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.
I had planned to have this posted by Monday morning. Here comes Wednesday morning. I'm improving. It's not a month...it's not even two weeks yet! Slow and steady improvements in my updating times...I just hope that the content is none the worse. *wink*
Please note that I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are my own.
To my readers, my favorite people in the world, thank you thank you thank you.
Chapter 8
"My family, my friends, bon appetit." Harry waved his hand over the table and, in Dumbledore fashion, a decadent meal appeared before them. Draco smirked, and Harry returned the smile smugly as Draco silently mouthed the word, "showoff." Harry's smile grew wider.
The Potter dining room was fitted with a charmed table that grew or shrunk to fit the number of guests. Today, the table was square, and decorated with an enchanted lace table cloth, whose woven figures conversed, ate, and danced gaily. Draco had to wince slightly at the starkness of the sunlight that burst through the windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. The day's weather was alluring. Draco's line of vision shifted slightly to the man who sat across from him. One would have to be blind to miss the way the sunlight reflected the citrus tints of hair and highlighted the pale, freckled skin. His study of his subject halted when a trepidious azure gaze met his own. Their eyes caught for a moment before Ron looked down. Alluring indeed, Draco thought, and he had to look away—he knew if he saw Ron flush again, he was going to drag him to his bedchamber and not let him out for hours. His fingers itched to pursue the thought.
Ginny, watching her houseguests, tried not to snicker. I guess I can leave the womanly intuition out of this one, she thought, because these two are hooked, whether they realize it or not. She watched as Draco, amid the light conversation, inconspicuously but closely watched her brother. She caught his eye and raised her eyebrow in silent question. Draco raised his eyebrow in return, and slowly curled the corner of his mouth, almost to the point of imperceptibility—but Ginny noticed, just as Draco knew she would. She bit her lip to cover her smile. No doubt Draco knows exactly what's going on. I wonder if my brother sees it yet, she thought. Her eyes followed her thoughts. Ron looked from Harry to his plate, to Ginny, and back to his plate again. At least he was holding up his side of the conversation, which wasn't nearly as interesting as the scene Ginny was watching. She caught Draco's question, however, but not due to subject matter—rather, she caught her brother's expression.
"When is the first practice for this season, Harry?" Draco asked, mischievous in tone. As if everyone here hasn't an inkling that Draco planned the practices for this season months ago. Ginny watched as Ron's vision chanced to focus across the table, rest a moment on the occupant, then fleetingly return to his plate. Ginny's gaze returned to Draco sharply. He looked back with a controlled expression—but his eyes, they spoke volumes—of wanting desire, longing, a friend and lover, and finding it all at once in the perfect package. The poor orphan waking Christmas morning to find everything he ever wanted beneath the tree. If what Ginny walked in on prior to lunch was any indication, then Draco's thirsting soul was defiantly about to be quenched.
But my brother, Ginny's mind went on, how does he feel? It was hard to tell. Of course there was interest—sexual attraction, absolutely—but past that? There's no way that Ron would be able to see what he meant to Draco, Ginny thought. He's been gone, and he hasn't seen the changes we've seen in Draco, especially after the war. Draco the tormented, Draco the lost. He's almost isolated himself from the entire world, making any sight of him become wizarding tabloid fiascos. No one knew how alone the partial savior of the wizarding world actually was. He kept his mind busy with incessantly efficient planning for the Cannons, and he owned the pitch they played in, among other buildings and businesses. In his dark castle, alone, save the hired help, he kept to himself. When he wasn't at Malfoy Manor, he was at the Potter residence, but that didn't change anything. He was still hiding, but until Draco walked into the Potter foyer and saw Ron sprawled on his bum, Ginny had not realized it. How thick she'd been! She wanted to smack herself. Now, though, sitting at her table, Draco was leaving the cave that in which she hadn't noticed he'd been hiding. Her eyes returned to Ron again. A dragon tamer at his best, she thought, chuckling at the coincidence.
"What?" Harry finally broke through Ginny's thoughts.
"Oh, nothing. Why? What did you say?" She asked.
Draco replied for Harry. "He said that the Cannons were going to have a wildly successful season."
"Okay..." Ginny said.
"And you laughed! I take that as an insult to the Cannons!" Draco said, then turned to Ron. "You're not going to let your sister talk down on your favorite team, are you?"
Ron's eyes widened, and he was suddenly the center of attention. "Uh,...," he said. Draco's mock expression of shock made him chuckle in spite of himself, so he continued. "Of course not." Ron gestured towards Harry. "Especially not with such great leadership. He's your husband!"
Ginny shook her head and smiled. "I wasn't—"
"And!" Ron said, interrupting her, "What about the partial silent ownership? I'm sure that lazy bastard must be doing something to help the team."
No one could miss the way Draco's head jerked forward, indignant frown on his face. Or Ron's teasingly triumphant grin, completely for Draco's benefit. The boy's playing with fire, Ginny thought gleefully. Another hermit was emerging.
Draco, when he caught Ron's teasing smile, almost dropped his silverware. At first, he was dazzled. Innocent freckled shrugging beautiful grin...flirting...and then Draco was hungry. Starving. Wanted to pounce, yet again. Where was this famous Malfoy control? His skin was crawling for contact, and although his cold shower had momentarily calmed him, it did nothing to help the desire that rushed through his body—and sadly, there was nothing he could do to ease it. Well, maybe...Draco chuckled, then slid into a smile, completely inviting, and paired it with stretching his legs, and lightly kicking the set he met first. Ron's eyes widened for a second, then he chuckled. Draco was delighted to feel a playful kick in return. Smiling evilly, he thought, "Bingo," and slipped off his shoes.
Ron was feeling victorious. He had succeeded in no
t embarrassing himself, and even got in a playful jab at Draco. What could be better? He'll get to know the boy yet, but he could already tell they'd be great friends...maybe more. Ron was satisfied as he kicked Draco back, and turned to face Harry, intent on continuing the conversation.
"So, Harry, when is the first pra—" Ron froze as he felt a warm pressure slide up his calf.
Harry looked puzzled. "The what?"
Ron's mouth hung open for a second, but then quickly shut. Below the table, the attacking foot seemed content in playing with the area behind Ron's right knee. Warm and arousing, it slid back down his calf again. Ron gulped visibly, but continued, "When is the first practice? You...uh, never answered before."
Harry looked at Ron strangely, then looked at Draco, who looked intent on the conversation. There's defiantly something going on here, Harry thought, but I'll ask later. "The preliminary practice is actually tomorrow evening. You know, just to get the beginning of the season in order."
"Ah, yes, that's—ah, ahem—good, yeeeeees..." Ron said, as toes drilled into a sensitive spot behind his left knee, and his eyelids fluttered closed, until he realized what he was doing, and then they shot open, the surprise plain to see.
It took every ounce of Ginny's control to not burst, it was so difficult to contain her laughter. She tittered softly, but covered it up with a cough. Through Draco's stolid expression, he shot her a look that read, "Don't you dare."
Ron knew he looked foolish, but those strong strokes up and down his calves...damn, it was hot. Aroused and panicked, he looked across the table, at the calm expression, into the silvery eyes, which spoke of dark secrets and promised to sate deep desires. Ron distantly realized that Draco had retreated from his podiatric assault only to be held captive by his eyes. His words from the hallway echoed in his head. Far from over—that didn't even begin to describe what Ron read in the other man's eyes.
Silence hung in the air for a mite too long, and Ginny cleared her throat. Harry looked up at her, but the other two continued to stare. Ginny's expression was mixed between amusement and annoyance. Paired with a strong kick to Draco's leg, she cleared her throat again. Draco turned his head, his eyes flashing fire. Ron turned his head, his eyes showing embarrassment. "Well," Ginny said simply, biting her tongue. This was rich—it really was. Harry shook his head, amused.
"Yes," Ron spoke, "yes. Cannons practice is tomorrow, is it? That's fine."
"Absolutely," Draco said. "Harry, how do you fancy Ron and I coming to visit during practice, eh? It would be a good opportunity to check out the prospects for the future." Draco shot a grin at Ron before clearing the ambiguity. "Of the team, of course."
Ah, Harry thought, there's much more going on under my roof than to which I'm privy. It's about time Draco got off his lazy arse and went for what he wants, and it's excellent that Ron seems interested in at least meeting him halfway. Harry would be a liar if he didn't acknowledge that his two closest friends were beginning to worry him, in their oddly similar loner qualities. They had both become celebrities of the wizarding world only to disappear into their own lonely worlds. Harry was hopeful for them now. Maybe this was the answer to helping them both.
*************************
The day was coming to a close. Dinner had finished pleasantly, and the group had adjourned to the lounge to amuse themselves until the clock struck eleven. Politely, Harry and Ginny excused themselves, and Ron and Draco were left alone at the fire.
Draco stared into the fire, the bright flames reminding him of the man sitting on the broad leather sofa mere feet away. He glanced at Ron. Ron was staring at the glass of champagne in his hand. He looked up when Draco snorted.
"Jesus, Ron. You and I were never this silent around each other in school."
Ron smiled roguishly. "Yes...we were always at each other's throats."
Draco's eyebrow raised as his mind played on the phrase's innuendos, but he continued, "So, where did your shyness come from?"
"Shyness? Me? What are you talking about?"
Draco smirked. " You haven't said much to me all day, and we all spent it together. You, Harry, Ginny, and me. Either you've turned shy or your wine glass is a much more interesting conversationalist than I."
"I...," Ron faltered. What could he say? "I don't...think I'm shy."
"Oh? Are you afraid to talk to me?"
"No,...I'm not afraid."
Draco smiled. "No, I suppose not. A dragon must be more frightening, right? Or maybe not."
Ron chuckled. "Don't worry. Neither you nor dragons scare me."
"Is that so?" A smirk. "Maybe one of us should."
Instantly, the mood changed. The air was saturated with the difference. Ron felt it immediately, so palpable was the change. His pulse quickened.
Draco went on. "I suppose that we could be one and the same. Namesake, and all."
"No, you're not the same as a dragon."
"Really? Why?"
Ron chuckled, and a blushed accompanied his answer. "I never kissed a dragon."
Not fair. It wasn't fair at all. Draco was playing nicely by the rules, trying conversation, jokes, and avoiding most innuendos. Then Ron had to say that and break all the nice grip on control that Draco had. It was entirely an invitation, Draco justified in his head, and I'm not responsible for the consequences. Draco moved to the other couch. Ron looked up,...expectant.
"You started it this time, you realize," Draco said as he sat down beside Ron and ran his fingers over Ron's mouth.
"Yep." Ron's lips curved, and he kissed Draco's fingers.
God, he was such a tease. Draco's hand flattened on Ron's freckled cheek as he closed in, and he kissed Ron slowly, alluringly. Draco groaned and carefully rose to straddle the other man's hips between his knees, on top again. Things were different this time, though. Slower and more languid. Less frenzied and more sensual. Ron's hands crept around Draco for the second time that day, traveling up to his hairline—hair that had so surprised him when Draco made his dramatic appearance only days ago. It was silken and lush, and Ron tingled at the sensation of it running across the sensitive skin between his fingers.
Draco growled and his kiss grew more insistent as his arousal increased. The fingers in his hair never stilled as they trailed through his hair to the back of his neck. He shivered as they slid down across his neck to his chest, fingering the buttons.
Ron pulled back and gasped, "God, you and your dress shirts." He fisted his hands in the fabric and pulled Draco's mouth back to his. Then he began to undo the buttons, one by one, revealing the expanse of pale skin that had him groaning against the door the night previous. He couldn't help but to touch.
Draco felt fire as Ron's hands moved, ghosting across his chest, down his sides, across his back. He clenched his teeth when Ron's hands fisted came to rest on the sides of Draco's hips, clenching the black fabric, pulling the man closer and closer still. The contact was heated and maddening. Draco threw his head back as he moaned his pleasure. Ron took advantage and attached his lips to the crook of Draco's neck. The pulse that beat quickly there had been tempting him to taste. He sucked, nipping slightly.
"Jesus," Draco breathed through his open lips as Ron's hands suddenly slid up his thighs, squeezing. He wondered faintly when he'd lost control of the situation until Ron recaptured his lips, all the while sliding his hands back from his hips...back. He stopped thinking entirely when strong fingers grasped the flesh they found, pulling him down, and closer still. His hips thrust forward uncontrollably, and he groaned against Ron's mouth, kissing that was all lips and teeth and tongue and heat. A fire borne of bright orange flame threatened to sear his skin and lips, and it was unstoppable, even if he'd wanted to...
"Draco!"
Ron stilled at the sound, and pulled away from the kiss.
"What the...? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." Draco clenched his fists in a blind fury as he heard the sound of someone coming into the lounge. Draco looked into Ron's eyes, because he had to see, before it ended, he had to see—and they were dark, hungry and dazed. "Fuck," he said again ruefully.
"Draco, I—Jesus, not in my lounge, too!" Harry was shocked at the situation, Draco perched on Ron's lap—and he could tell Draco was livid. "Um, anyway," he began, "Sorry to interrupt, ahem,...whatever you were doing, but I just got an important owl about the Cannon finances. I, um," Harry paused again, because Draco whirled his head around and glared, still perched on his best friend. Oh well, he thought, they'll get to it eventually. "I really need you to look at it."
Draco gritted his teeth and growled, "Fine, I'll be up in a minute."
"Hey, now, don't think you guys can just—"
"Jesus, Potter, give us a fucking minute!"
Harry blinked. "Leaving," he spoke, and did just that.
"Of all the fucking...," Draco growled, and eased himself off of Ron's lap. Ron looked up at him, wide-eyed. God, do I hate Harry Potter, Draco thought, bitterly amused at the irony. "Ron—"
"Let me guess...this is far from over?"
Draco bent down and kissed him ruthlessly. "Stop stealing my lines," he said, and left the room.
Ron blinked again, and realized he was sprawled out in the Potter lounge, now cold and alone. "Great bloody way to spend a bloody vacation!" he cursed loudly, and brought his hand to his head.
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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.
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.
I had planned to have this posted by Monday morning. Here comes Wednesday morning. I'm improving. It's not a month...it's not even two weeks yet! Slow and steady improvements in my updating times...I just hope that the content is none the worse. *wink*
Please note that I do not have a beta, so all mistakes are my own.
To my readers, my favorite people in the world, thank you thank you thank you.
"My family, my friends, bon appetit." Harry waved his hand over the table and, in Dumbledore fashion, a decadent meal appeared before them. Draco smirked, and Harry returned the smile smugly as Draco silently mouthed the word, "showoff." Harry's smile grew wider.
The Potter dining room was fitted with a charmed table that grew or shrunk to fit the number of guests. Today, the table was square, and decorated with an enchanted lace table cloth, whose woven figures conversed, ate, and danced gaily. Draco had to wince slightly at the starkness of the sunlight that burst through the windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. The day's weather was alluring. Draco's line of vision shifted slightly to the man who sat across from him. One would have to be blind to miss the way the sunlight reflected the citrus tints of hair and highlighted the pale, freckled skin. His study of his subject halted when a trepidious azure gaze met his own. Their eyes caught for a moment before Ron looked down. Alluring indeed, Draco thought, and he had to look away—he knew if he saw Ron flush again, he was going to drag him to his bedchamber and not let him out for hours. His fingers itched to pursue the thought.
Ginny, watching her houseguests, tried not to snicker. I guess I can leave the womanly intuition out of this one, she thought, because these two are hooked, whether they realize it or not. She watched as Draco, amid the light conversation, inconspicuously but closely watched her brother. She caught his eye and raised her eyebrow in silent question. Draco raised his eyebrow in return, and slowly curled the corner of his mouth, almost to the point of imperceptibility—but Ginny noticed, just as Draco knew she would. She bit her lip to cover her smile. No doubt Draco knows exactly what's going on. I wonder if my brother sees it yet, she thought. Her eyes followed her thoughts. Ron looked from Harry to his plate, to Ginny, and back to his plate again. At least he was holding up his side of the conversation, which wasn't nearly as interesting as the scene Ginny was watching. She caught Draco's question, however, but not due to subject matter—rather, she caught her brother's expression.
"When is the first practice for this season, Harry?" Draco asked, mischievous in tone. As if everyone here hasn't an inkling that Draco planned the practices for this season months ago. Ginny watched as Ron's vision chanced to focus across the table, rest a moment on the occupant, then fleetingly return to his plate. Ginny's gaze returned to Draco sharply. He looked back with a controlled expression—but his eyes, they spoke volumes—of wanting desire, longing, a friend and lover, and finding it all at once in the perfect package. The poor orphan waking Christmas morning to find everything he ever wanted beneath the tree. If what Ginny walked in on prior to lunch was any indication, then Draco's thirsting soul was defiantly about to be quenched.
But my brother, Ginny's mind went on, how does he feel? It was hard to tell. Of course there was interest—sexual attraction, absolutely—but past that? There's no way that Ron would be able to see what he meant to Draco, Ginny thought. He's been gone, and he hasn't seen the changes we've seen in Draco, especially after the war. Draco the tormented, Draco the lost. He's almost isolated himself from the entire world, making any sight of him become wizarding tabloid fiascos. No one knew how alone the partial savior of the wizarding world actually was. He kept his mind busy with incessantly efficient planning for the Cannons, and he owned the pitch they played in, among other buildings and businesses. In his dark castle, alone, save the hired help, he kept to himself. When he wasn't at Malfoy Manor, he was at the Potter residence, but that didn't change anything. He was still hiding, but until Draco walked into the Potter foyer and saw Ron sprawled on his bum, Ginny had not realized it. How thick she'd been! She wanted to smack herself. Now, though, sitting at her table, Draco was leaving the cave that in which she hadn't noticed he'd been hiding. Her eyes returned to Ron again. A dragon tamer at his best, she thought, chuckling at the coincidence.
"What?" Harry finally broke through Ginny's thoughts.
"Oh, nothing. Why? What did you say?" She asked.
Draco replied for Harry. "He said that the Cannons were going to have a wildly successful season."
"Okay..." Ginny said.
"And you laughed! I take that as an insult to the Cannons!" Draco said, then turned to Ron. "You're not going to let your sister talk down on your favorite team, are you?"
Ron's eyes widened, and he was suddenly the center of attention. "Uh,...," he said. Draco's mock expression of shock made him chuckle in spite of himself, so he continued. "Of course not." Ron gestured towards Harry. "Especially not with such great leadership. He's your husband!"
Ginny shook her head and smiled. "I wasn't—"
"And!" Ron said, interrupting her, "What about the partial silent ownership? I'm sure that lazy bastard must be doing something to help the team."
No one could miss the way Draco's head jerked forward, indignant frown on his face. Or Ron's teasingly triumphant grin, completely for Draco's benefit. The boy's playing with fire, Ginny thought gleefully. Another hermit was emerging.
Draco, when he caught Ron's teasing smile, almost dropped his silverware. At first, he was dazzled. Innocent freckled shrugging beautiful grin...flirting...and then Draco was hungry. Starving. Wanted to pounce, yet again. Where was this famous Malfoy control? His skin was crawling for contact, and although his cold shower had momentarily calmed him, it did nothing to help the desire that rushed through his body—and sadly, there was nothing he could do to ease it. Well, maybe...Draco chuckled, then slid into a smile, completely inviting, and paired it with stretching his legs, and lightly kicking the set he met first. Ron's eyes widened for a second, then he chuckled. Draco was delighted to feel a playful kick in return. Smiling evilly, he thought, "Bingo," and slipped off his shoes.
Ron was feeling victorious. He had succeeded in no
t embarrassing himself, and even got in a playful jab at Draco. What could be better? He'll get to know the boy yet, but he could already tell they'd be great friends...maybe more. Ron was satisfied as he kicked Draco back, and turned to face Harry, intent on continuing the conversation.
"So, Harry, when is the first pra—" Ron froze as he felt a warm pressure slide up his calf.
Harry looked puzzled. "The what?"
Ron's mouth hung open for a second, but then quickly shut. Below the table, the attacking foot seemed content in playing with the area behind Ron's right knee. Warm and arousing, it slid back down his calf again. Ron gulped visibly, but continued, "When is the first practice? You...uh, never answered before."
Harry looked at Ron strangely, then looked at Draco, who looked intent on the conversation. There's defiantly something going on here, Harry thought, but I'll ask later. "The preliminary practice is actually tomorrow evening. You know, just to get the beginning of the season in order."
"Ah, yes, that's—ah, ahem—good, yeeeeees..." Ron said, as toes drilled into a sensitive spot behind his left knee, and his eyelids fluttered closed, until he realized what he was doing, and then they shot open, the surprise plain to see.
It took every ounce of Ginny's control to not burst, it was so difficult to contain her laughter. She tittered softly, but covered it up with a cough. Through Draco's stolid expression, he shot her a look that read, "Don't you dare."
Ron knew he looked foolish, but those strong strokes up and down his calves...damn, it was hot. Aroused and panicked, he looked across the table, at the calm expression, into the silvery eyes, which spoke of dark secrets and promised to sate deep desires. Ron distantly realized that Draco had retreated from his podiatric assault only to be held captive by his eyes. His words from the hallway echoed in his head. Far from over—that didn't even begin to describe what Ron read in the other man's eyes.
Silence hung in the air for a mite too long, and Ginny cleared her throat. Harry looked up at her, but the other two continued to stare. Ginny's expression was mixed between amusement and annoyance. Paired with a strong kick to Draco's leg, she cleared her throat again. Draco turned his head, his eyes flashing fire. Ron turned his head, his eyes showing embarrassment. "Well," Ginny said simply, biting her tongue. This was rich—it really was. Harry shook his head, amused.
"Yes," Ron spoke, "yes. Cannons practice is tomorrow, is it? That's fine."
"Absolutely," Draco said. "Harry, how do you fancy Ron and I coming to visit during practice, eh? It would be a good opportunity to check out the prospects for the future." Draco shot a grin at Ron before clearing the ambiguity. "Of the team, of course."
Ah, Harry thought, there's much more going on under my roof than to which I'm privy. It's about time Draco got off his lazy arse and went for what he wants, and it's excellent that Ron seems interested in at least meeting him halfway. Harry would be a liar if he didn't acknowledge that his two closest friends were beginning to worry him, in their oddly similar loner qualities. They had both become celebrities of the wizarding world only to disappear into their own lonely worlds. Harry was hopeful for them now. Maybe this was the answer to helping them both.
The day was coming to a close. Dinner had finished pleasantly, and the group had adjourned to the lounge to amuse themselves until the clock struck eleven. Politely, Harry and Ginny excused themselves, and Ron and Draco were left alone at the fire.
Draco stared into the fire, the bright flames reminding him of the man sitting on the broad leather sofa mere feet away. He glanced at Ron. Ron was staring at the glass of champagne in his hand. He looked up when Draco snorted.
"Jesus, Ron. You and I were never this silent around each other in school."
Ron smiled roguishly. "Yes...we were always at each other's throats."
Draco's eyebrow raised as his mind played on the phrase's innuendos, but he continued, "So, where did your shyness come from?"
"Shyness? Me? What are you talking about?"
Draco smirked. " You haven't said much to me all day, and we all spent it together. You, Harry, Ginny, and me. Either you've turned shy or your wine glass is a much more interesting conversationalist than I."
"I...," Ron faltered. What could he say? "I don't...think I'm shy."
"Oh? Are you afraid to talk to me?"
"No,...I'm not afraid."
Draco smiled. "No, I suppose not. A dragon must be more frightening, right? Or maybe not."
Ron chuckled. "Don't worry. Neither you nor dragons scare me."
"Is that so?" A smirk. "Maybe one of us should."
Instantly, the mood changed. The air was saturated with the difference. Ron felt it immediately, so palpable was the change. His pulse quickened.
Draco went on. "I suppose that we could be one and the same. Namesake, and all."
"No, you're not the same as a dragon."
"Really? Why?"
Ron chuckled, and a blushed accompanied his answer. "I never kissed a dragon."
Not fair. It wasn't fair at all. Draco was playing nicely by the rules, trying conversation, jokes, and avoiding most innuendos. Then Ron had to say that and break all the nice grip on control that Draco had. It was entirely an invitation, Draco justified in his head, and I'm not responsible for the consequences. Draco moved to the other couch. Ron looked up,...expectant.
"You started it this time, you realize," Draco said as he sat down beside Ron and ran his fingers over Ron's mouth.
"Yep." Ron's lips curved, and he kissed Draco's fingers.
God, he was such a tease. Draco's hand flattened on Ron's freckled cheek as he closed in, and he kissed Ron slowly, alluringly. Draco groaned and carefully rose to straddle the other man's hips between his knees, on top again. Things were different this time, though. Slower and more languid. Less frenzied and more sensual. Ron's hands crept around Draco for the second time that day, traveling up to his hairline—hair that had so surprised him when Draco made his dramatic appearance only days ago. It was silken and lush, and Ron tingled at the sensation of it running across the sensitive skin between his fingers.
Draco growled and his kiss grew more insistent as his arousal increased. The fingers in his hair never stilled as they trailed through his hair to the back of his neck. He shivered as they slid down across his neck to his chest, fingering the buttons.
Ron pulled back and gasped, "God, you and your dress shirts." He fisted his hands in the fabric and pulled Draco's mouth back to his. Then he began to undo the buttons, one by one, revealing the expanse of pale skin that had him groaning against the door the night previous. He couldn't help but to touch.
Draco felt fire as Ron's hands moved, ghosting across his chest, down his sides, across his back. He clenched his teeth when Ron's hands fisted came to rest on the sides of Draco's hips, clenching the black fabric, pulling the man closer and closer still. The contact was heated and maddening. Draco threw his head back as he moaned his pleasure. Ron took advantage and attached his lips to the crook of Draco's neck. The pulse that beat quickly there had been tempting him to taste. He sucked, nipping slightly.
"Jesus," Draco breathed through his open lips as Ron's hands suddenly slid up his thighs, squeezing. He wondered faintly when he'd lost control of the situation until Ron recaptured his lips, all the while sliding his hands back from his hips...back. He stopped thinking entirely when strong fingers grasped the flesh they found, pulling him down, and closer still. His hips thrust forward uncontrollably, and he groaned against Ron's mouth, kissing that was all lips and teeth and tongue and heat. A fire borne of bright orange flame threatened to sear his skin and lips, and it was unstoppable, even if he'd wanted to...
"Draco!"
Ron stilled at the sound, and pulled away from the kiss.
"What the...? Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." Draco clenched his fists in a blind fury as he heard the sound of someone coming into the lounge. Draco looked into Ron's eyes, because he had to see, before it ended, he had to see—and they were dark, hungry and dazed. "Fuck," he said again ruefully.
"Draco, I—Jesus, not in my lounge, too!" Harry was shocked at the situation, Draco perched on Ron's lap—and he could tell Draco was livid. "Um, anyway," he began, "Sorry to interrupt, ahem,...whatever you were doing, but I just got an important owl about the Cannon finances. I, um," Harry paused again, because Draco whirled his head around and glared, still perched on his best friend. Oh well, he thought, they'll get to it eventually. "I really need you to look at it."
Draco gritted his teeth and growled, "Fine, I'll be up in a minute."
"Hey, now, don't think you guys can just—"
"Jesus, Potter, give us a fucking minute!"
Harry blinked. "Leaving," he spoke, and did just that.
"Of all the fucking...," Draco growled, and eased himself off of Ron's lap. Ron looked up at him, wide-eyed. God, do I hate Harry Potter, Draco thought, bitterly amused at the irony. "Ron—"
"Let me guess...this is far from over?"
Draco bent down and kissed him ruthlessly. "Stop stealing my lines," he said, and left the room.
Ron blinked again, and realized he was sprawled out in the Potter lounge, now cold and alone. "Great bloody way to spend a bloody vacation!" he cursed loudly, and brought his hand to his head.
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