Clarity
Written by Sera
Dedicated to Erica for always rp'ing Draco and Ron with me. Hello, they are
and always will be my addiction. :-*
And to Nette, because I was thinking of her and anticipating e-mailing this
to my homeslice. ;-*
Rating: PG-13 A little bit of innuendo there. Tee.
Summary: Ron analyzes Malfoy and the man behind him. This is in the near
future, Voldemort has been beaten. Lucius Malfoy is dead. Draco just needs
to realize all this.
Malfoy tasted like winter. Cold and frozen, bitter teeth that stung his tongue. He looked like winter. Gray eyes the sight of an overcast day, pregnant with snow. Skin that wasn't frigid but yielding to any warmth. Draco was sunlight, the final break in a London bitter winter. Warm slick tongue and teeth that nibbled gently. Arms that always held and soothed after a long night. He was a spring night. With the grace of flowers dancing in torrid winds.
But what Ron remembered best, was that Malfoy fucked like a God. Looming over him and gripping his thighs, burying himself within him. Growling his name. In the morning he could stand in the mirror and stare at the bruises. Each left with an angry mark. Draco made love, Draco had sex, Draco had fetishes that they left inside their bedroom -- or on occasion the kitchen table, the couch, the floor, against the wall, in the shower.... Harry's guest house wasn't innocent as it was.
Draco had a complex. Ron figured that out one evening as he was curled up in his arms. He had a mental illness. Obviously suffering from multiple personalities. There was the man he was for his family. Cold as ice, unyielding, the man known as Malfoy. The one who had a sneer a mile long, a comeback to every catchy insult you could think of. The one that seemingly had no flaws, no faults, nothing underneath the racism he could generate.
Ron knew Malfoy well. From the angered looks they could pass each other in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts to the barbed insults they hurled. But there was a boy who lived within the walls that Malfoy had built. Draco. The fiery dragon who used insults as comedy, the boy who when he smiled could light up an entire room. Draco liked to cook, he hummed while he brushed his teeth, and he was surprising. He had his own glower about him, he chain smoked on the balcony of their home, but he was beautiful. He feared his father's wrath, he had his own flaws from chewing at his fingernails to habitually smoking marijuana whenever Ron was off on auror business and his habit of arguing with Harry.
One morning, as Draco pulled away from Ron and off of their bed. Ron sat up, pulling the covers to his lap and watched his boyfriend busy himself getting dressed. "You know--" Ron paused, watching as the blonde turned around to face him. "Whatever it is that continually draws you back to being the monster that Malfoy is, whatever you think you need to accomplish by carrying on that facade, just give it up. Just let it go. Be yourself and stop worrying about whether or not your father is going to come back." Draco didn't say a word, opting for studying his boyfriend skeptically before walking over to him and kissing him softly. A bare brush of lips against one anothers.
"I'll think it over." Draco walked away from their bedroom and Ron rolled over, falling into a peaceful sleep. The last thought he had, with clarity was that of one's demise.
Malfoy was finally dead.
Malfoy tasted like winter. Cold and frozen, bitter teeth that stung his tongue. He looked like winter. Gray eyes the sight of an overcast day, pregnant with snow. Skin that wasn't frigid but yielding to any warmth. Draco was sunlight, the final break in a London bitter winter. Warm slick tongue and teeth that nibbled gently. Arms that always held and soothed after a long night. He was a spring night. With the grace of flowers dancing in torrid winds.
But what Ron remembered best, was that Malfoy fucked like a God. Looming over him and gripping his thighs, burying himself within him. Growling his name. In the morning he could stand in the mirror and stare at the bruises. Each left with an angry mark. Draco made love, Draco had sex, Draco had fetishes that they left inside their bedroom -- or on occasion the kitchen table, the couch, the floor, against the wall, in the shower.... Harry's guest house wasn't innocent as it was.
Draco had a complex. Ron figured that out one evening as he was curled up in his arms. He had a mental illness. Obviously suffering from multiple personalities. There was the man he was for his family. Cold as ice, unyielding, the man known as Malfoy. The one who had a sneer a mile long, a comeback to every catchy insult you could think of. The one that seemingly had no flaws, no faults, nothing underneath the racism he could generate.
Ron knew Malfoy well. From the angered looks they could pass each other in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts to the barbed insults they hurled. But there was a boy who lived within the walls that Malfoy had built. Draco. The fiery dragon who used insults as comedy, the boy who when he smiled could light up an entire room. Draco liked to cook, he hummed while he brushed his teeth, and he was surprising. He had his own glower about him, he chain smoked on the balcony of their home, but he was beautiful. He feared his father's wrath, he had his own flaws from chewing at his fingernails to habitually smoking marijuana whenever Ron was off on auror business and his habit of arguing with Harry.
One morning, as Draco pulled away from Ron and off of their bed. Ron sat up, pulling the covers to his lap and watched his boyfriend busy himself getting dressed. "You know--" Ron paused, watching as the blonde turned around to face him. "Whatever it is that continually draws you back to being the monster that Malfoy is, whatever you think you need to accomplish by carrying on that facade, just give it up. Just let it go. Be yourself and stop worrying about whether or not your father is going to come back." Draco didn't say a word, opting for studying his boyfriend skeptically before walking over to him and kissing him softly. A bare brush of lips against one anothers.
"I'll think it over." Draco walked away from their bedroom and Ron rolled over, falling into a peaceful sleep. The last thought he had, with clarity was that of one's demise.
Malfoy was finally dead.