Disclaimer:
I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.
Notes:
This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.
Fact: Working sucks. Even bigger fact: Working two jobs and not having enough time to work on your fics sucks even more. Gentle and consistant reader, your patience should be rewarded with money. Alas, all I can offer is my imagination. The boys aren't too bad, either. *wink* As for this chapter, yes, its been a long time in the making. I've had it thought out for at least a month, and have just never gotten the chance to sit down and write it, and when I did, I couldn't make it flow correctly. So this time, I was determined to get this chapter out. It's not what I expected, and I don't know how to slow the boys down. Sex is definately in the air. Can't wait for the fireworks.
Please note that I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are my own.
Once again, finally, thank you to my consistant and wonderful reviewers. As I've said before, I am so touched by your kind words and hope to fufill your every expectation. *smile*
Note:
The following chapter has NC-17 content.
Chapter 6
Harry was busy with paperwork in his office when Ron found him. Ron had traveled around the house for at least twenty minutes, poking his head furiously in and out of corridors and rooms, softly shutting doors, and peeking around corners.
"Here you are," he proclaimed as he entered the room.
"Yes, I've been here for a while. I'm just going through the plays for the Cannons. The season starts up again in a few weeks."
Ron smiled. "Wow. The Chudley Cannons," he said in a voice somewhat wistful. "I've heard you've led them on to many a victory, Captain. Quite a change from the past."
Harry shook his head and smiled. "Now, Ron, you of all people should know the amazing amount of potential that the Cannons had. It just took some work to get it put together successfully."
Ron shrugged. "I guess with you as partial owner and captain, they couldn't go wrong. Now if only you could tell me who the other, silent owner is, I could die in peace..."
Harry laughed. "Come on, mate. You mean you couldn't guess?
"No," Ron said slowly, pouting. "I've always been kind of hurt that you've never told me, either."
"Ron, don't be dramatic," Harry said, "We've only been managing the team for, hell, going on two years now. It hasn't been that long, and we've all been...busy. You've been in Romania for how long now, you know?"
"Aye," Ron said, casting his gaze to the floor.
"When was the last time you've seen a Quiddich match?"
"Oh, uh...," Ron rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to remember when something other than fire, scales, and roars consumed his time. "I really don't know..."
Harry looked pensive for a moment, reflecting how different their lives have become. Before the war, back in Hogwarts, Ron's dedication to Quiddich was almost legendary, and now Ron is truly a legend in a totally different way. Although Harry was immensely proud of Ron, it hurt to see how much the red-head's life has changed—how much of they both had missed in each others lives. "There's no use in damning a ended war," Harry thought, "Its time to rebuild the pieces." Then Harry's mind ghosted on another chum, and a mischievous smile overtook his features.
"I'm sure you'll have no problem getting good tickets to a Cannon match in the future. You just need to sweet-talk one of the two owners, maybe offer a favor or two...sexual or otherwise..."
Ron raised an eyebrow. "Harry, I am not offering you favors of any kind."
Harry looked shocked for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Not me, you git! You and me—gods, that's hilarious!"
An amused smile cracked across Ron's face too, and he joined in the merriment. "I've known you to be a bit risqué, Harry, but this time I thought you'd lost it. Snogging you would be like snogging Fred or George!" Ron grimaced at the prospect, and Harry laughed even harder. Ron shook his head and began chuckling. As Harry's laughter died down, Ron continued. "So, if I'm not kissing your ass, or other areas of your anatomy, then to whom do I suck up to?"
"The other owner of the Cannons, of course."
Ron frowned. "Oh, of course," he said sarcastically, "The one of which I don't know the existence."
"I'll give you a hint," Harry said with a smirk. "You snogged the bugger pretty well last night..."
Ron froze, blinked, and suddenly remembered why he'd been searching for Harry in the first place.
Harry continued. "He never misses a match, you know. Ever wonder how he got the best seats in the pitch? Its not because he's a Malfoy or a war hero, I'll tell you that."
Harry stopped and watched Ron. He could tell that Ron's thoughts were racing. His eyes looked almost frantic, and his hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly. "I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing," Harry thought, and he laid a hand on Ron's arm. Ron jumped visibly, looking quite startled.
"Settle down, Ron. Gods, what's going on in that head of yours?"
Ron raised his eyebrows. "I'm, well, ...fuck, Harry. I'm just...so damn confused."
"About...?"
"Malfoy. Er, Draco." Ron's face softened a bit, Harry noted, but decided not to bring it to Ron's attention.
"Okay, I guess that's understandable. What about Draco?"
Ron gulped. "Well, he's, um...," Ron grabbed the back of his neck and looked down for a second, then blurted, "Do-you-think-he's-hitting-on-me?" Ron looked into Harry's face a tad desperately, then looked down again and blushed.
Harry raised his eyebrows and smiled faintly. "Hitting on you? Well...," Harry crossed his arms and smiled at the top of Ron's head. "Do you want him to, ahem, hit on you?"
Ron grimaced. "Aw, hell, I don't know. I don't even know him, you know? For years, he's my biggest enemy, and then everything changes, my biggest enemy becomes a big pile of dragon dung, and Draco's partial savior of the wizarding world."
Harry smiled, but frankly replied, "Yep. That's the way it is. Is that a problem?"
Ron sighed. "I don't know. No, it's not a problem. I just have to get used to it."
"So...what does that have to do with Draco?"
"Draco...," Ron said the name slowly, weighing the sound as entered the air. What does this have to do with him, Ron thought. "I guess maybe...," Ron's voice dropped to a whisper, "I'm attracted to him."
Harry burst out laughing. "Thank God! Now I can be sure you're not dead!"
Ron scowled. "What do you mean by that, Potter?"
"Gods, Ron! I wouldn't be surprised if the entirety of the wizarding world was attracted to the man! Read any vapid wizarding magazines lately? He's plastered all over them! 'Sexiest Wizard Ever' here, 'Most Eligible Wizard Bachelor' there—"
"Bachelor? He's single??"
Ron's comment caught Harry off guard. Ah, Harry thought, I keep forgetting how clueless Ron is, and I better watch my words. "Draco's not with anyone, but that doesn't exactly make him single." It was Harry's turn to be unsure as he tried to think of how to say what was on his mind without messing up.
"Not single? I don't get it." Ron was confused.
"He's...well, he's got his mind set on someone in particular. Everybody knows that—they're all just waiting to see who."
Ron thought for a moment, then asked, "Do you know who?"
Harry sighed. "Yes." Harry waited for the next question, but it never came. He was somewhat relieved, because he was unsure of how to answer it, but also confused. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Ron. Ron was looking down again, disappointment etched on his face. Damn those dragons for making him so thick, Harry thought. "What?" he asked.
Ron looked up. "If he's got someone in mind, why should I bother?"
"Ron," Harry said tiredly, "do you want Draco?"
"I...don't know. I think so...maybe."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, stop being so pathetic then and spend some time with the chap. Sober time. Be his friend, and maybe he'll tell you who he wants, too."
Ron wrinkled his nose. Friends, he thought, why didn't I think of that? "Friends...that never entered my mind."
Harry chuckled. "Ah, so you want to jump between his sheets instead? Not a bad place to start, really..."
Ron smiled wryly at Harry. "You never were a good influence."
"Of course not. Never tried to be. So, is there anything else you need?"
Ron looked thoughtful, and then asked, "When is the next Cannon's game?"
***************************
The clock in the Potter library struck 6pm, and Ron wondered at the absence of Draco. After talking with Harry, he had done some thinking and decided that Harry was right. Ron indeed was attracted to Draco. If the freezing up, uncontrollable blushing, and unintelligible speech patterns were any indication, Ron's hedonist side would jump Draco at the next chance. Too bad I've killed all my hedonism with reason and hard work, Ron thought wryly. Damn dragons. That's why friendship was probably the next best thing. If Draco was already spoken for, then friendship is all Ron will ever get. It's better than nothing, Ron thought. The savior of the wizarding world can't be too bad in simple conversation, right?
Hell, the savior of the wizarding world isn't bad in anything, Ron thought. Just look at him. "I'd like to," Ron answered aloud, and decided to check the house for him. He'd not seen Draco since the afternoon...in his room. A fresh blush colored Ron's features as he damned his early denial. It was Draco making the moves then, wasn't it? Although, in reflection, Ron couldn't exactly be sure of what occurred last night...maybe it was revenge—something like that. Who knows, Ron thought as he climbed the stairs.
****************************
Bloody hell, Draco thought, bottle in hand. He'd spent the entire afternoon, getting drunk alone in his room. "I'm so sodding pathetic," he said aloud in a slurred tone. He'd consumed entirely too much—he had to get that image of Ron in his pajamas out of his head...after they kissed. Dammit, he had to get Ron out of his head, period. He didn't even remember getting out of his chair when he crossed to meet Ron, leaning over him,...torturing himself. What the fuck was going through my mind, Draco thought. He had left Ron's room this afternoon with a raging hard on. How the hell could he have done something like that? So much for being subtle. I probably would have been subtler if I would have grabbed his ass, Draco thought, and sat on the edge of his bed. He was still horny as hell, and drunk as hell on top of it. He ran a hand through his blond hair and took another swig from his quickly emptying bottle. "Pathetic," he said again, and laid across his bed on his stomach.
****************************
Ron was walking back to his room, disheartened. Where was Draco? He'd searched the house—twice. He'd even considered asking Ginny or Harry if they'd seen Draco, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. On his second trip to the foyer, the picture that had spoken to him yesterday gave him an odd, knowing look today, and he'd been half tempted to ask her, too—but didn't. Truth was he was itching to know what the man was doing now. Ron had a plan of action. He was ready to act. Figures Draco is nowhere to be found, Ron thought. So instead of sit at the bar in the library again, he decided to go back to his room. He didn't know what he'd do, but it was better than catching the pitying looks from Harry every time he passed.
Ron caught sight of his room down the hall. His door was closed, but the door directly across from it was open—a half a foot or more. Ron paused for a moment, then smacked himself in the forehead. Of course the only place he didn't look was in the bloke's own rooms. Stupid, Ron said to himself. He walked towards the room and heard someone speaking within, but he couldn't tell what was being said. Since the door was open, however, he could make an entrance like Draco did this morning, suave and assured. Ron smiled to himself as he approached the door and peeked.
He saw Draco lying on the bed in the middle of the room, face down. Rather than bursting through the door, he stopped and furrowed his eyebrows. No use in waking the chap if he's asleep, Ron thought, but before he could turn away, the right arm twitched and caught his attention. He squinted and discovered that Draco was holding a bottle of vodka, Ron's poison from the prior evening. Don't tell me he's drunk in the middle of the afternoon, Ron thought, bemused. Revenge is definitely a possibility.
However, just as Ron was going to enter the door, Draco rose to his knees, his head still downcast, and the vodka bottle still in his right hand. Ron froze, much worse than ever before. He couldn't even breathe and his eyes could not be torn away. Draco...Draco was nude, except for a white dress shirt that hung open languidly. His blond hair hung in his face, and his chest was bare. His cock rested in his lap, looking half-interested. Ron almost whimpered as he watched Draco bring the vodka bottle to his lips, tilting his head back—Ron could swear that Draco fucking caressed the bottle with his lips and tongue before lowering it. Sluggishly, Draco rose to his feet to walk around the bed, and even his drunken stagger was strong and assured. Muscles flexed and moved under his skin, and he stalked like a tiger. Ron was afraid to gasp, afraid to blink, and the view of all of that pale, soft skin, and the power beneath...and his face—God help him, Draco's face—Ron had to get out of there, fast, or die at that very spot. With a flurry of freckles and red hair, he spun and jumped into his room as fast as possible, slamming the door.
He leaned back against the door, eyes closed. Draco's image was burned into his mind. Ron's lungs burned their objection as he gasped for breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding. He ignored it all though. Voldmort dancing through his room in a pink tutu could not have taken his focus off of Draco, and bloody hell, his blood was hotter than it had ever been before in his life. He couldn't help the hand that undid his trousers and crept in to meet the hard and throbbing flesh. He moaned at the contact, closed his fist, and thrust. He could practically taste Malfoy's lips against his own, and he itched to feel that body close to him again. His rhythm increased as he thought again about all of that skin, the expanse of those muscles, that damnable dress shirt, and most of all, that fucking vodka bottle. Fuck, he wanted to be that vodka bottle. Lips encircling, tongue swirling...
Ron groaned loudly, and with one insistent final thrust into his own hand, he came, shuddering. His legs weakened and he slid down the door with his pants around his knees—he hadn't gotten down that far. Elysian and Draco remained on his mind for a few brief moments, then reality seeped back into his conscious.
"Sodding hell, I'm a fucking voyeur," he said, almost in whisper. What the hell was he doing? What the fucking hell?? God, this really takes the cake for stupidity, Ron thought tersely. What the hell did he think he was doing, staring at Malfoy like that?? Shit like that is against the law, for fuck's sake! "Oh God," Ron said, and put his dry hand against his head. How had this started? All he wanted was a fucking conversation, and now here he was, jacking off against the door, panting his hall mate's name. "Damn the open door," he said. "Damn the vodka. Just...damn."
****************************
Draco froze. The door had just slammed. "What the...," he trailed off drunkenly, and turned to look at the doorway. "Hey...I thought I shut that," he slurred, and noticed that the door was open more than just a crack. Hell, anyone could see him...which got him thinking. "Wonder if anyone did see me...," he said, and walked towards the door and looked into the empty hallway. Everything was quiet. "Hmm...," Draco said, closing his own door. "I'm still gonna investigate."
A tad clumsily, he looked around for a pair of pants to throw on, and when he found them, he struggled into them and set out, both bare footed and bare chested, except for the half-opened dress shirt. Almost tripping into the hallway, Draco wondered randomly why he'd yet to pass out. He approached Ron's door with a quiet sigh. Closed. Of course. He laid his hand on it sadly and closed his eyes.
His eyes ripped open at the close sound of a loud, lusty groan, just from the other side. Draco jerked his hand back like he'd been burned and rushed back into his own room, careful not to slam the door. He stumbled back to his bed, his breath rushed and his head muddled. Dammit, nothing was making sense, he was too drunk, and he needed to think right now...but his last thoughts were drowned in the oncoming drowsiness that overtook him. He passed out on his bed with Ron's groan still ringing in his ears.
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I own neither Harry Potter nor any other character or creation of J. K. Rowling. Give her credit for the characters. Give me credit for the plot.
Notes:
This is my first attempt at a slash fic, and my second attempt at any kind of fan fiction ever. Constructive criticism is welcomed and flames discouraged. I hope you enjoy the tale.
Fact: Working sucks. Even bigger fact: Working two jobs and not having enough time to work on your fics sucks even more. Gentle and consistant reader, your patience should be rewarded with money. Alas, all I can offer is my imagination. The boys aren't too bad, either. *wink* As for this chapter, yes, its been a long time in the making. I've had it thought out for at least a month, and have just never gotten the chance to sit down and write it, and when I did, I couldn't make it flow correctly. So this time, I was determined to get this chapter out. It's not what I expected, and I don't know how to slow the boys down. Sex is definately in the air. Can't wait for the fireworks.
Please note that I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are my own.
Once again, finally, thank you to my consistant and wonderful reviewers. As I've said before, I am so touched by your kind words and hope to fufill your every expectation. *smile*
Harry was busy with paperwork in his office when Ron found him. Ron had traveled around the house for at least twenty minutes, poking his head furiously in and out of corridors and rooms, softly shutting doors, and peeking around corners.
"Here you are," he proclaimed as he entered the room.
"Yes, I've been here for a while. I'm just going through the plays for the Cannons. The season starts up again in a few weeks."
Ron smiled. "Wow. The Chudley Cannons," he said in a voice somewhat wistful. "I've heard you've led them on to many a victory, Captain. Quite a change from the past."
Harry shook his head and smiled. "Now, Ron, you of all people should know the amazing amount of potential that the Cannons had. It just took some work to get it put together successfully."
Ron shrugged. "I guess with you as partial owner and captain, they couldn't go wrong. Now if only you could tell me who the other, silent owner is, I could die in peace..."
Harry laughed. "Come on, mate. You mean you couldn't guess?
"No," Ron said slowly, pouting. "I've always been kind of hurt that you've never told me, either."
"Ron, don't be dramatic," Harry said, "We've only been managing the team for, hell, going on two years now. It hasn't been that long, and we've all been...busy. You've been in Romania for how long now, you know?"
"Aye," Ron said, casting his gaze to the floor.
"When was the last time you've seen a Quiddich match?"
"Oh, uh...," Ron rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to remember when something other than fire, scales, and roars consumed his time. "I really don't know..."
Harry looked pensive for a moment, reflecting how different their lives have become. Before the war, back in Hogwarts, Ron's dedication to Quiddich was almost legendary, and now Ron is truly a legend in a totally different way. Although Harry was immensely proud of Ron, it hurt to see how much the red-head's life has changed—how much of they both had missed in each others lives. "There's no use in damning a ended war," Harry thought, "Its time to rebuild the pieces." Then Harry's mind ghosted on another chum, and a mischievous smile overtook his features.
"I'm sure you'll have no problem getting good tickets to a Cannon match in the future. You just need to sweet-talk one of the two owners, maybe offer a favor or two...sexual or otherwise..."
Ron raised an eyebrow. "Harry, I am not offering you favors of any kind."
Harry looked shocked for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Not me, you git! You and me—gods, that's hilarious!"
An amused smile cracked across Ron's face too, and he joined in the merriment. "I've known you to be a bit risqué, Harry, but this time I thought you'd lost it. Snogging you would be like snogging Fred or George!" Ron grimaced at the prospect, and Harry laughed even harder. Ron shook his head and began chuckling. As Harry's laughter died down, Ron continued. "So, if I'm not kissing your ass, or other areas of your anatomy, then to whom do I suck up to?"
"The other owner of the Cannons, of course."
Ron frowned. "Oh, of course," he said sarcastically, "The one of which I don't know the existence."
"I'll give you a hint," Harry said with a smirk. "You snogged the bugger pretty well last night..."
Ron froze, blinked, and suddenly remembered why he'd been searching for Harry in the first place.
Harry continued. "He never misses a match, you know. Ever wonder how he got the best seats in the pitch? Its not because he's a Malfoy or a war hero, I'll tell you that."
Harry stopped and watched Ron. He could tell that Ron's thoughts were racing. His eyes looked almost frantic, and his hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly. "I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing," Harry thought, and he laid a hand on Ron's arm. Ron jumped visibly, looking quite startled.
"Settle down, Ron. Gods, what's going on in that head of yours?"
Ron raised his eyebrows. "I'm, well, ...fuck, Harry. I'm just...so damn confused."
"About...?"
"Malfoy. Er, Draco." Ron's face softened a bit, Harry noted, but decided not to bring it to Ron's attention.
"Okay, I guess that's understandable. What about Draco?"
Ron gulped. "Well, he's, um...," Ron grabbed the back of his neck and looked down for a second, then blurted, "Do-you-think-he's-hitting-on-me?" Ron looked into Harry's face a tad desperately, then looked down again and blushed.
Harry raised his eyebrows and smiled faintly. "Hitting on you? Well...," Harry crossed his arms and smiled at the top of Ron's head. "Do you want him to, ahem, hit on you?"
Ron grimaced. "Aw, hell, I don't know. I don't even know him, you know? For years, he's my biggest enemy, and then everything changes, my biggest enemy becomes a big pile of dragon dung, and Draco's partial savior of the wizarding world."
Harry smiled, but frankly replied, "Yep. That's the way it is. Is that a problem?"
Ron sighed. "I don't know. No, it's not a problem. I just have to get used to it."
"So...what does that have to do with Draco?"
"Draco...," Ron said the name slowly, weighing the sound as entered the air. What does this have to do with him, Ron thought. "I guess maybe...," Ron's voice dropped to a whisper, "I'm attracted to him."
Harry burst out laughing. "Thank God! Now I can be sure you're not dead!"
Ron scowled. "What do you mean by that, Potter?"
"Gods, Ron! I wouldn't be surprised if the entirety of the wizarding world was attracted to the man! Read any vapid wizarding magazines lately? He's plastered all over them! 'Sexiest Wizard Ever' here, 'Most Eligible Wizard Bachelor' there—"
"Bachelor? He's single??"
Ron's comment caught Harry off guard. Ah, Harry thought, I keep forgetting how clueless Ron is, and I better watch my words. "Draco's not with anyone, but that doesn't exactly make him single." It was Harry's turn to be unsure as he tried to think of how to say what was on his mind without messing up.
"Not single? I don't get it." Ron was confused.
"He's...well, he's got his mind set on someone in particular. Everybody knows that—they're all just waiting to see who."
Ron thought for a moment, then asked, "Do you know who?"
Harry sighed. "Yes." Harry waited for the next question, but it never came. He was somewhat relieved, because he was unsure of how to answer it, but also confused. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Ron. Ron was looking down again, disappointment etched on his face. Damn those dragons for making him so thick, Harry thought. "What?" he asked.
Ron looked up. "If he's got someone in mind, why should I bother?"
"Ron," Harry said tiredly, "do you want Draco?"
"I...don't know. I think so...maybe."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, stop being so pathetic then and spend some time with the chap. Sober time. Be his friend, and maybe he'll tell you who he wants, too."
Ron wrinkled his nose. Friends, he thought, why didn't I think of that? "Friends...that never entered my mind."
Harry chuckled. "Ah, so you want to jump between his sheets instead? Not a bad place to start, really..."
Ron smiled wryly at Harry. "You never were a good influence."
"Of course not. Never tried to be. So, is there anything else you need?"
Ron looked thoughtful, and then asked, "When is the next Cannon's game?"
The clock in the Potter library struck 6pm, and Ron wondered at the absence of Draco. After talking with Harry, he had done some thinking and decided that Harry was right. Ron indeed was attracted to Draco. If the freezing up, uncontrollable blushing, and unintelligible speech patterns were any indication, Ron's hedonist side would jump Draco at the next chance. Too bad I've killed all my hedonism with reason and hard work, Ron thought wryly. Damn dragons. That's why friendship was probably the next best thing. If Draco was already spoken for, then friendship is all Ron will ever get. It's better than nothing, Ron thought. The savior of the wizarding world can't be too bad in simple conversation, right?
Hell, the savior of the wizarding world isn't bad in anything, Ron thought. Just look at him. "I'd like to," Ron answered aloud, and decided to check the house for him. He'd not seen Draco since the afternoon...in his room. A fresh blush colored Ron's features as he damned his early denial. It was Draco making the moves then, wasn't it? Although, in reflection, Ron couldn't exactly be sure of what occurred last night...maybe it was revenge—something like that. Who knows, Ron thought as he climbed the stairs.
Bloody hell, Draco thought, bottle in hand. He'd spent the entire afternoon, getting drunk alone in his room. "I'm so sodding pathetic," he said aloud in a slurred tone. He'd consumed entirely too much—he had to get that image of Ron in his pajamas out of his head...after they kissed. Dammit, he had to get Ron out of his head, period. He didn't even remember getting out of his chair when he crossed to meet Ron, leaning over him,...torturing himself. What the fuck was going through my mind, Draco thought. He had left Ron's room this afternoon with a raging hard on. How the hell could he have done something like that? So much for being subtle. I probably would have been subtler if I would have grabbed his ass, Draco thought, and sat on the edge of his bed. He was still horny as hell, and drunk as hell on top of it. He ran a hand through his blond hair and took another swig from his quickly emptying bottle. "Pathetic," he said again, and laid across his bed on his stomach.
Ron was walking back to his room, disheartened. Where was Draco? He'd searched the house—twice. He'd even considered asking Ginny or Harry if they'd seen Draco, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. On his second trip to the foyer, the picture that had spoken to him yesterday gave him an odd, knowing look today, and he'd been half tempted to ask her, too—but didn't. Truth was he was itching to know what the man was doing now. Ron had a plan of action. He was ready to act. Figures Draco is nowhere to be found, Ron thought. So instead of sit at the bar in the library again, he decided to go back to his room. He didn't know what he'd do, but it was better than catching the pitying looks from Harry every time he passed.
Ron caught sight of his room down the hall. His door was closed, but the door directly across from it was open—a half a foot or more. Ron paused for a moment, then smacked himself in the forehead. Of course the only place he didn't look was in the bloke's own rooms. Stupid, Ron said to himself. He walked towards the room and heard someone speaking within, but he couldn't tell what was being said. Since the door was open, however, he could make an entrance like Draco did this morning, suave and assured. Ron smiled to himself as he approached the door and peeked.
He saw Draco lying on the bed in the middle of the room, face down. Rather than bursting through the door, he stopped and furrowed his eyebrows. No use in waking the chap if he's asleep, Ron thought, but before he could turn away, the right arm twitched and caught his attention. He squinted and discovered that Draco was holding a bottle of vodka, Ron's poison from the prior evening. Don't tell me he's drunk in the middle of the afternoon, Ron thought, bemused. Revenge is definitely a possibility.
However, just as Ron was going to enter the door, Draco rose to his knees, his head still downcast, and the vodka bottle still in his right hand. Ron froze, much worse than ever before. He couldn't even breathe and his eyes could not be torn away. Draco...Draco was nude, except for a white dress shirt that hung open languidly. His blond hair hung in his face, and his chest was bare. His cock rested in his lap, looking half-interested. Ron almost whimpered as he watched Draco bring the vodka bottle to his lips, tilting his head back—Ron could swear that Draco fucking caressed the bottle with his lips and tongue before lowering it. Sluggishly, Draco rose to his feet to walk around the bed, and even his drunken stagger was strong and assured. Muscles flexed and moved under his skin, and he stalked like a tiger. Ron was afraid to gasp, afraid to blink, and the view of all of that pale, soft skin, and the power beneath...and his face—God help him, Draco's face—Ron had to get out of there, fast, or die at that very spot. With a flurry of freckles and red hair, he spun and jumped into his room as fast as possible, slamming the door.
He leaned back against the door, eyes closed. Draco's image was burned into his mind. Ron's lungs burned their objection as he gasped for breath that he didn't realize he'd been holding. He ignored it all though. Voldmort dancing through his room in a pink tutu could not have taken his focus off of Draco, and bloody hell, his blood was hotter than it had ever been before in his life. He couldn't help the hand that undid his trousers and crept in to meet the hard and throbbing flesh. He moaned at the contact, closed his fist, and thrust. He could practically taste Malfoy's lips against his own, and he itched to feel that body close to him again. His rhythm increased as he thought again about all of that skin, the expanse of those muscles, that damnable dress shirt, and most of all, that fucking vodka bottle. Fuck, he wanted to be that vodka bottle. Lips encircling, tongue swirling...
Ron groaned loudly, and with one insistent final thrust into his own hand, he came, shuddering. His legs weakened and he slid down the door with his pants around his knees—he hadn't gotten down that far. Elysian and Draco remained on his mind for a few brief moments, then reality seeped back into his conscious.
"Sodding hell, I'm a fucking voyeur," he said, almost in whisper. What the hell was he doing? What the fucking hell?? God, this really takes the cake for stupidity, Ron thought tersely. What the hell did he think he was doing, staring at Malfoy like that?? Shit like that is against the law, for fuck's sake! "Oh God," Ron said, and put his dry hand against his head. How had this started? All he wanted was a fucking conversation, and now here he was, jacking off against the door, panting his hall mate's name. "Damn the open door," he said. "Damn the vodka. Just...damn."
Draco froze. The door had just slammed. "What the...," he trailed off drunkenly, and turned to look at the doorway. "Hey...I thought I shut that," he slurred, and noticed that the door was open more than just a crack. Hell, anyone could see him...which got him thinking. "Wonder if anyone did see me...," he said, and walked towards the door and looked into the empty hallway. Everything was quiet. "Hmm...," Draco said, closing his own door. "I'm still gonna investigate."
A tad clumsily, he looked around for a pair of pants to throw on, and when he found them, he struggled into them and set out, both bare footed and bare chested, except for the half-opened dress shirt. Almost tripping into the hallway, Draco wondered randomly why he'd yet to pass out. He approached Ron's door with a quiet sigh. Closed. Of course. He laid his hand on it sadly and closed his eyes.
His eyes ripped open at the close sound of a loud, lusty groan, just from the other side. Draco jerked his hand back like he'd been burned and rushed back into his own room, careful not to slam the door. He stumbled back to his bed, his breath rushed and his head muddled. Dammit, nothing was making sense, he was too drunk, and he needed to think right now...but his last thoughts were drowned in the oncoming drowsiness that overtook him. He passed out on his bed with Ron's groan still ringing in his ears.
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