended with the heel of his foot—the skin there a lighter shade than the rest of his body—it was breath-taking. The sun shone down onto his back at just the right angle, causing his shoulder blades—tensed up due to the position of his arms—to throw shadows onto his back, just like his lashes, shading miniscule parts of his cheeks from the light.
Sunstroke or no, it took Draco only two minutes to search his still half-unpacked boxes and retrieve an old-fashioned muggle camera as well as his sketching pad and utensils. It had been a while since he had found something fascinating enough to actually draw it—it had seemed not worth it, going through the trouble of digging through the remnants of those boxes, knowing fully well that he would only find memories—but he couldn't let a chance like that slide. He didn't want to admit it out loud, but he had drawn Ron before, just never from this close up. When it was late and he was bored—or when he was stressed from homework—he would draw the boy. It was hard doing it based on just memories, and he had always found they lacked depth. He had tried drawing him when they were having breakfast in the great hall, but that was difficult since he didn't want anyone knowing about it, so he could only draw Ron when they were in class.
Even though the drawings in his pad would remind him of his past—drawings of his father but also different varieties of Ron in class—he wanted at least one in there to remind him of his future. And though it didn't surprise him, that in his head, Ron seemed to equal future, it did surprise him that he had just willingly admit that, to himself.
He took multiple pictures, each time a Polaroid appeared deducing that he could do better, until he was satisfied with the result. The light had been captured just right, and the band around Ron's wrist was visible, which made Draco even happier with the outcome. He put the pictures on his desk, before moving the comfortable chair from the corner to overlook the side of the bed better. After he'd adjusted it so he would get a perfect angle, he seated himself. And quietly, he set to work.
He started with the shoulders—adding a bit of shade—and went on with the arms and head from thereon. He encountered some difficulties when the shoulders ran into his back and then curved up into his plump arse. It was rather stressful, because he really didn't want to mess it up. Definitely not because of the boy's ass—it was Draco's favourite part of Ron's body—so he refused to allow himself to make this drawing anything short of perfect.
It took him well over half-an-hour to finish his first draft, just the rough outlines. For Draco, it was like being in a sort of trance, one leg tucked up, his other bent under his body, his pad resting against his thigh and the pencil moving on a will of its own. He had almost forgotten how much he liked drawing, how freeing the experience was for him.
He was putting the final touches to the drawing—over two hours later—smearing the lines with his thumb to create a darker shading, when someone knocked and suddenly the trance was broken.
Frowning, he got up, laying his sketch book on the chair. He wondered who it could possibly be, Sirius doesn't knock, Ginny knocks but enters immediately, opening the door with an unsettling feeling in his stomach.
It was Harry. He was wearing a too big pyjama and scratched the back of his head nervously.
"Erm... hi," Harry began, eyes widening when he saw Draco, as if this room doesn't belong to me, but when his eyes strayed down Draco's body, the blonde realised his chest was bare, "I was just looking for Ron..."
Though it didn't sound like a question, Draco knew that it was supposed to be one.
"He's still asleep," Draco looked at him curiously—green avoiding grey—leaning into the door frame, "I can wake him if you want?"
"No, I'll just..." he paused, and Draco figured that he was rather embarrassed, "can I wait here?"
"Of course," Draco headed back inside the room, quickly taking his pad off the chair, tossing it onto the desk so Harry wouldn't see it, "please excuse me, I was brushing my hair."
Harry nodded, taking the seat offered to him. He tried not to stare too obviously at his best friend, but Draco could still see him casting looks towards the redhead's sleeping figure.
Draco went back to his dresser, searching for a shirt to go with his pyjama shorts, and found a green one. When he put it on, the sleeves reached half-way his upper arms, which would be good in the warm weather, so he decided to wear that one. Then he combed his hair, working the knots out.
It was very uncomfortable when he was done, Harry still studying his friend. Ron had turned onto his side, away from Harry with his back curved. Not knowing how else to keep himself from drowning in uncomfortable silence, Draco started picking up random pieces of clothing littered on the ground. This kept him pretty busy, and due to that, neither of them felt pressured to talk.
He was just picking up Ron's dirty socks when suddenly the redhead's hand shot out and locked into the waistband of Draco's shorts, pulling him closer. The back of his knees hit the bed and he frowned, surprised at the sudden move.
"What are you doing?" Ron grunted, offering no explanation for his actions—when he tried to pull away, Ron's fingers tightened in the fabric.
"I was just cleaning up a bit," he turned his head, trying to see Ron's face over his shoulder—the boy's eyes were still closed, yet somehow he'd known Draco was near.
"Why are you moving?" his voice was thick with sleep, but stern and filled with suspicion—questioning his motives for ever even considering leaving his side.
And all it said inside Draco's head was cute.
"Well freckles, the hamper is all the way over there, so I'll have to move at least a little to reach it," once more, Draco tried to free himself from his lover's grasp—he was a bit uncomfortable, the skin of his knees pressed into the wood—but Ron refused letting him go.
"Why are you not in bed?" Ron growled, shifting his hand so he could wrap his arm around Draco's waist, holding him tighter, "And why are you dressed?"
He pulled Draco back onto the bed, the blonde flopping down—ever graceful—onto his arse.
"What is this, twenty questions?" Draco rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but automatically lean back into him, "I was no longer tired, so it seemed useless to stay in bed. Harry is here," said boy made a small noise at being mentioned, staring at them with interest, "he probably wants to talk to you."
"'m too tired," Ron grunted lazily, "come back to bed."
The blonde was pulled down completely, Ron forcing him into his own chest. Draco felt immediately at ease, and couldn't help but purr contently when Ron kissed his neck, throwing one of his legs around Draco's lazily. Still, Draco felt the need to protest—even if only a little—because I'm really making this too easy on him.
"I'm not going to sleep," even though he meant it, he cuddled back into Ron's body as if by mere instinct.
"You don't have to," Ron nestled his face into Draco's neck, tickling him with his ruddy curls, "just don't move."
"Don't move?" Draco repeated, snapping despite himself.
"Shhh, tired," the redhead murmured drowsily, too far gone to even make coherent sentences.
Draco resigned himself to his fate, locked in the strong, bare forearms. It was nice and warm, and with Ron's thigh resting against his hips, he could feel the muscles flex and stretch each time the boy moved. It felt safe and comfortable, and for a minute, Draco was sure he would be able to fall asleep again, despite the fact that he really wasn't tired any more, but then there was a low grunt, and he felt something against his shoulder that wasn't supposed to be there and... is that...?
"That is IT!" Draco turned around abruptly—his eyes, which had been drooping shut, snapping back wide open—and pushed Ron onto his back.
Ron made a noise of protest, but before he could even open his own eyes to see what was happening, Draco had crawled on top of him, and the flat of the blonde's hand met with Ron's cheek—the noise flat and slapping, skin on skin, making Harry wince at the mere idea of being at the receiving end of the blow.
"AUW!" Ron shrieked indignantly, cupping his throbbing cheek—trying to glare at Draco, but too confused to manage completely, "What the hell!"
"You drooled on me!" Draco was glaring as well, though his was fiercer, wiping at his half-revealed shoulder.
"YOU HIT ME!" Ron repeated incredulous, cheeks flushed, one redder than the other.
"You drooled!" Draco countered as if that justified his actions, "Your saliva was on my fucking shoulder!"
"You didn't mind my saliva when it was on your shoulder last night!" Ron pouted petulantly, crudely reminding him of heat and naked.
"That was different!" the blonde protested, show that Malfoy reasoning! "That was the sexy sort of saliva!" from the corner of his eye, Draco could see Harry thinking; there're different sorts of saliva? "This was not the sexy sort of saliva Ronald, this was the sleepy sort of saliva! You drooled on me!"
"I was sleeping!" Ron shielded himself, grasping onto one pale thigh.
"Well you're not any more!" Draco swatted the hand away, getting off his lover's half-naked body—he got off the bed gracefully, and took his sketchbook off his desk on his way to the bathroom, not wanting either of the two teens to see it—Ron pulling up the blankets to cover his nakedness, "I'm taking a shower, I'll be right back."
"You crazy bastard!" Ron growled, no real malice left, sitting up befuddled on bed.
"Well fuck you, 'cause you want me anyway!" Draco slammed the door behind him, leaving Harry and Ron to exchange equally shocked and confused looks.
Draco was just washing the soap from his hair when he heard the bathroom door open. It made a dull creaking sound, and then closed again with a thud.
He couldn't see in fear of getting his shampoo in his eyes, but knew with full certainty, that it was Ron. Still, he remained cautious, listening for any sound that might indicate that something was off. He lathered his head with a sufficient amount of water, dragging his fingers through his hair to get the soap out, ears perked.
A sound of fabric against skin, and a thud was heard, and then nothing. Then, soft padding of feet over the tiled floor, and someone drew the shower curtain to the side. When the person moved in behind him, he knew without a doubt that it was Ron—the whole sense about the boy was too familiar, and his shoulder relaxed on instinct—joining him under the jet of lukewarm water.
"Draco," Ron's deep voice came softly, and his arms wrapped themselves around Draco's waist from behind, "are you angry with me?"
The redhead kept his distance, not moving in to press his chest into Draco's back. Knowing that Ron wanted to be sure he was alright, before coming too close, was very soothing, and helped Draco relax further.
"...no," Draco eventually decided, sounding hesitant, "I'm not angry with you. But why aren't you out there with Harry?"
"I don't know," Ron shrugged his shoulders, leaning into Draco's back fully now that he was assured the blonde was not upset, "it's just really awkward, talking to him, after what happened."
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Draco tried using a soothing voice—but he'd never really been good at comforting, so he wasn't sure it did any good—turning into Ron's embrace, "you just need some time to get used to it."
"It's just hard," Ron looked truly upset, and Draco wondered if perhaps they had had an argument again, "it's never been awkward before. What do you do to make the awkward go away?"
He seemed desperate to find an answer, wanting to fix his problem—the only problem was that Draco could offer no solution—even though he wanted to help, anything to see him smile, he didn't know how to fix this.
"I've never had awkward periods with my friends," Draco's lips tightened, "I've known Blaise for too long, nothing could ever be awkward between us."
He reached behind Ron to take his own, almond-scented shampoo, his frown fading when Ron's hands settled on his hips instead, holding him delicately close.
"It wasn't even awkward when you told him?" the redhead asked curiously, the worry in his eyes replaced with interest, "You know, about us?"
"Of course not, why would that be awkward?" Draco massaged the soap through Ron's hair, watching froth form between his fingers, "Blaise would be pro me, regardless of the person I choose to love."
"Even when that person turned out to be me?" Ron was more than a little sceptical, but Draco just tugged at his hair in warning.
"Yes, even then," he said, "he was surprised, but figured you were probably just really good in the sack, and for him, that overrules the fact that you're a Gryffindor."
"I wish Harry would care more about me liking you than about you being Draco Malfoy," Ron sighed, making a noise of contentment when Draco rubbed the soap from behind his ear, fingertips teasing sensitive flesh.
"I understand that Harry's a bit conflicted," I can't believe I actually said that aloud! What happened to me? When did I turn into such a sap? "But you mustn't forget that there's also the fact that Blaise is gay. He knows prejudice, and he would never judge me of my choices because he knows how it feels to be judged."
"I doubt Harry would be more okay with this if he were gay," Ron chuckled at the idea of Harry with another man, the thought was truly absurd.
"He'd be lusting after you if you were gay," Draco growled darkly, suddenly glaring up at his lover, "he better not turn out to like cock, or I'm locking you into my bedroom forever!"
"I wouldn't mind that," Ron mused, pulling Draco's hips against his own, "I wouldn't mind that at all."
Draco grinned cheekily, using his hips to push Ron back under the water stream—he got a growl of protest, but ignored it—tugging at his hair and pulling his head back so the soap wouldn't catch in his eyes. Careful to not hurt his lover, he swiped his hand over his forehead and down into his darkened locks, washing the foam out. He couldn't resist the sight of Ron's neck revealed to him like that, the marvellous body deliciously distracting, so he ventured out his tongue to have a sample of the hollow of his lover's throat.
Ron groaned hoarsely, his grip on Draco's hips tightening to become borderline painful, but Draco was so used to that by now—always refuses to let go of them, the bitch—that it felt rather good, much like an always-present reminder of what they shared.
He washed the remnants of soap from Ron's hair and leaned up to kiss him under his ear, stepping back with a grin. Ron protested feebly, trying to pull Draco back into his embrace, but Draco clucked his tongue and swatted the prying hands off.
"Baby," Ron groaned, a pained expression on his face, "you can't do that, that's so cruel!"
Despite Ron's protests, Draco got out of the shower, getting one of the fluffy towels from the overhead cabinet. When Ron realised Draco really wasn't coming back, he groaned again and turned the faucet off, following the blonde into the bathroom.
"Can I have one of those?" he stood a bit uneasily, covering up his crotch and shaking his head like a dog to dry his hair, droplets splattering around.
It was damn funny to watch.
Draco wrapped the towel around his torso, reaching up to get another. He walked back to where Ron stood, nuzzling his neck while he moved the towel around Ron's back, tying it around his waist. Ron tried putting his lips to Draco's, but the blonde ducked to avoid him, clucking his tongue once more.
Not knowing what he had done to deserve such treatment, Ron frowned, sliding his hands down Draco's waist. He encountered white fluffy towel, and pushed them down further, until they slid onto smooth skin and he let them go back up under the towel, pushing the thick fabric up to reveal the pale thighs. His eyes widened when he saw his lover's revealed waist, coming to attention when he grabbed the boy's marble arse. Draco purred, nuzzling into Ron's neck so he wouldn't have to watch the look of excitement on Ronald's face, knowing that would make it too hard to resist.
"We can't," he huffed when Ron pulled their waists together, his thighs meeting Ron's towel, "we can't now, Harry will hear."
Ron groaned when he realised Draco was right, thudding his forehead into Draco's shoulder. Draco couldn't help but chuckle at Ron's demeanour, purring into his neck. The redhead's hands massaged his buttocks and he lifted the blonde abruptly, holding him up with a frown.
"Fine, but at least kiss me," he ordered grumpily, pushing his nose into Draco's.
The petulant tone made Draco laugh silently again, and he obeyed after winding his arms around Ron's neck. The kiss was more hungry than anything else, Draco parting his lips to accommodate Ron's tongue—allowing the redhead a sample before pulling back, breathless.
He untangled himself from Ron, flopping down back onto the floor. Fixing his towel he dried himself off, smirking when Ron continued to do nothing but stand and stare at him.
"Get a move on," Draco urged him, laying the towel around his neck—inwardly his smirk widened when Ron's eyes trailed down to his crotch—finding his pair of briefs, "I want to have breakfast soon."
He slid his underwear up his legs, then took the short he had placed next to the sink before. Ron shrugged and simply put his own briefs back on—apparently he hadn't bothered to dress, since he had followed Draco into the shower almost immediately—sitting down on the lid of the toilet so he could watch Draco as he fussed with his hair, his chest still bare.
The blonde took extreme care to comb the knots out, repeating a process he had done not ten minutes before, droplets of water falling down onto the towel. Every now and then he carefully rubbed his head with the towel to get his hair to dry faster, and then he would take the brush through it again, combing it backwards. Ron watched how his hair changed shades, from a darker blonde to an almost silvery golden colour as it dried slowly. He dried his own hair by fluffing the towel on his head, rubbing it ruthlessly. While Draco's hair looked neat and tidy, Ron's was completely ruffled and unruly.
Draco suddenly noticed Ron was still watching him, seeing his reflection in the mirror, the blue of his eyes darkened. He frowned, setting his comb down and pulling his shirt over his head, careful not to tangle his hair up again.
"Do you honestly find joy in watching me do my hair?" he asked with a bit of a sneer, eyeing himself in the mirror critically, before turning to Ron, leaning back against the sink.
"It's cute to see you fuss like that," Ron got up, running a hand through his own hair, "if I'm not allowed to touch, I have to settle for watching, don't I?"
The blonde rolled his eyes at the tone of Ron's voice—slightly petulant and disappointed—facing the mirror again.
"You very well know I can't let you make love to me now Ronald," he retaliated sharply, watching Ron move in behind him, "Harry's in the other room."
"I know," Ron nodded, running his hands down Draco's hips before taking a resolute step back, "I can't help it that you look so good. It just makes me want to touch you all over."
"Don't say that," Draco murmured, feeling the affect of his lover's words, a heat tightening in his belly, "not now. Later."
He tugged at Ron's chin with one hand, luring him into a brief, last kiss—a smile in the corner of his mouth—before making advances to leave the bathroom, both reluctant to go. Ron paused just before Draco could open the door, looking down at his bare chest, and then back at the direction of the bedroom.
"Erm," he blushed suddenly, embarrassed, "do you have a robe or something I can wear?"
"Sure," Draco pointed to the cabinet, knowing there were some silk robes in there, "take one."
With that he left Ron in the bathroom, going back into the bedroom. Harry was still exactly where he'd been when Draco had left—on the comfortable chair, looking around the room curiously. He seemed to be doing his best to avoid looking at the bed, as if he wouldn't be able to stomach knowing that's where his best friend spent his nights now.
He looked up when Draco entered, a crooked smile on his face, trying his best to look genuinely happy to see him. Draco could see right through it, but he chose to ignore this fact, maybe one day he won't have to try so hard to pretend, giving the boy a nod and going to his desk so he could rearrange it—the Polaroid pictures were still there, and he planned on putting them in his sketch pad—when he noticed something was off.
With a start, he realised he had left his book in the bathroom. With Ron. Fuck.
AN: This is the first time I've done the whole mutual touching thing – I mean, not that it's the first time I've done the mutual touching, just the mutual jerking, since I'm a girl and I've done mutual touching but what we do is definitely not jerking, and yes, I realise that may have been too much info, but damnit, this is awkward already – just, well, this whole jerking-each-other-off thing was awkwarder than I care to admit. I mean, honestly ! How many times have I made them shag already ? That's right ! A lot of times ! Yet… this jerking thing was awkward.
Forgive the awkwardness. Damnit. Stupid… awkward… jerk… thing. UGH! _O_