Beg Me For It- Part II

Prologue from Ron:

Look, when you read this… well, first off, is there any chance you’re not going to read this?

Yeah. Thought not. But a bloke can hope, right?

Anyhow, before you read this you have to understand, there are circumstances, you see, reasons for, um, all this. I’ve explained before in ‘Beg Me For It’ (good title, right?), so I’m not gonna go through all that again, about Draco and how everything started. So just read that first, okay?

Yeah, I said Draco. You know, Draco Malfoy? Oh, you’re surprised that I call him Draco?

Well, yeah, we’re sorta on a first-name basis now. Heh. Better be.

Anyway, he and I, we really didn’t think we’d live and all, and so well, who knew the lengths he'd go to just to repay a favour? Of course saving his life was one hell of a favour, but — we did some pretty crazy things, alright? Not that I regret them or anything, not at all actually…

…oh God.

Just don’t tell Harry? Please?

~*~*~

Ron awkwardly balanced bags of this week’s rations on his knee. He cursed his rotten luck to be saddled with a roommate who probably heard him, but was too lazy to answer the door.

Dammit, Draco , he thought as he knocked again, catching a slipping bag. Get the fucking door if you can’t be bothered to pick up the food.

Just for this, Ron decided to keep the strawberries for himself. His Section had earned them, after all. He and Draco may be under house arrest at the Death Eater-run Ministry, but the Minister of Magic, Lucius Malfoy, found little ways to reward good performance.

Ron pounded on the door again. Sometimes he thought he was planning the death of the wrong Malfoy. Even if Draco was on his side, and instrumental to his plan.

All he wanted was dinner (he’d cook because Draco was hopeless in the kitchen), a drink, a quick shag if Draco was in the mood, and then bed. A simple plan really, but pretty much everything Ron liked was simple.

A crying shame that Draco was probably the most complicated person in the world.

As his keys rattled in the lock, Ron promised himself he would ignore any mess Draco had made today. He’d had enough headaches. Ron supervised Lucius’ staff and unfortunately, someone had discovered they had an embezzler and dropped the problem in his lap. The paper trail led in a circle. Whoever it was, they were pretty smart.

No strawberries for his performance next week, that was for sure.

The stubborn Muggle lock — prisoners weren’t allowed magic — finally gave. Ron kicked open the door and loud Muggle rock blared from his quarters into the hallway. Ron bobbled his packages and caught them against the doorjamb.

What the hell?

“Close the door, you idiot!” Draco shouted over the noise. “We’re not allowed music!”

No shit, Malfoy.

Ron elbowed the door shut and stared open-mouthed at the disaster that was once his tiny flat. The beige sofa, beige carpet and blocky furniture were eyesores, sure, but it was home. He set down the packages. Ron vaguely remembered peaceful days, before Draco moved in.

He had saved Draco’s life for this?

A long rack dominated one wall, occupying half the living room. It was filled with unfamiliar brightly coloured clothing. Various Muggle garments were scattered haphazardly all over the ugly sofa. The dining table in the corner had row upon row of little plastic baggies, neat lines of colourful pills, and an astonishing display of bottles — obviously contraband booze. There were tiny bottles of who-knew-what, and a long black plastic monstrosity on the kitchen counter that blasted music at full volume.

In the middle of all this was a shirtless Draco Malfoy, dancing. He held a glass with clinking ice in one hand, and twirled a very illegal item in the other.

“Where the fuck did you get a wand?!” Ron squawked.

“WHAT??!”

“WAND?! WHERE? Turn that shit down!” Ron yelled, gesturing to make his point.

Draco seemed to understand, set down his drink, then picked up a black square device. He pointed it at the box and the music hushed.

“WHERE DID —” Ron lowered his voice. “Where did you get a wand and do you realise just where you — and me not incidentally! — could end up if you’re caught with it?! Did you Accio this rubbish?”

Draco snorted. “I’m not so stupid, ol’ Ronnie boy. I was just… holding it a little. Don’t worry, don’t worry, I haven’t set off any wards.” He put the wand away in a slim box, and waved a hand at the rest. “As for where I got it, sooner or later you will learn there is nothing that can’t be bought. But everything here’s Muggle. Can’t be tracked magically. Including the music.” Draco turned the music back up a bit and returned to dancing.

This was not reassuring.

“Black Market? You have Muggle Black Market goods?!”

“They’re hot too, I think.”

“Stolen?!”

“I think the phrase the gentleman used was they ‘fell off the truck.’ I can’t be held responsible for such carelessness. Here. Have a drink.” Draco handed Ron his glass. Ron downed the remainder of Draco’s drink in one gulp, choking a little. What was this stuff? He was afraid to ask about the baggies and pills. If they were caught with this….

“I figured I should try out what I sell,” Draco said, an eager light in his eyes.

“Percy said he might come over tonight…” Ron whimpered.

“Oh good! A par-tee!” Draco bobbed his head in time with the music.

Uh-oh. Ron had a sudden suspicion about the contents of those baggies. “What are these pills?”

“Pretty, aren’t they? I took them all out to gloat.”

“They have little bunnies on them….”

“Ecstasy! Such a good name for them, too.” Draco draped himself over Ron happily, still dancing, his shoulders pulsing with the music. “You’re wonderful you know that, Ron? You’re so… warm… and snnnnnuggly… and so fanfuckingresponsible… and so fanfuckingtastic in bed…”

“Muggle drugs. You’re selling Muggle drugs,” Ron said in a flat voice.

“Not yet, not yet. So far I’m just taking them. This is an investment, Ron. Here,” Draco spun away and shoved a fistful of pills across the table, “have twenty. I owe you everything…” he purred.

“Where’d you get the money for all this?”

“I didn’t. You did. Your department made a generous donation to the cause.”

“You — you’re the one —!”

“I’d buy you diamonds but you’d look like shit in them… lapis… or maybe sapphires… yeah…” Draco wandered over to the booze and poured another glass of amber liquid.

“You’re embezzling from my department!” Ron exploded.

“Pbbblt.” Draco made a rude noise and crossed the room to Ron. He could almost walk a straight line. “Embezzling from Death Eaters isn’t a crime. It’s a victory! Now this,” Draco stuffed the tinkling glass of amber liquid into Ron’s hand, “this is the good stuff, not the shit Percy has. Bloody Lucius doesn’t give him anything really yummy.”

“ ‘Yummy’?” Ron echoed.

“B’sides, we’re planning to bloody kill Lucius, and you’re worried about trivialities like ‘bezzlement?”

“Why do you always call him Lucius?”

“ ‘S a little hard to kill Daddy, don’t you think?” Draco did a quick dance step, hands over his head. “I love this song. Beautiful, just fucking beautiful. Look, we’re likely dead any day now, Ron. Let’s live a little.”

It was hard to argue with that logic, even coming from Draco. Some days Ron couldn’t believe their insanity. Two nineteen year-old wizards, barely out of Hogwarts, plotting to take out the head wizard of Voldemort’s organisation. The Minister of Magic. Lord of Magic, rather; Ron kept forgetting the new title. They were barking mad.

Ron slumped to the sofa and kicked off his shoes, undid and tossed the Ministry tie to the floor. Ministry life was dreary even before he worked for Death Eaters, and the idea of it being all he knew till he died was just… horrible.

Ron took a good swig of the drink Draco offered, and choked. Whoa.

Draco leaned against the sofa and grinned fiercely down at Ron. “That’ll bring back the dead.”

“This is great stuff,” Ron admitted as he coughed. “Makes Percy’s taste like rat piss. But I’m gonna have Lucius blowing smoke up my arse all week…” he moaned. He puffed out a sigh. “Oh, well. What the hell. If you hadn’t told me I would never have found you out. I’ve been over those records a million times already. You’re a complete arsehole, you know that?” And a brilliant one.

“I love you, Ronnie...” Draco nuzzled Ron’s hair.

Ron batted him away. “You are high.”

Draco ignored him and danced to the middle of the room, his eyes shut in bliss as he bobbed his head in rhythm to the music, glass in hand. Tendrils of white-blond hair fell onto his face as he drank in the heavy beat. Draco turned suddenly on his heels, subtle as a cat. His shoulders moved as if pulled by the thread of the Muggle rhythm. Ron’s eyes widened. Wow. Draco could dance. Shirtless, he rolled his shoulders, and his chest followed the motion in subtle thrusts, supple and sensual. He was covered in a faint sheen of sweat; a drop trickled down his back. Draco moved his hips in a steady rolling rhythm that was really hot. Ron goggled. Draco dancing was, uh, really something, but without a shirt he was practically pornographic.

Ron took a long pull of his drink. “You’re fucking sexy…” he said in a rough voice.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Draco drawled over his shoulder with a subtle smile, not missing a step.

“You’ve a nice arse.”

“Know it.”

“You’re an idiot.” Ron shook his head with a laugh as he took another drink.

“Hey! Does someone want to continue sleeping with me?”

“Oh, right, as if you could ever stop,” Ron chuckled, watching Draco under lowered eyelids. Shag first, or dinner? There were advantages to both.

“True enough. There’s only the one bed.”

Ron stretched, and folded his arms behind his head with satisfaction. “It’s only practical. Convenient, you might say.”

Draco gave him a doubtful smirk, tongue-in-cheek. “Right. Of course.”

Ron kicked some Muggle clothes out of his way and put his feet up on the couch, sinking into it. Shag later. He was tired. Maybe he’d even risk Draco’s cooking… no, no, that was certain death. Probably deliberate on his part too, just to convince him never to ask again. Draco was completely useless.

Draco turned the music up a bit more, set his glass down and danced at a frenetic pace. Where did he get all the energy?

“Nice floor show,” Ron commented, resting his glass on his chest. The Muggle booze was already giving him that warm glow. Booze first. Yes. That was a good decision. 

“Well, I don’t like being the entertainment. Get up here.” Draco hooked a finger at him.

Nice try, Draco. “No way. I don’t dance.”

“Learn, or I’ll have nothing to do with you otherwise,” Draco said, shoulders moving in time with the music. He tugged on Ron’s arm. “Up. I refuse to live with a wet blanket.”

Huh. Like Draco had any choice in the matter.

“C’mon… you need to get that stick out of your arse,” Draco said, pulling again, this time with all he had. He was not strong, and Ron was a good deal taller and more solid besides, but he dragged Ron halfway off the couch anyway.

“NO!” Ron yanked himself free, spilling his drink. He sat up and shook his dripping hand. “Dammit…”

“Fine. Watch me then.”

“Gladly.” Ron wiped at his shirt, called it a lost cause, and pulled it off. He tossed it vaguely at Draco then settled back on the couch. Draco ignored the missile.

“Dancing…” Draco explained in a philosophical tone as he turned away, “ ‘S like sex you see…” He did some more of those shoulder moves that really looked good without a shirt. The irritating, irresponsible, worthless prat.

“How?” Ron scowled. “Look. I don’t dance, Draco. Not without a Tarantallegra Curse.”

“C’mon… I’ve slept with you. You have natural rhythm. Very, very natural.” Draco tossed his hair. “I’m too high to laugh at you, Weasley-luv.”

Love? Luv? Ron squinted at Draco.

Ron gave up, knowing Draco would pester him all night anyway. When he got an idea in his head, he never let go. Ron set down his drink and allowed himself to be pulled up into Draco’s arms. He watched Draco suspiciously. But the ferret was as good as his word, and didn’t laugh. So far. Ron blushed.

“Here. Watch this,” and Draco did some of those hip moves.

“ ‘Looks hot,” Ron said, eyeing him up and down cautiously.

“So do it. Stand right behind me and follow what I do…” Draco pulled Ron into his back and demonstrated. Ron felt oddly dizzy in this position, partially due to the booze he supposed. Should’ve had dinner first. But that move —

“ — thrusting like that? That’s disgusting!” Ron was horrified.

“You liked it a minute ago.”

“That’s before I knew what you were doing exactly!” Ron’s face heated.

Draco laughed.

Ron pushed away and fumed at him. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!” Draco staggered, but kept laughing.

“I can’t help it! You’re great. A virtual orgy of innocence,” he snickered. “Alright, McGonagall, we’ll keep the chastity belt on. We’ll do ‘Ballroom Dancing’ instead.”

Draco put his chin up, stood straight-backed, and demonstrated a series of mind-bogglingly complex quick steps and turns, completely out of sync with the Muggle music. Ron was reminded of Draco miming people at school.

“Wha...” Ron began as Draco returned to settle Ron’s hands back on his hips. “What was all that?”

“The ‘Cha-Cha.’ If I had to learn Ballroom Dancing, I liked it to at least be fast.”

“You took dancing lessons?”

“Oh shut up…it’s not as though I had a choice in the matter…”

“No wonder you’re a pouf!”

“You’re the one with your bollocks up my arse, and I’ll have you know I had to go to Wizard Balls! High society shit. Dance with some fat, ugly cousin to ‘acquit myself well for the family’,” Draco snapped. “Consider yourself properly compensated for being as poor as dirt.

“Now, shall we get to some real dancing —?”

Okay, okay. Ron suppressed another snicker and kissed Draco’s hair. It always smelled so clean. Draco gave him a fox-like glance over his shoulder. The song ended and a completely different one came on. Muggle or not, this tune sounded vaguely familiar to Ron. He nodded in time to the music.

“We’ll start simple,” Draco said in his best ‘Prefect’ voice, shifting from side to side. Ron towered over him and once again Ron marvelled at how tiny he was. Not just short, but slim, too.

“ ‘S different from earlier,” Ron noted. This step wasn’t too hard. Ron blinked and shook his head a little. He kind of wanted to sit down. That Muggle booze gave him a head rush.

“The move has to fit the music,” Draco said.

Ah.

“Bet you like this position, eh?” He ground lightly into Draco.

“I take my cheap thrills where I can get them. Given your family, we’re talking bargain basement here.”

“Ouch,” Ron said into his hair, still rocking from side to side. “That’s six.”

“What -?” Draco blinked up at him.

“I’ve started counting how many insults you clock per hour. That was six,” Ron said, “so far.”

“Ministry statistics?”

“Middle management. I’ve learned all sorts of useful things like that,” said Ron.

Draco laughed and his eyes sparkled up at Ron. “Just when did you develop a sense of humour, Weasley?”

Ron gave him a blank look. “I haven’t changed.”

“You never used to laugh at my jokes,” Draco complained.

“You weren’t funny.”

“I was hysterical.”

Ron decided not to answer that. Dating Hermione had been good practice for dealing with Draco: when on thin ice, say nothing. Ron did want to get laid tonight after all.

Draco added a slight variation to the step. Ron was confused a moment, then figured out how to keep up. Draco looked pleased at his progress. Ron snuggled into his backside.

“So… is this how you learned?” Ron couldn’t help teasing, just a little.

“No! Given that the witch who taught me was at least ninety, I’m rather grateful she didn’t. She liked me entirely too much. I had natural talent, among other things of course…”

“Such as?” Ron had a feeling he was going to regret asking this.

“Scintillating charisma,” Draco said. In all seriousness.

Ron was awed at the ferret’s enormous ego. Draco shot Ron a peeved look at his sudden burst of laughter. But Ron really couldn’t help it, sex life or not!

“Just what are you laughing at? I’ll have you know I’ve more charisma in my pinky than you have in your entire body,” Draco sneered.

“I never claimed to have charisma — or even good looks!” Ron said. “I’ll admit, you might have something — maybe — if you could just shut up about it.”

Draco suddenly sped up the dance, tossed in a couple of complicated steps, completely throwing Ron’s rhythm into an awkward fumbling.

Then Draco turned and smiled viciously. “Nice dancing, Weasley.”

Ron let go of Draco’s hips and moved to drop to the sofa, but Draco caught him about the waist and swung him around. “No, no, wait — don’t stop — don’t sit down. I’m sorry. C’mon…. You need to loosen up a little, Ron. This’s good for you. I’m absolutely certain it’s what you need and that’s not just the pretty pills talking.

“Besides, it’s bloody boring here all day without you.”

“You could work! Lucius did give you a job.” Ron snagged the remainder of his drink from the end table. Annoyingly, the glass was still wet.

Draco scowled. “I’m not working for Death Eaters. Bad enough I have their horrible tattoo.”

“If you weren’t a Malfoy, you’d have to,” Ron said. When did he become the voice of responsibility, he wondered. He was starting to sound like Percy. Scary thought. Maybe Draco was right.

“But I am.” A lifetime of privilege went into Malfoy’s unconcerned shrug. “C’mon. Dance,” Draco purred and clasped his hands around Ron’s waist, swinging on Ron like a jungle gym. Yep. Draco was as high as a kite. “You’ll love it.”

Draco nuzzled under Ron’s chin. When he decided to turn on the charm… Ron huffed a sigh, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Alright. No more making fun of me though? Promise?” he asked anxiously.

“About your dancing? On my honour,” Draco said. “Anything else though… s’fair game.” He winked. Now that was an honest answer. Ron knew he could trust it. He was still learning how very exact Slytherin promises were - and how he couldn’t leave any wiggle room or Draco would worm his way out of his word, just on principle. Promises were more like negotiations with him. But whenever Draco set his own boundaries like that, he was sincere.

Besides, Ron rather liked it when Draco begged. It was kind of… sweet. In a lot of ways. 

Ron finished off another glass of whatever Muggle drink Draco had given him. The heat washed through him and settled into a fine buzz. His hands travelled down Draco’s hard shoulders, tracing the wiry muscle underneath.

Draco was so small. It always surprised Ron; Draco had loomed as such a big problem in his school life. But when Ron rescued him from the Death Eater’s Arena — Ron stopped that thought. Better not to think about that day. Neither of them had ever discussed it. What mattered was Draco Malfoy was safe here, or at least as safe as Ron could make it. If Draco noticed Ron held him just a little tighter for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Don’t think, Ron told himself. He snagged Draco’s glass from his hands, and finished off the contents in several long gulps, barely even tasting it. Draco smirked at him.

Warm slim hands returned to Ron’s hips. Draco had put on new music, loud, this one with a really heavy but slightly slower beat. He pressed into Ron. They began the swaying motion again, now familiar and comforting. Ron followed Draco intently, concentrating as best he could with his head buzzing pleasantly.

“Okay,” Draco said. He matched their movements to the thumping beat. “Feel that? That’s the backbeat, the heartbeat of the music. You need to be in sync with that first.”

Ron chewed his lip. Truth was, he heard a whole lot of different rhythms, all at once. He had no clue what Draco meant. He nodded anyway, figuring he’d catch on. Dancing felt nice anyway.

Suddenly Draco stopped, and stood away from Ron a moment.

“Hey…” Ron complained.

“Keep moving,” Draco nodded, studying him. Ron tried, but without Draco he was at a complete loss. Draco shook his head.

“Thought so. Look. You can’t just copy me; you have to feel it.” Draco chewed his lower lip for a moment. “Let’s try this.”

He took Ron’s hand, and placed it on his bare cool chest. “Feel that. That’s my heartbeat, right? I’m talking, too. I’m also breathing. All kinds of rhythms. But underneath it all, is that heartbeat.

“Now close your eyes. No. Don’t move. Just listen.” Draco restarted the music; the heavy beat throbbed throughout the room. “Keep your eyes closed, Ron. Stop thinking about the music, and just let it wash through you. Don’t think, just feel it.”

Ron shut his eyes. He could sort of tell what Draco was talking about, but there was one small distraction.

“Draco,” Ron asked, amused. “What does your hand on my crotch have to do with this?”

“It’s essential,” Draco said brightly.

Ron opened one doubtful eye. Uh-huh.

“All right, it has nothing to do with this; I was just having a little fun. You looked so trusting — who could resist? But did you feel the rhythm underneath?”

Ron coughed a little. Yeah. He’d felt it all right.

“Good.” Draco moved behind Ron, who glanced back and shook his head. Sneaky little bastard.

“Now move with it,” Draco continued. “Start slow. Keep your eyes closed if you need to… yeah.”

Ron felt a little dizzy. But this Muggle tune sounded a lot like the Wizard group Vampire Hex whom he rather liked, with its slow throbbing beat. He let his head bob in time with the music, and let the music take him.

“Let’s try to move the rest of your body too, eh?” Ron could hear the smile in his voice as Draco kneaded his shoulders. “Relax…” He draped against Ron’s back. Whatever Draco had taken had made him rather cuddly. “Get your whole body into it.”

Ron was surprised to feel that Draco wasn’t simply bobbing his head to the music; he was actually moving his whole chest and hips and — oh. Ron followed him a little, then Draco slid off and danced away from him.

Ron breathed, closed his eyes again. The heavy rhythm was sort of like a pulsing wave; he let his hips go loose and remembered Draco’s slow thrusting motion from earlier. It sort of fit this music. Felt right. He lost the rhythm in his surprise as he realised that — yeah! — it fit and he could do this. He picked up the rhythm again, more easily this time. It felt good.

The song ended with a thump, and Ron opened his eyes to find Draco eyeing him appreciatively. Ron’s face fell.

“You were watching me!” he accused.

“Yes. But that looked... better than when you were just imitating.”

“It did?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

Suddenly Ron felt great. He went to take a long swallow of his drink, and found his glass empty. Now when did that happen?

He got some more and topped off Draco’s while he was at it. Draco nodded a distracted thank-you as he fumbled with the black Muggle device, cursing under his breath. It seemed he wasn’t quite competent with it yet. Ron looked over Draco’s shoulder, wondering just where a pureblood like Malfoy would learn to work Muggle machinery.

Draco made a satisfied sound. “Ah.”

The box suddenly roared and a really loud, fast guitar riff rippled through the room, startlingly familiar. Was that…?

“Hey!” Ron said in shock, yelling over the music. “That’s Zombie Orgy!”

“The Muggle version, but yeah! Great, aren’t they?” Draco shouted.

“Fuck yeah!”

Draco punched his fists into the air and did a hot, fast shimmy. Ron whooped, played air guitar all the way down to his knees, arched, and jumped up. Draco laughed and tried it but he couldn’t leap like that.

“You’re bloody strong, Ron,” he said, but Ron could hardly hear him over the music. Draco did more of his subtle shoulder moves, sweeping the hair off his face as he turned. At the moment Ron didn’t care how good or bad a dancer he was — this was Zombie Orgy! He cut loose, and even awkwardly followed Draco, who simply danced and laughed.

They played the entire album through. When the music thrummed to a halt, Draco asked, “Again?”

“Yeah!”

So they played it through, bounced and danced a second time.

And a third.

Finally they collapsed, flopping onto the couch, happy, sweaty and breathless. Draco let the machine murmur some quieter Muggle music Ron didn’t recognise. It had nice lyrics and a softer rhythm. Though nothing compared to Zombie of course.

“I didn’t know you had taste in music, Weasley,” Draco breathed, leaning over to pick up a glass. He wiped the sweat off his brow and let his head drop back to the couch with a sigh.

Ron threw his hands up and shrugged. He was still gasping and couldn’t quite talk yet. He downed some more of the booze with a cough; this one was a clear, stinging liquid. They’d already polished off the first bottle. Ron asked, as he caught his breath, “What I want to know… is since when… since when do Muggles play Wizard music?” Ron shook his head in disbelief. Then shook his head again. He liked the spinning sensation.

Draco smirked at Ron from his elegant sprawl. “More like the other way around. Wizarding bands have been ripping off the Muggles for yeeears.” He grinned over his glass, toasting Ron with it. “But don’t let the Death Eaters hear you say that.”

“No way! Vampire Hex? And Zombie Orgy? Rip-offs?! That’s sacrilege!” Ron declared. “They’re great!”

“They are. But it’s not likely the Muggles are ripping off the wizard bands. It has to be the other way around,” Draco said, rolling onto his side.

“I don’t believe it!” Ron insisted.

“Suit yourself. ‘Denial’ is not just a river in Egypt.” He changed the subject. “So, what other bands do you like?”

“Well, Ghetto Frogs, Ocelot of course, Nightmare — naturally, not a lot of people know Nightmare but —”

“Oh, I know Nightmare,” Draco said airily, though he looked a little surprised.

“You do?” Nightmare was an underground classic, a big influence on other wizard bands, but not the least bit popular.

“Sure. I have all their stuff.”

“Brilliant! Got any of it here?”

Draco shook his head. He gave Ron a calculating glance. “How about Devilsnake? Ever heard of them?”

“Ha, ha. Trick question,” Ron said into his glass. It sloshed as Ron gestured at Draco. “They’re horrible. But back when they were Dragonsbane they were bloody amazing.”

Draco nodded, blinking and pleased. “Yeah, too bad about their lead singer.”

“Shit, that was sad. But a live dragon? On stage? How thick can you get?” Ron shook his head at such idiocy.

“Really,” Draco drawled. “A bit hard to feel sorry for them after that. That Zambian Brown ate a good band.”

Draco stretched languorously, his little feet kneading into Ron’s thigh. They were quiet a moment, and Ron pulled Draco’s legs onto his lap. Draco squirmed a bit, and then relaxed as Ron massaged the balls of his feet, carefully. He was horribly ticklish. That had been a fun discovery. Ron had him thrashing all over the kitchen floor. They must have knocked everything over — the table, chairs, sugar — Draco even got covered in flour. Ron smiled at the memory.

Draco sighed happily, sagging into the couch. He looked over at Ron with bright eyes. “You want to know something scary?”

Ron returned to the present. “Hmm?”

“I’m really starting to like you.”

Ron chuckled. “That’s okay, Malfoy,” he grinned, “I’ll never like you.”

“I feel better already.” Draco took a long swallow of his drink. Ron rescued the glass before he set it on the floor, mildly annoyed. He always knocked things over when he put them there. Then Draco let his arm drape over the couch, and Ron lay back and sighed comfortably.

His feet started kneading in a rather friendlier area. Ron relaxed into it with a low growl. Hmm.

“Go down on me,” Draco finally said, in a small, tight voice.

Ron made a satisfied sound. It was about time.

“All right.”

Ron slowly unbuckled Draco’s trousers while Draco leaned back against the couch, his eyes already closed and happy. Draco preferred to be completely nude, but Ron simply pulled his pants to his thighs, enough to reveal a slim cock, already hard and rising in dark blond curls. Though for his size it was rather long, Draco was pretty small.

Ron teased him about that whenever Draco said anything really nasty.

But actually, Ron liked it. As he stroked, Ron admired the pointed shape, and he appreciated the fact he could pretty much fit him in his mouth without learning to deep throat. Ron was practical. Draco was cut, which was rather unusual and it made Draco look extra-naked. And another guy’s cock was so different from his own. Almost had its own personality.

Ron restrained himself from saying a cheery ‘hul-lo’ to it though: that always irritated Malfoy when he did that.

Draco was moving slightly to the music. Ron stilled his hips, and let a puff of warm breath tease Malfoy’s hair. He saw Draco shiver and glance down, briefly.

Ron licked delicately under the sensitive head and was rewarded with a hiss of breath. Ron automatically checked out the slit. There was no telltale redness; he hadn’t come today. That was Ron’s first clue that Draco had plans for tonight, and his eyes widened.

Oh. Well, then… good.

Ron slid his lips down the entire length of Draco’s cock, and took his balls in his mouth, delighting in his little gasp and the hands that clutched convulsively at his hair. Oh, Ron had more for him than that…. He sought out the tender spot behind the balls, and Draco shivered to his knees; Ron used that as a cover to ruefully get rid of a persistent hair. Oh well, nothing was perfect.

Then Ron cupped Draco’s cool arse with a hand, and used the other to pump him, slowly, until Draco’s head lolled against the cushions. He wanted Draco really hard for this part. Their eyes met. Ron beamed at him. Draco knew exactly what was coming — this was Ron’s favourite trick. Draco smiled languidly.

But ready or not, Ron still pulled that long moan out of Draco as he circled, flicked and teased his swollen purple head. He tongued the slit, which drove Draco crazy, every single time.

“Oh fuck…!” Draco dissolved into long, unintelligible curses, including some that sounded Italian.

Ron tried — unsuccessfully — not to laugh. He took Draco all the way in and played with him; his tongue arched along the sensitive vein.

Draco’s hands stroked and weaved across Ron’s back and Draco pressed up into him, eager. Ron let him` fuck his mouth for a moment, and then Ron pressed Draco’s hips to the cushions. He continued that rhythm himself, fought Draco for control, then sped him up; Draco’s chest heaved and he gasped desperately. There was one thing Draco didn’t have, and that was staying power.

“Slower… slower…” Draco breathed, his hands massaging Ron’s hair.

Ron pulled himself off briefly, his hands caressed Draco’s balls. “But you won’t come.”

“Don’t want to. Not yet.” Draco shook his head and smiled.

That raised Ron’s eyebrows. Okay.

So he sucked and nuzzled gently, running his hair along Draco’s cock, until Draco pulled Ron closer and started to undo his trousers.

“I don’t want you to come yet either. All right?” Draco said anxiously.

Then you’d better not go down on me, Ron thought. But there was not a chance he was telling Draco that. So he just nodded.

Draco stripped him all the way, and curled sideways across Ron’s lap, his own trousers at his knees. Ron’s hand cupped Draco’s smooth bare arse; Draco’s thighs felt especially silky for some reason. Ron’s hand slid down his thigh, questioning.

“Draco? Did you shave your legs?”

Draco didn’t answer. Instead his small warm hand wrapped around a very wonderful place and Ron swiftly forgot such a silly question. Draco gazed up at Ron as his tongue teased daintily at Ron’s head, a supple line on cool skin. Ron pressed himself up to Draco’s mouth, pleading, but Draco pulled away and gave Ron a chiding glance. Ron sighed.

Then, very gently, Draco lowered his lips over Ron, smooth… so gentle….

Ron’s head spun in alcohol daze and he melted into the heavenly wet heat, relaxed into the soft motion, with a completely different sort of sigh. His heart sang when Draco played with his balls… oh. Those dainty warm hands tickled, sending dizzying frissons up his spine, the suction on his cock almost an ache and not quite enough, but…. Draco’s fingertips teased down Ron’s thighs, then curled around his hips, his sides, his chest…. Then Draco lifted off, and lipped at Ron’s head with a warm sighing breath.

As Ron came to his senses, he found he had tangled his hands in Draco’s silky hair, who-knew-when. He ran his fingers through it comfortably. So soft.

It was great to be home from work. No worries. Maybe he didn’t have to work at all. He and Draco could just stay home and do this all day instead. Ron had suggested that once, half-joking, and Draco had said, “Wouldn’t that get dull after a while?” He’d almost even kept a straight face when he said it. Almost. They both had burst out laughing. Sometimes Draco was pretty damn funny.

“That was nice,” Ron breathed.

“I’ve learned to unhook my jaw. You have the biggest head I’ve ever seen.”

“Um-hmm. So, just how many have you seen?” Ron was always curious about Draco’s history. Draco never talked about his sex life, ex-girlfriends, or well, in his case probably ex-boyfriends.

Draco didn’t answer but stood up and buckled his trousers. “Hungry?”

Well, it had been worth a shot anyway. Ron rolled over and leaned on folded arms. The fabric of the sofa scraped along his bare chest. “Don’t tell me you’ve actually cooked dinner?”

“What -? No. I took some of my prepayment for these lovely things in trade.” Draco made a vague gesture to the rack. Yeah, Ron was meaning to ask about the clothes. “But I need you in the kitchen. She said I’d want to warm it up, so I need you to work that cooking-thingie, whatever it is.”

“The ‘cooking-thingie’ that I use every single night to make dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“You can work a complex Muggle music machine, with knobs sticking out everywhere — but you can’t turn on an oven?”

“I have priorities.”

Naked and exasperated, Ron padded into the kitchen. Turned the bloody dial on the oven. Opened the door. Draco followed, belting his trousers.

Ron folded his arms and said, “There. Wow. That - was - tough.”

“There’s always a catch,” Draco scowled at the oven. “So you put dinner in there?”

Ron nodded, trying not to laugh.

Draco looked a little uncomfortable, and gave the oven a suspicious glance. Then he opened the refrigerator — that he could work — and pulled out two plates and made for the oven.

“Whoa, whoa! You can’t put those in there!” Ron stopped him.

“Why not? You said ‘dinner’ goes in ‘there’,” Draco said, looking confused.

“They’ll melt! Those plates are plastic,” Ron explained. “You have to put the food in an oven-proof dish.”

Draco’s cheeks turned pink. Then he looked cross. “They always make it so complicated. See? See why I can’t learn how to cook? There’s all these little rules nobody tells you about. They say ‘put dinner in there,’ and then they yell at you for doing just that! Potions is easier. They tell you exactly what to do and they don’t change their fucking minds.”

Ron rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry I yelled. I’ll teach you how to cook, Draco.”

“No,” Draco pouted, jaw set. “You cook.” He dropped the plates onto the counter with a thunk.

“C’mon. I don’t want you to starve to death just because I have to work late. I just have to watch you, that’s all. Most people don’t have house-elves.” Draco looked unconvinced. “If I can learn how to dance, you can learn how to cook.”

“Dancing is fun.” Draco scowled.

“So’s cooking.”

“Oh? Then why do you always complain about it?”

Ron didn’t have an answer to that. Draco quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You ask too many questions,” Ron said finally, rubbing his neck. He sighed. “It is fun, just not every night, alright?”

“Dancing is better. It’s fun every time.”

“If you had to do it every night, would it be?” Ron asked reasonably.

Draco considered that carefully. Then he folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head at Ron.

“All right. I’ll learn how to cook. Under one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You do this tonight.” Draco picked up the two plates and stuffed them into Ron’s hands. “I’ve been traumatised enough for one day.”

He stalked out. Ron stared after him, nonplussed.

“ ‘Gosh, thanks for your help, Ron’ — ‘Gee, don’t mention it, Draco’,” Ron added on Draco’s behalf. “Sheesh.”

Ron pulled a baking dish from the sink full of dirty dishes and washed it, leaving the rest.

Their current standoff was over who did the washing up. Draco was lazy, but Ron had discovered the little snob had a low threshold for ‘filth,’ as he put it. Much lower than Ron’s. Ron had won the laundry wars this way, though Percy had refused to set foot in their place while it was at its, er, height.

Ron shovelled the food into the baking dish and licked the spoon. Hmmm. Ethiopian. Good stuff. Ron was a good cook, but he wasn’t that good. This drug dealing of Draco’s was starting to seem like a fine idea. Ron pulled two beers from the refrigerator for while they waited. These he had earned. Lucius didn’t just give out strawberries. He kicked the door shut.

Oh. Right. Ron reminded himself to hide the strawberries from Draco.

~*~*~

Draco smirked at Ron when he saw the half-empty beer. “You mix, you pay.”

Then Draco snagged the other beer. Heh. Ron hid a smile.

Ron was already paying for it. In a very pleasant way. A fog had descended over the evening; he’d had sex, the best meal since he could remember and, once he could find the kitchen again, he might even do the dishes out of sheer gratitude. There was no limit to his goodwill at the moment. He was still naked, slumped into the sofa, his feet stretched out in front of him. One of the benefits of not living with nine people any more was the chance to lie about in the nude, and Ron took full advantage.

The plates were currently on the floor, along with quite a few items and plastic wrappings that spilled off the cluttered table. They’d eaten at the sofa while the table was somewhat, er, occupied.

Ron scanned the sparkling array on the table wondering what other treasures Draco had here. There seemed to be a vast variety.

“So, what’choo got anyway?” Ron asked.

Draco picked up a small box and carried it with his beer to the loo, snickering a little. “Never you mind.”

Ron knew that laugh. Draco was up to something. Add to that the way he hid that box with his chest, and not-to-mention — not-to-mention! Ron told himself again — Draco’s locking himself in the bathroom, and Ron was almost certain of it. Beer really brought out his quick thinking.

Ron recalled the strawberries and decided this was a really good time to hide them, but it seemed an awful lot of trouble. He’d have to get off the sofa for starters. And it was appalling really, to be so selfish. Selfish, selfish, shellfish. Ron hadn’t had seafood in a while either. Maybe on Draco’s next drug deal…. What was Draco smoking in that bathroom…? Shellfish of him, to act so fishy, and not share, share, share. Weren’t they mates now? Pals. Sort of. Aside from the dishes. Maybe if Ron did the dishes, Draco would share the shellfish, or whatever else it was he had.

Ron struggled with the moral dilemma of getting mad at Draco for not sharing the seafood, and acting on his guilt about the dishes. It was for Draco’s own good, dammit. He should appreciate what Ron was doing for him!

Draco emerged shyly from the bathroom, wearing just his boxers.

“You should appreciate the dishes, and stop eating seafood!” Ron declared in drunken indignation.

Draco gave Ron a funny look.

Ron decided that somehow came out wrong.

Draco’s elegantly long, dark lashes fluttered as he blinked at Ron, and his delicately painted rosebud-pink lips hung open a little. Ron would say that Draco’s cheeks tinged a little pink again but… it slowly sank in.

“Draco?” Ron asked. “You wearing make-up?”

Draco tittered and put his finger to his pink lips, “Shhhhhh…!”

Ron scanned him from head to toe. “Your legs are shaved.”

Draco nodded emphatically, snickering.

“Your lipstick’s crooked.”

Draco’s mouth opened and shut. He frowned. “Fine. I’d like to see you try. You can’t do any better.”

Ron’s hand vaguely brushed at the air. “ ‘Course I can.”

“Wha -? You into something I don’t know about? Kinky-Weasley?”

“How many sisters you got, Draco? I can dress dolls…. play tea party… make mud pies… all that stuff. It’s called baby-sitting. And I didn’t mash the mud-pies like Fred and George did. It was mean to tell Ginny her cake had fallen.” Ron nodded, gesturing with his beer bottle. This important detail appeared to fly over Draco’s head. “Only Percy was a better baby-sitter than me — just because he let her cheat and didn’t shove her. But she deserved it!”

“Play any other games with your sister?” Draco grinned devilishly as he approached. “Do any naughty little things? Ever look up her dress? Play a little Medi-Wizard?”

“You’re sick, Malfoy.”

“Those big families… what’s a pregnant sister or two… never notice at the breakfast table I’m sure….”

Ron exploded. “Shut up, Malfoy!”

“Relax, Weasley.” Draco dropped onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. Painted eyes looked up at Ron. His grey eyes looked enormous. “What I wouldn’t have given for a little brother or sister to kick around when I was a kid. Big house. Nothing to do. Don’t touch this, don’t touch that. This tree bites, that sword’s cursed… I was bored. The house-elves were too quick for me.”

“Tell you what: I’ll give you Fred — and throw in George, free of charge. Enjoy.”

“I didn’t say I wanted older brothers,” Draco sighed, his pink lips pouting. He rolled over on the sofa and looked at Ron upside-down.

“I did have a nanny with really big tits though. That was a plus.”

Ron snorted.

“Used to make Drusilla chase after me, just to watch ‘em bounce.” Draco hung his head over the edge of the sofa, glancing up at Ron.

“Drusilla?”

“My nanny.”

“Oh.” Ron squinted at him. “How old were you?”

“I dunno, seven? Eight?”

“Geeze, Malfoy...”

“I was precocious.” Draco beamed at him, tongue between his teeth.

“Yeah. I’ll say.”

The crazy bloke must have been an unholy terror.

“Now if I had a sister…and she looked anything at all like Ginny…”

“Malfoy.”

Draco looked up.

“Don’t finish that thought if you want to live.”

Draco smiled maliciously, and Ron realised Draco was having him on, as usual. Ron shoved him onto the floor — hard. Draco deserved it. Draco landed on all fours like a cat, laughing.

“Oh, you’re so easy…” he snickered, rolling onto his side on the carpet. “You’d never’ve survived the Slytherin common room.” He had pale violet eye shadow on, over those huge grey eyes. The lipstick was a little smeared now. Had he never heard of lip-liner?

Ron growled. He aimed a kick that Draco didn’t even bother to avoid, knew it for the light tap it was. Ron would never hurt Draco, ever, as Draco had damned good reason to know. But that fell into areas they didn’t discuss.

Draco took a sip of Ron’s beer, leaving some pink lipstick on the rim. He staggered up and wandered over to the clothing rack and started sifting through it, examining the colourful frocks with proprietary interest.

“So…” Ron ventured at last. His eyebrows went into his hairline. “Is that all for you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. These are special orders: my most popular item.” Draco pulled out something dark purple and held it to his chest. “Death Eaters don’t provide for basic human needs.”

“What needs? Where are people gonna wear frocks at the Ministry?”

“Frocks? You’re blind, Weasley. This is lingerie.” Draco nuzzled something filmy and white. “Hmmm. Silk means sex... that’s why they sound the same. But I got this one for you.”

Ron snorted and took a swig of his beer. “Like hell.”

“It’s fun. Want to see one on?”

“I am so using this against you when we get out of here, Malfoy.”

Draco laughed. “Hah. We’re not getting out of here. Which one do you want?” He held up something bright pink that was just — glaring. Ron instinctively knew Draco would kill him if he picked that. The white lace thing was okay, but…

“That one,” Ron said, taking another sip. He liked blue. It was his favourite colour. “No, the long dark one on the left. That, yeah.”

“Ah. This is a classic,” Draco cooed. “Midnight, too. Very tasteful. Seems there’s hope for you yet.”

Draco disappeared behind the clothes rack, jangling a few of the hangers. Draco’s boxers spun over the rack and landed in the middle of the room. Ron stared at them with a growing helpless feeling that this was going to be one very weird night.

Draco emerged from behind the rack and posed.

The sweeping midnight blue silk gown was slit to the waist. The contrast with his pale blond hair and light skin was stark. Draco looked like sapphires and cool diamonds. Ron blinked and forgot about his beer. The slit revealed a good bit of Draco’s smooth, slim leg. Suddenly the eye-makeup looked all right, with that on at least. More than all right.

For a moment he was a convincing girl; and then he moved, and he was definitely Draco. He swept a few tendrils of his hair onto his face.

Draco didn’t look feminine really; he was too aggressive and intense. The wiry landscape of Draco’s arms drew Ron’s eyes, widened them, and Draco’s slightly masculine stance contrasted oddly and ferociously with his long skirt. His face was frankly beautiful. Draco had always been trouble, but hidden under a prim, very Malfoy crust. Now he looked every bit the vixen. This person would gleefully tease and flirt just to get a reaction, this person had little self-control and didn’t look like he wanted it either. Ron found himself nodding inwardly, as a lot about Draco’s personality suddenly fell into place.

“So. What do you think?” Draco’s light boyish voice made Ron blink. It didn’t fit the visuals.

“Flat-chested,” Ron said bluntly. “But — wow. Great legs.” He meant more than the legs though, not that he was going to admit it.

“Fuck yeah,” Draco agreed. His hands smoothed down his thighs. “Nice arse, too.”

“Nah. Too skinny,” Ron grunted.

“Ha. I look like a model.”

“Your face does. Here,” Ron motioned him over. “Let me fix your lipstick. You have to stay inside the lines.”

Draco got up to fetch the make-up box from the washroom, and stood for a moment in front of the mirror there, smoothing his dress.

“I’m not too skinny. I’m really hot,” he said.

“You know… my mother had a necklace that would be exquisite with this.” Draco’s voice sort of echoed off the tile. “Diamonds like a waterfall, right down the chest.” Draco trotted into the living room, makeup box in hand; the skirt tangled a little between his legs as he walked, and he yanked at it awkwardly. “Damned cold on the tits when you first put it on.”

“You’ve done this before.”

“A Malfoy doesn’t do anything halfway.”

Draco curled up in a puddle of blue silk and plunked the rattling box onto the couch. He rummaged roughly through it for the lipstick.

He said wistfully, “I used to lie around naked in my mother’s jewellry. There was this square cut bracelet, a gold and garnet thing, which wrapped perfectly three times around my dick. So long as I was hard, it would stay on.”

“How do you wank with a bracelet around your prick?”

“You can’t.”

“Oh.”

“That’s the best part.”

Ron was silent, trying to process that mental image. “I figured it out.”

“What?”

“My life turned weird the moment the Malfoys came into it. Malfoy equals crazy. So. If I stay away from all Malfoys, for the rest of my life, I’ll be sane.”

“Yes, but you won’t have nearly as much fun. Here’s the lipstick. I think that’s the same pink, but I swear there must be a million shades in here….”

Ron whimpered and gave up. He remembered his beer, finished off the rest and heaved a sigh. Ron asked finally, peering into the box: “Got any lip liner?”

“What’s that?”

“Ummm. Here. This.” Ron found it. He squinted at the lipstick and the pencil, holding them up to the light; the colours were close enough for Ministry work. He’d done Ginny’s make-up a million times when she was little, and together they’d done most of her dolls, too. He’d spent more time with Ginny than he had with Fred and George — for damned good reason. He wasn’t particularly good at makeup, but he could keep more or less within the lines. When he wasn’t drunk of course.

“You need to wipe that off.” Ron nodded at Draco’s current mess.

Draco complied.

“Not on your arm,” Ron groaned in disgust.

Draco shrugged and made a kissy-face at Ron; this was so much like little Ginny it was ridiculous. Ron tried not to laugh. “Not like that! Don’t squinch your lips up. That makes it tough.”

Fortunately, Draco had a really clear lip-line, not like Ginny, whose lips sort of blurred in the corners. He was more like one of Ginny’s dolls actually, all white skin and curvy pink lips.

Ron finished and snapped the cap back on the lipstick. “There.”

Draco peered in a tiny make-up mirror, turning his face left then right, critically. “It’s a little wavy there.”

“Fuck you.” Ron stretched and picked up his beer. Shit. It was empty. Maybe Draco hadn’t finished his yet. “Try me when I’m not drunk next time.”

“I’ll take you up on that.” Draco preened in the mirror again. “All right, I admit, that’s better than I did. Lipstick is hard.” He stood, relatively gracefully this time. The silk slid down his thighs with a whisper. Then he extended his hand.

“Care to dance?”

Ron jaw dropped in amazement. Dance? Like that?

Looking was one thing. No one could blame him for that, hell, who wouldn’t stare? Playing ‘dolls’ was another. But dancing with Draco, dressed up like that? It was sort of… well, it was weird. Of course, sleeping with Draco, or sitting there naked-no-worries in front of him was probably pretty strange too, but at least Ron was used to it.

Ron swallowed. “There’s no music.”

Draco cast an annoyed look over his shoulder, rolling those sultry eyes; Ron got that uncomfortable feeling he always had when he’d said something stupid on a date. Ron quickly shut up, as he usually made it worse if he kept talking. But he wasn’t on a date! He was naked, in his living room. Very naked. It felt strange, like one of those dreams where you walk around with no clothes on and everyone acts normal.

Draco was acting like everything was normal. The corners of the room sort of blurred as Ron stood. Either that last swig of beer had hit him harder than expected, or else Ron was drunker than he thought. Funny. Everything had seemed pretty clear up till now.

Ron really wanted to put on some boxers or something, since for one thing he was getting hard, and it was bloody obvious! But he wasn’t sure how he could do that politely, or what politeness had to do with Draco all of the sudden. Draco ignored Ron’s ‘reaction’ as he put on some soft music, then gently draped an arm around Ron’s shoulders. The cool silk slid against Ron’s… oh God.

“This you know how to do,” Draco murmured in Ron’s ear, as they swayed together in a slow dance. The music was mellow, and smoky, like smooth wine.

All Ron could do was nod as his heart hammered in his chest.

“Nervous?” Draco purred. His grin was pure evil; he knew exactly the response he was getting. Ron shook his head, lying. Draco didn’t have anything on under that silk. Which normally didn’t give Ron chills, but — Ron quickly changed the subject.

“The music. That’s Witches Brew…” The singer crooned, languid and soft. There was a flash of Draco's white skin as they turned. Ron laughed to himself: Draco was leading.

“Sounds like them, but no. More Muggles. Jazz. Sade,” Draco said.

“Do they all rip off Muggles?” Ron complained, disgusted with his favourite groups.

Draco snorted with laughter into his ear; it definitely sounded like Draco. “Ha! I knew it! I knew you believed me!”

“Of course I did,” Ron said. “You won’t lie to defend Muggles.”

Draco looked up at Ron, quirking his head curiously with that sideways smile. Then he kissed Ron, lightly, on the lips. “Sometimes I forget…” he began, but Ron caught those lips and deepened the kiss, pressing into Draco; he let his hands slide down Draco’s silky back, cupping his arse. Draco’s cheeks were too small, too hard to be what he looked like, but Ron panted. The music moaned in the background. Draco broke away with a slight smile.

“Well,” he laughed. “What was I saying? Oh yeah — sometimes you’re so simple, I forget you’re smart.”

Ron said, leaning back with Draco in his arms, “Lucius doesn’t forget.”

“Lucius underestimates you. He’s made a big mistake,” Draco said narrowing his eyes at Ron. “I live with you, and I still forget. I don’t know what it is about you. You look so bloody innocent. And the worst thing is, you are.”

“His big mistake is trusting Percy,” Ron answered, sweeping his hand through Draco’s hair. He liked it better off his face. And this Muggle singer was actually better than Witches Brew. “Just because Percy is trustworthy, doesn’t mean you can trust him. Percy has his own rules.”

“Well, I don’t trust him,” Draco scowled. His eyes hardened, and it looked much more intense with the eye makeup. “He’s too damned close to Lucius.”

They’d been over this a thousand times. Ron sighed. “Percy isn’t close to anyone. Just because he admires Lucius —”

“Admires? Admires? He adores him,” Draco complained. Their dance had slowed to nearly a standstill.

“— just because he admires Lucius doesn’t mean a thing,” Ron continued. This was going in its usual circle. Draco just didn’t understand his brother, and Ron couldn’t explain. “Percy is just… Percy. I’ve learned a lot about him since, well, since we’ve been here. Look. I know you think I’m blind. Just remember this: the Sorting Hat put him in Gryffindor. It didn’t even take its time about it. Just — plunk — drop it on his head. Bing — he’s in Gryffindor, no questions. He thought it was like that for everyone.”

Draco didn’t look convinced.

“Fred and George on the other hand…” Ron continued, changing the subject.

“— were surely prime candidates for Hufflepuff,” Draco quipped.

Ron chuckled into his hair, and returned to the swaying dance. “No doubt. They were put in the wrong house, that’s for sure.”

“Would’ve been fun to have them in Slytherin.”

“God.” Ron froze as he tried to imagine it. He shuddered. “They would have burned down Hogwarts…”

Draco flashed a grin at Ron. His hand teased the cleft between Ron’s bare cheeks. “You do realise you’ve lipstick on now?” Ron wiped his mouth, blushing at Draco’s mischievous look. “It’s certainly not your colour.”

“What are talking about? A colour’s a colour.” He’d used pink on Ginny all the time. ‘Course, she’d only had the one.

“You’re a redhead! You can’t wear mauve. Here,” Draco kissed Ron again, and leaned over for the tiny mirror, holding it up, “see?”

Ron tipped the mirror till it showed his lips. “Yep. That does look like shit.” Ron made a face in the mirror before scrubbing the lipstick off again, and snorted, “Malfoy, just how much do you know about this stuff?” 

“Oh, lots and lots and lots and lots…” Draco began.

Ron finished for him: “…and lots and lots… annnnd how much have you had to drink? Before I came home I mean.”

“Lots and lots... But these pills seem to be wearing off,” he said irritably. “You know, I almost felt I .understood the Death Eaters for a minute? Their fear and apathy. And I felt so… bouncy.” Draco hopped up and down a couple times in Ron’s arms. “You still have lipstick on, by the way. You definitely need something more orange….”

Ron scrubbed at his mouth again. “Orange? Disgusting —”

“No, let me show you.”

“I’m not putting on make-up, Malfoy.”

“That’s crap. You already have.”

“Kissing you doesn’t count!” Some part in the back of Ron’s mind was aware of just how weird that statement was, and raised a distant bug-eyed objection.

“You haven’t a clue what colours look good on you. You always wear that horrible blue shirt.”

“I like blue.”

“It clashes with the hair —”

“Blue is my favourite colour!”

“— you’re going to blind me one of these days. It’s completely the wrong shade of blue,” Draco explained with a disgusted expression. “Actually, the blue I’m wearing now would work on you. Here.” He started to pull the silk gown over his head.

“No.” Ron stopped him. “Um… keep that on.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. He dropped his skirt, with an amused look at Ron. Ron’s cheeks heated, but he didn’t and couldn’t take it back. His mind groped vainly for an excuse, till he realised he’d been silent too long to back out of it anyway.

“I’ll find something else then,” Draco said, far too smoothly. Ron opened his mouth to object. “— to show you colours.”

Draco made for the clothes rack and started rattling through the hangers.

“No… No… No — ah! Here. See? This is a cold blue. Looks like death on you. This is a warm blue. Looks decent. Note it has a little green? A little richer, a little softer? See? Good blue. Bad blue. Have it now?”

“That’s not blue. It’s green.”

“Green? You’re colour-blind. Explains a lot.” Draco rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation. He held out the silk. “This. Is. Teal.”

“What’s ‘teal’?”

“Colour-blind and ignorant.” Draco held the silk up to Ron’s chest and scanned him head to toe. It was really short, just skimming Ron’s thighs. “Yeah. That’s it. You’ve got a perky little face, and with the long legs, short and kicky, well it works.”

Ron glanced down. “You trying to put me in a frock? And those are long, hairy legs, in case you didn’t notice.” He winced.

“It’s lingerie. And you have to visualise without the hair.”

Ron gave Draco a doubtful look.

Draco pulled the silk nightie away. “Oh, for crying out loud, we’re just testing colours. It looks sweet, that’s all. I don’t know what you’re whingeing on about. You can’t blame me for looking, can you? You have nice legs.”

Ron rolled his eyes and abandoned ship on this conversation, though the back of his mind filed away the ‘nice legs’ comment to check later. Draco didn’t give idle compliments. Idle insults, sure, by the gallon. Ron peered curiously over the table instead. “So, ah, what else have you got here?”

“Lots of stuff.” Draco glanced over his shoulder as he straightened the hangers. The teal nightie he left draped on the couch.

“What’s in the bottles?”

“Guess, genius.”

Ron ignored the jibe and lifted a stopper off one. Whew! It smelled strong. Good. That one was a keeper.

“Figures you’d go straight for the alcohol. Haven’t you had enough yet?”

“Nope. What’s in the little bottles?” He replaced the stopper, and picked up a bottle no bigger than his hand. The contents sloshed deliciously. He pulled off the cap and sniffed.

“Don’t drink that. That’s perfume!”

“Phew!” Ron gagged and held it away.

“Idiot.”

“I didn’t drink it — Ugh! Promise me you won’t put that on, else you’re sleeping on the sofa tonight.”

Draco shook his head. “No. They didn’t have anything good. Mother’s were all custom.”

That was more than Ron ever wanted to know.

“What about these pills?”

Draco came up behind him and leaned over Ron’s shoulder, hands stroking Ron’s chest. “Want to try something?” He leered suggestively.

They looked like miniature gobstones to Ron. Tiny spitting pills was not an appealing image. He thumbed through the little lines. “I dunno…”

“Hey! Careful, don’t mix them up or I won’t be able to tell them apart.”

“Got anything to eat here?”

“No.” Draco let go, and reached around Ron for one of the little bags. “But I bought something with you in mind. Here.” He tossed Ron a clear plastic bag.

Ron caught the bag, and peered at what looked to be some kind of herb. “What’s this?” It seemed natural, and made Ron feel a bit better than the pills. If it came out of the ground, it couldn’t be too bad, to Ron’s way of thinking at least. Not that Professor Sprout couldn’t prove him wrong any day of the week.

“Cannabis. Everyone takes the drug that’s worst for them. You’re lazier than shit, so it’s perfect for you. It’ll exacerbate your worst qualities like any good high. You’ll love it.”

Ron opened it and sniffed experimentally. It smelled like catnip. “What’s perfect for Percy?” he wondered.

“Amphetamines. Speed.”

“Yikes!” Ron said. “Can tell just by the name I never want to see that.”

“Frightening, huh?”

Ron’s eyes bugged out just picturing it. He examined the bag in his hands. “So. What do you do with this stuff? Looks like you put it in soup.”

“No!” Draco said. “You smoke it.”

“How’m I supposed to do that without a wand?” Ron asked.

They stared the bag quizzically, as though it could provide answers of its own accord.

Ron shook his head. “I see you thought this through carefully, didn’t you? The criminal mastermind strikes out again.”

Draco ignored that. “I hear you can put it in biscuits.”

“Looks like it would go better in tomato sauce.” Ron held it up to the light and peered at it doubtfully.

“Try the Ecstasy then. It’s woooonderful.”

“Is that what’s worst for you?”

“It’s all worst for me. I simply liked the name: ecstasy, that’s what I want.” Draco put away the cannabis and leaned on the table tapping his fingers. “I just want you to try everything, before we’re both dead and gone.”

Ron blinked at him, and then his eyes returned to the table. A little hope might be nice, Draco. Not that he wasn’t right, most likely.

“Well. On that cheery note… what’s this goopy pink stuff?” He snapped up an oblong bottle of thick ooze that looked like some kind of love potion. It clung to the bottle as he tipped it back and forth.

Draco brightened. “Bubblebath.”

“Bubblebath? Really?” said Ron. “Without a spell?’

“Yeah. Strawberry in fact.”

“Now, I’d be into that.”

~*~*~

Ron sank into bubbles up to his nose.

In a tangle of elbows and limbs they had managed to climb into the tub, fit together like a puzzle. They’d taken showers together before, sure, but this bath was a first. The tub was barely big enough for just Ron. A bottle of wine sat on the floor, with a wineglass: they only had the one, so they had to share. Draco was tucked onto Ron’s chest, his skin smooth and slick with soap. Ron’s arm draped casually about his shoulders while Draco’s silky legs teased against Ron’s thigh. The pleasant scent of strawberry filled the room, though Ron had just learned the difference between wizard and Muggle bubblebath.

Ron spit it out. “This tastes like soap!”

“Yeah. Shoulda warned you about that,” Draco said lazily.

“They make it smell this good, then have it taste like soap?” Ron was incredulous. “That’s something Fred would pull!”

“Muggles are barbarians. See why I hate them?”

Ron wouldn’t go that far, but Muggles certainly didn’t know how to do a bubblebath, that was sure. Half the fun was in licking it off.

Ron settled Draco a little closer. The water rippled and the islands of bubbles bobbed as he moved. Bubbles clung to Draco’s blond hair and trailed down one cheek. White on white. Icing on angelcake. The strawberry scent reminded Ron of something suddenly. He sat up, and let Draco slide off his chest a bit. The steamy water sloshed as he disentangled himself.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

Draco nodded and stretched out in the tub, folding his arms behind his head luxuriously. Ron wrapped a towel around his waist and made for the kitchen. The air was surprisingly cool as he crossed the living room, and Ron hurried. He left soggy footprints on the living room carpet.

He dug around loudly in the bags of this week’s rations and found - Aha! There was the little box with air holes. He carried it carefully behind his back, pleased that the bubblebath would cover the scent. Ron shut the bathroom door behind him, bathed in the sudden warmth of the steam-filled room. He peeled off the towel.

“Close your eyes,” Ron said.

“I’ve seen you naked, Ron.”

“Ha, ha. Close them.”

After a moment’s pause, Draco obeyed. Ron kept the box hidden though, just in case he peeked.

Ron set it on the floor by the tub, and climbed back in. Ah, the water was nice and hot, especially after the outside air. Ron’s breath hissed as it touched his balls, as he lowered himself gradually.

“Now. Open your mouth,” Ron told Draco. He reached over and popped open the little box with one hand, watching to be sure Draco kept his eyes shut.

Draco’s pink lips parted, hesitantly. His eyelashes fluttered as he tried not to open his eyes. He looked a little nervous. So nervous in fact that Ron had a fleeting naughty thought of putting something entirely different in that mouth. But that was for another time. He gently touched the cool berry to Draco’s lips, and Draco’s eyes flew open.

“Strawberries!” Draco’s eyes lit up, and his soapy hand reached out of the water for it. Ron pulled it out of range and held it hovering over Draco’s head: “Uhn-uh. No. No hands.”

Draco peered over the edge of the tub at the box. He found it quickly, slippery under Ron’s hands, but he was swatted away. “Wherever did you get strawberries?”

“My secret drug deal — I earned them, what do you think?” He held the strawberry a little closer, teasing. “Well? Are you going to eat it or not?”

Draco sank back into the bubblebath, looking up at Ron with a little smile. His eyes were as bright and innocent as Ron had ever seen them. His mouth opened, lips brushed Ron’s fingers as he nibbled at the strawberry. He looked shy as he licked the juice off Ron’s fingertips.

Ron didn’t feel shy. He suddenly was quite hard.

Ron fed him another; Draco sucked and teased him some more.

“You haven’t had any yet,” Draco said rather softly. His chin lifted a little, expectant, asking for another one. Ron dangled this one a little higher, just to see Draco’s body arch and reach for it. It looked like… well.

Draco gave him a naughty smile.

Ron smiled back.

Draco took the next strawberry in his teeth, and motioned Ron closer with a little nod. He leaned up, and pressed the strawberry into Ron’s mouth, insistent, still holding it in his teeth; he teased as Ron tried to nibble it, and didn’t let go, pulled it away. Draco licked across Ron’s mouth, his tongue stroked inside as Ron swallowed the last of the berry, and Ron kissed the pink off Draco’s lips.

Draco took another berry, but this time they spent a lot more time kissing than they did eating strawberries.

Draco’s leg wrapped around Ron in the bath, slippery and smooth as he rolled on top. His legs — God — they felt like silk as Draco pinned Ron beneath him. As their tongues explored each other — oh — Ron breathed. Ron even ate some of the bubbles on Draco’s chin by mistake and didn’t care.

Ron squashed a strawberry and ran it all over Draco’s face, rolled back on top as he licked Draco’s delicate jaw… the high cheekbones… the bridge of his little nose… the soft spot by his earlobe that made Draco sigh.

Draco pressed up into Ron, and he was so silky, and so slippery underneath him, Ron grew a little rough. He began thrusting into Draco’s slick thigh, knowing just a little change of position and he could be inside.

“Let me show you something…” Draco whispered into his ear. Ron’s eyes lit up. Draco had shown him a lot of ‘somethings,’ and they were all good. Sometimes incredible. “Feel this.” Draco took the palm of Ron’s hand and ran it along the plane of Draco’s thigh. He was so soft and so…

“Now watch this.” Draco pulled out Ron’s razor, which was sitting on the side of the tub where it didn’t belong. Ron was about to say something, but Draco gave him a look. Ron watched with curiosity.

He ran the razor smoothly down Ron’s thigh in a long, wide stripe. Then Draco moved his own leg over and slid it, slowly, along that smooth, exquisitely bare line; then up again, softer than silk. Ron breathed in as Draco slipped his leg up it once more. It was like clean sheets. Like the sleek silk of Draco’s lingerie against Ron’s cock as they slow-danced. Like soft and slow sex, the way Ron liked it.

“Do it,” Ron said in a low, rough voice, rubbing his other leg against Draco’s.

Draco’s teeth were white and he kissed Ron again, bit him a little.

It took a long, long time. Half-way through, Draco complained bitterly that Ron had miles of leg and set down the razor with a click. Ron fired back that they weren’t gonna stop now, dammit! So Ron got out Draco’s razor. And discovered the ferret was right. He was damned tall, and Merlin’s bloody bollocks, he learned every inch of it, swearing roundly that he would never, ever, ever do this again!

Eventually, they sat in a fresh bath. Draco ran his smooth legs up and down Ron’s.  

“Worth it,” Draco sighed. He set the wineglass on the floor and popped another strawberry into his mouth. Ron wasn’t so sure; it had been hell. But now that they were done… yeah. It was, wow. He scissored his legs together.

Okay, definitely worth it.

~*~*~

Their first bottle of wine had run out, and they were turning into prunes in the bath — strawberry flavoured prunes, but prunes nonetheless. So they towelled each other off and moved the remaining strawberries to the living room. There was quite a collection of glasses gathering on the squat end tables.

Ron lay flat on the sofa, naked and steaming, feeling decadent as he stroked his legs together. He couldn’t keep his hands off his thighs; his mind did a little mental flip every time he touched them. He wished Draco would stop smiling at him like that, as if Draco had invented sex and just introduced him to it. Draco climbed across Ron’s lap, nearly spilling his wine. He pulled the blue silk back over his head, slipping into it easily.

“You’re putting that back on?” Ron lifted his head off the sofa. He rescued the wineglass from Draco, and not incidentally its very important contents, and then took a long sip.

“I can wear what I want.”

Ron shrugged. He dangled the stem of the glass between his fingers, or tried to; too drunk. He settled for resting the glass on his chest instead. He mused aloud: “You ever wonder what it would like, you know, to have tits? I mean, just for a day.”

“No, Ron. I haven’t. I’ve never wanted to fill these things out properly, or be able to squeeze my tits while I wank. Never crossed my mind.”

Yeah, alright, stupid question.

“You’d have a nice set,” Draco observed. “Nice, big, luscious tits to go with your great legs.”

“You think so?”

“Looking at your sister — hell yeah.”

“Hey!” Ron turned a scowl on him.

“She’s stacked, Ron,” Draco said coolly. “There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Ron had to admit that, unfortunately, Draco was right.

Draco had fixed his makeup in the bathroom, and now presented the lipstick for Ron to do again. Easy enough. Ron wasn’t as careful this time, knowing it would probably get messed up again.

“Let me do yours,” Draco asked suddenly.

“You’re no good with lipstick,” Ron said.

“You do the lipstick then.”

That didn’t even deserve a response. Ron shut his eyes. Sharing a glass, and the tub, had slowed down their drinking for the last couple hours, but wine always made him sleepy.

Ron felt something cool tickle along his chest… along his arm… his stomach. Ron reached up and grabbed whatever it was. It warmed slightly in his hand. Ron opened his eyes. Draco straddled his legs, pale white and blue above him, shimmery silk puddling across Ron’s lap. In Ron’s hand was the short ‘teal’ nightie. Ron got the point immediately.

“No, Draco.” Though Ron wasn’t sure Draco knew the meaning of that word ‘no.’ Perhaps if he got him a dictionary….

“Come off it, Ron.” Unbelievable. As though Ron were being unreasonable!

“No.”

“It would be really hot.”

Ron glared at Draco. Hot for who?

“I have something in mind.”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “What, exactly? Blackmail photos?”

“You’ll see.”

“No, I won’t, because I’m not getting dressed up like a girl.”

“If it were blackmail photos, I’d be in trouble, too.”

So it was sex. Somehow. Now Ron was a bit curious. What was Draco up to?

“I trusted you with the strawberries,” Draco complained.

“That’s different.”

What was the plan this time? Ron finally leaned over the edge of the couch and peered underneath.

“What’re you doing?”

“Checking for whips and chains,” he said, his voice muffled by the fabric.

“Ooo. Now there’s a thought…”

No chains, or anything else besides dust bunnies. Ron rolled his eyes and pushed himself back up. He dropped back onto the cushions. “Blimey. If you aren’t the kinkiest —”

“Like it, Weasley? I can see you tied up. Oh. Now you’re blushing, that’s so sweet.” Draco grinned naughtily. He added in a more serious voice, “Just kidding. No chains. And if you don’t like it, you can stop.”

Draco added. “It’ll wipe right off.”

Ron was stone silent.

“It doesn’t change anything. Nothing falls off,” Draco said sarcastically. “It’s just paint.”

Didn’t change anything? The fact that he’d put it on in the first place was a big change!

“No one’s here. No one will ever know,” Draco urged him.

“You’ll know.”

“And look what you have on me!”

“Yes, but you don’t care!” This was ridiculous.

“Are you kidding? Do you seriously think that Lucius knows about this shit? You think my mother knows? Think I’d waltz around like this in the Slytherin common room?”

Ron didn’t answer. The bloke was bloody persistent.

“C’mon! Just to see.” Draco pouted. “I thought you’d do anything for me.”

“What? Since when?”

“I hear it often enough,” Draco said. “I seem to recall, yes, just last night you were fucking me and you said, I quote, ‘I would do anything for you.’ Time to put your money where your mouth is, Ron.”

“Draco…” Draco was a bloke. He knew what that blather was all about.

Draco sighed. “Just do this for me? No one will ever know. It’s really —” Draco breathed, and let his head fall back onto the sofa, “it’s hot, you know? Just this once. You understood a little, I mean, when I did your legs….” Draco let his hand slide across Ron’s thighs.

“I was charged up on sex!” Ron’s mind quailed at the implications.

“Yes! Exactly! It’s just sex! Hot sex. C’mon,” Draco said. “I’ll only put on a little bit. You’ll hardly notice.” Draco pointed out. “Vampire Hex wears it.”

“That’s stage makeup!”

“Exactly. See? Play-acting. It’s no big deal, Ron. Just for kicks?” Draco said. “I’ve done good tonight, haven’t I? With all the treats? Trust me.”

Ron wavered.

“If you hate it, we can take it off.”

Ron growled and rubbed his face. “Augh…”

“For me?”

No. Ron shook his head. No way. “Dammit, no!”

“Ron —”

“You can dress up like a girl all you want, but — just… no!”

Draco frowned. “And here I thought you meant it all. But I’m just some sex toy to you, aren’t I?”

“What? I —” Ron cringed.

“What is it, Weasley? Having fun are you? Get off work and then come home to get off?” Draco’s eyes flashed.

Yes, actually. But Ron thought he understood, that it was mutual. Draco was a guy; he knew how it was.

“No…” Ron swallowed, cornered.

“You get anything you want in bed,” Draco snarled. “But if there’s anything I want — oh no. Can’t do that. It might make Draco happy.” Draco slid off and stormed into the bedroom.

Oh hell. Ron levered himself off the couch and followed him.

Draco stood with a shoulder leaned against the door, his back to Ron. His arms were folded, tightly. Ron cringed and stood there a moment unsure what to do; he ran a hand over his face. Dammit. Ron tentatively put his hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Look —”

Draco shrugged it away.

“Draco.”

“Forget it. It’s fine,” Draco snapped. His cheeks were tinged pink with humiliation. “I know what you think.”

“It’s not that.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just hop up on the bed and spread my cheeks for you. No problem, Weasley. I get it.”

Ron cringed some more, his head in his hands. “It isn’t what you think.”

Draco glared over his shoulder at Ron. “I know exactly where you got that impression.”

The Arena. Dammit. This was going to become a major issue, Ron could smell it. Weeks and weeks of it.

“Draco.” Ron threw up his hands in helpless exasperation. “If it means that much to you,” he sighed and gave in, “okay.”

“No, forget it, Ron. I don’t want to force you. It doesn’t matter.”

Yeah, right.

“Draco. It’s — oh hell. Just… don’t tell Harry. Ever.”

Draco looked at him.

“You mean it?”

“Yes.” Oh God. How did he get into these things? “I’ll put it on for you. But it’s coming right back off.”

Draco’s eyes lit up like they had with the strawberries, and he nodded emphatically. Ron couldn’t help but smile.

Ron decided he wasn’t nearly drunk enough. He got up and found that bottle of really strong stuff he’d noticed earlier, and filled one of the dirty glasses. With any luck this would be enough to put him over into unconsciousness, though Ron seemed to have been blessed with a high capacity for alcohol. Or cursed, as the case may be.

Draco rummaged cheerily in the makeup box. He shot Ron a heated smile. Then he pulled Ron close, removed the glass from his hand, and tugged the silk over Ron’s head. Ron winced as the cool fabric slithered down his chest. He refused to have it feel nice. Then Draco urged him to the couch, and climbed on top of him. Well. That was familiar enough.

Draco bit his lower lip in concentration, eyes alight as he sat on Ron’s chest. The makeup brushes really tickled. Ron flinched away.

“Stop blinking,” Draco muttered.

“I can’t help it! It’s too close to my eyes,” Ron said irritably.

“Then close them. Just relax.”

Relax?

Ron sighed. But Draco was done pretty quickly. “All right then. I only put on a little. Now I want you to do the lipstick.”

“No.” No fucking way is what Ron meant.

Draco nodded, unsurprised. “ ‘kay.”

He popped the cap off a lipstick. Ron looked up a little with a sudden worrying thought, remembering what Draco had said earlier about colours.

“That’s not orange is it?” he asked nervously.

“It’s green,” Draco answered smoothly.

“What?!” Ron squawked and sat up. The lipstick scraped a wet line across his cheek.

“Hey! You made me mess up! I’m just kidding.” Draco wiped his face. “Of course it’s not green, you moron. It’s sort of a bronze.” Draco rolled his eyes. “You can look if you like,” and he pressed Ron back to the sofa, “when I’m done.” He held out the little mirror to Ron.

“No thanks, I’ll pass. This is your fetish, not mine,” Ron said, emphatic.

“While food is yours?” Draco said suggestively, tongue in cheek.

A slow smile spread across Ron’s face, as he realised Draco was right. And Draco owed him, big-time after this. There was no end to the possibilities actually. Especially since Ron was going to teach him how to cook… cake batter came to mind… lots of it.

“Stop smiling,” Draco snickered gleefully, “or I won’t be able to fix your lipstick.”

Ron winced at the phrase ‘your lipstick’ and thought, If Draco ever tells Harry, I’ll kill him. His face burned and he sincerely hoped that Draco didn’t have a twin to Colin Creevey’s camera buried in that pile of Muggle stuff.

Draco finished. Then he gave Ron a very slow, lascivious smile.

“Let me be on top.”

Okay. Ron shrugged. It was Draco’s fantasy. Draco disappeared into the bedroom.

Ron took another stiff drink — and stared at the lipstick he left on the glass. He’d somehow forgotten about that already. It was sort of shiny and clear, a little brownish. Draco returned with the oil.

“Prepare yourself for me…” Draco purred.

They’d done this many times, although Draco usually liked to ‘do the honours’ as he put it. Ron’s oiled thumb slid in and out with wet sounds, then he used a forefinger. Draco busied himself with something… what…?

Blearily, Ron could see Draco dragging over a large mirror that had been hidden behind the clothes rack, stumbling a little. The nightgown looked a little odd with him standing straddled like that, muscles tensed, as he lowered the bulky glass to the floor with a thump. Then he arranged it to lie long-wise facing Ron. Draco adjusted it until Ron’s image swam into view.

Omigod.

Two very long, smooth legs were spread with graceful abandon on the couch, and a hand slid between them, moving slowly. You couldn’t see much, but a good bit of cheek was revealed in this angle, all round and pert. You wanted to pinch it. Teal-green silk spilled over creamy pale skin, upper arms delicately freckled.

Ron’s breath caught as he stroked the oil in and out of his hole, and that hand between her legs moved.

“Omigod. That… I — I look like a girl… doing herself,” he moaned. “Oh — oh — that’s gotta be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen….” Another girl, pale and blonde lowered herself over Ron, slipping between those long legs. She was very slim and taut, wearing a long skirt that hid most of her legs.

“Oh,” Ron panted, “we look like two girls together — kiss me, kiss me!” Ron seized the blonde in the mirror. The two girls tangled together ecstatically. “Oh, fuck, look at that. I’ve always wanted, I’ve always — Draco, pull up your dress —!”

Ron groaned as Draco obliged, and suddenly there was a lot of skin and silk as the beautiful blonde mauled and pounced on him aggressively. Gorgeous, if not all that feminine, she licked his hole and Ron squirmed, hand stroking fast between his legs.

“You’ve got the hottest arse. Fuck! I’ve always —” Ron arched up into Draco. “ohfuckohfuckohfuck… I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come….”

“Not yet!” Draco ordered.

“I’m gonna, I can’t —” Ron panted.

“No!” Draco said, “get your hand off your dick.” He batted Ron’s hand away and pinned the moaning Ron to the couch.

In the mirror, the redhead looked startled but kept thrashing underneath the little blonde. Oh god… that was hot.

“Potion ingredients… Longbottom’s arse! Chudley Canons — what were their last scores?” Draco’s voice was distant and irrelevant.

“Oh, I don’t care,” Ron groaned, watching the blonde struggle with the debauched redhead on the couch.

Draco grabbed his chin, firmly. Ron was faced with two grey eyes, framed in dark mascara and pale violet eye shadow. “Don’t. Look.”

Ron whimpered, “I want… Draco, you look like a girl.”

“Let me get inside you,” Draco whispered breathlessly, nipping at Ron’s nose. Ron arched a little but had regained part of his mind. “I want to fuck you, Ron.”

Ron moaned, and turned to look at the mirror again, but Draco’s hand on his chin held him firmly. “Not yet! Slow down… breathe…breathe….”

Hard and smooth, Ron felt him prodding against his arse. Hard, smooth legs pressed against his thighs, and that searing heat penetrated Ron. Oh. Ron panted in quick breaths, tried to recover. Whimpered. Gasped. Hard and smooth, Draco’s fingers slid over his face, his shoulders, his chest and the cool silk slipping between them as Draco moved, slowly, stroked in, again… and again… until he was inside. Ohhh. Ron’s mouth fell open, trying to breathe.

“Yeah… nice,” Draco purred, almost growled, his face relaxed and ecstatic. “Like that, do you? Yessss… now look.” His smile was pure self-indulgence. He turned Ron’s face to the mirror once again.

It looked like a girl, getting slowly fucked by another girl. It was mind-boggling. Impossible.

“Oh… omigod. Fuck me, Draco!” Ron moaned. He’d never wanted Draco so much in his life.

The blonde in the mirror met Ron’s eyes and grinned gleefully at him.

Ron leaned up to kiss him, glancing over at the redhead with rather full lips, smeared lipstick, and long, fucking perfect legs in the air. The slinky blonde moved with decidedly unfeminine ferocity. Draco’s hard cock came into view, sliding out a little, and silk spilled around their pale thighs.

Ron moaned, overwhelmed with contradictions. It was definitely Draco’s directness and feline grace, walking that hard line between male and female. He was beautiful, looked like some kind of androgynous god plundering a human girl.

Strangely, the redhead with the soft face and gorgeous firm legs was decidedly more feminine. No one would ever have expected that. Ron couldn’t comprehend it — he was getting a kind of mental whiplash — that this was himself in the mirror, with those innocent bright blue eyes wide with shock.

“I’m bloody gorgeous,” Ron said.

“Cute, yes of course,” Draco panted, his lips slightly parted and eyes half-lidded with concentration. “I’d have nothing to do with you if you weren’t good looking. Didn’t you know that?” He thrust in, harder, as deep as he could. Ron’s breath was driven out of him.

Ron covered his confusion with a joke. “You say that to all the girls,” he grunted.

Draco laughed, smiled his real smile down at Ron, the one that crinkled up his nose. “Stop it… I’m trying to concentrate here.”

Ron grinned up at him.

Ron couldn’t process any of this, either Draco’s words or what he saw in the mirror, so he looked up at the familiar sight of Draco fucking him — when had that become familiar? — his slim chest moving, his painted lower lip held between his teeth. Ron laughed with shock at his life. Unbelievable. Draco wasn’t quite hitting the right spot though.

“A little to the left —” Ron said, then snorted, “no, stupid, your other left… a little… oh yeah.”

Ron shut his eyes as the shock waves went singing through him, jangling his knees as he tried not to think of perfect long legs. There was a soft, fleshy slapping sound of balls against his arse as the heat intensified and Draco sped up. Ron let his head fall back to the couch. Oh, I’m all yours. Do me, baby, he thought, and probably said it aloud, though he wasn’t sure. He was never sure what he said in bed. Sometimes Draco would tell him later, tease him mercilessly until Ron thought he’d never stop blushing again.

Draco’s rhythm fumbled as he moaned, the heat of him impossible and he thrust, hard, his face strained as he arched into Ron and came with a yell.

A few more slow strokes, wet and hot, smooth, as Ron breathed under Draco’s weight.

“Oh God…” Ron groaned. The little blonde in the mirror still moved gracefully, as the redhead looked hazily back at Ron, her legs swayed. Wow. He shut his eyes, enjoying the sensation of Draco inside him.

Draco smiled lazily, as he continued, slowly, his breath heavy in Ron’s ear.

“Go down on me,” Ron pleaded.

“For a gorgeous peach like you? Anything,” Draco answered, his voice smoky with sex.

~*~*~

They lay together, languidly stroking each other. Ron watched the image in the mirror, the hands slithering gracefully over silk and skin. He goggled as a hand slid up the blonde’s dress. His hand.

“I’ve always wanted to see two girls together,” Ron confessed at last.

“I know.” Draco arched and slid closer to Ron, and laughed at Ron’s confused look. “You’ve told me. Many times in fact.”

Ron’s mouth opened and shut.

“No, I haven’t,” he managed finally. Ron wasn’t feeling very coherent. Not even close to it.

“During sex,” Draco explained impatiently.

“I never make sense in bed.”

“On the contrary, you make all sorts of sense. More sense in bed than at any other time,” Draco answered. Ron tried to remember something — anything — he might have said, ever, and drew a complete blank.

Draco laughed at him and shook his head. “You really don’t recall what you say, do you? Do you even know what you said tonight, just now?”

“Something about worshipping the ground you walk on…?” Ron guessed. It was all pretty hazy.

“That would be it.” Draco smirked in satisfaction.

Ron blinked, still dazed.

“That was… wow. Draco… thanks.”

Draco snapped at the loving tone in Ron’s voice. “It’s just sex, Weasley.”

Maybe. But it occurred to Ron that it was an awful lot of trouble, to set up and even force Ron to fulfil his own fantasy. Cast a little doubt on the theory that it was self-serving, or ‘just sex.’ Ron realised as his hands smoothed down Draco’s back, stroked and rumpled the silk of his nightgown, that it was unlikely that he would ever have a ‘partner’ as brilliantly creative in bed as Draco Malfoy.

Ron smiled up at him, and he returned the warm expression with a hard, stubborn and rather defiant look. Which Ron read as panic. Oh, all right. Ron wouldn’t corner him.

“You’re turning nasty again, Malfoy: you clearly need another drink,” Ron pronounced, and let the subject drop. “But, I think I’ll suggest to Lucius we put you down for ‘full-time sex slave.’ “

The image in the mirror showed a long-legged redhead giggling, arms over her face, as Draco pummelled him for that.

~*~*~

By way of apology, Ron gave Draco the very last strawberries, dipping them in wine. Draco looked a little sceptical, cited it as an ‘abuse of fine wine,’ but was quickly converted to the idea.

“What we really need is chocolate,” observed Ron, swallowing a bit of strawberry that had escaped into the glass.

“Oh shut up, Ron,” Draco said irritably. “It spoils what you have to worry about what you don’t. We have strawberries. Enjoy them.” He presented his wine and strawberry-covered fingers to Ron, who sucked off the sweet stuff. Draco leaned back onto the pillows, and sighed contentedly, virtually a purr.

They were stretched out in bed on top of the sheets. The sheets belonged to the Death Eater Ministry, so they really didn’t care if they got pink fingerprints on them. The room was simply a bed, dresser and four walls, with no decoration and no windows, like the rest of the flat. This room looked every bit the prison it was. But the bed at least was large and comfortable, and Draco draped himself over the pillows, the shimmery blue nightgown pretty against crisp white. Ron rolled to his side and propped himself up on an elbow, looking Draco over curiously, up and down.

“So,” he asked finally, “who did you sleep with, before, well — you and me?” The question had been nagging Ron for weeks, perhaps? Months even.

Draco blinked up at him sleepily.

“Seriously. You never tell me anything about anyone else. You must know half my story at least,” Ron said.

Draco thought about this. “All right. I suppose it’s time you knew everything. Ron, my great romance at Hogwarts was…

…Professor Snape.”

“WHAT?! That greasy old, nasty —!” Ron spluttered, but stopped as Draco started to snicker and then laugh outright. “Oh. No way, bollocks, c’mon… tell me the truth.”

“Damn you’re easy!” Draco laughed and sneered. “You should’ve seen your face!”

“Draco, you bastard.”

Slowly, Draco’s giggles stopped and he relented. “Okay, all right,” he said with a shrug. “It really depends on what you mean. I did a lot of things.”

“I mean everything. You know, like — like tonight.” Ron blushed. There were moments where it suddenly hit him that he was sleeping with a bloke. A damned good-looking bloke, one currently in a dress, but still.

Draco didn’t notice Ron’s sudden shyness. He appeared to be thinking carefully, weighing something in his mind. He licked his lips nervously. Draco said, finally, “It can’t hurt to say I suppose. But I want full disclosure from you! And I mean everything.” Draco raised his eyebrows to emphasize that point.

Ron hesitated a long moment. His eyes scanned the ceiling as he thought about it. Then he said, “Okay. Like you say, it can’t hurt.”

“Well. Based on that pause, this is going be worth it,” Draco smirked. Ron reddened. Draco took a breath, and admitted:

“No one — “ but he quickly added, “ — don’t think that means you were the first! We both know what pair has that honour,” he said defensively.

“Oh God, Draco.” Then his first time was…

“I didn’t want your pity,” Draco spat and scowled. “It’s nothing you didn’t know already, and I fully intend to kill them both if at all possible, and Lucius for putting me in that dungeon in the first place.” Draco turned to Ron, “Now, ‘fess up. Who’d you do, Weasley? You’re far too much fun in bed not to have been around.”

Ron was well aware Draco was changing the subject. But who could blame him really?

Draco’s smirk was salacious. “Granger?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Is she as plush as she looks in a sweater? I mean, she’s the sort that’ll really pork up once she’s married, but for now —”

“No, no, we dated in fifth year but we didn’t get anywhere. We’re just friends. There was Lavender though.”

“Everybody had Lavender.”

“Shut up! I found that out later!”

Then Ron listed names, most of which Draco didn’t know, so he provided detailed descriptions, while Draco’s eyebrows rose into his hair.

Draco laughed. “Why is it you don’t know you’ve got a great body? What did you think they’re after? Your money?”

Ron shrugged. He’d never known why really. He’d considered it best not to ask too many questions, in case the girls started asking them, too. His feeling had always been: she said yes? Really? Great!

“Never mind. I prefer you humble. You haven’t got a body to speak of and you look like a tree stump. Keep that in mind as I do you the great favour of fucking your brains out.” He picked up the glass of wine. “But I think you’ve left off some names there, Weasley.” Draco gave him a very sharp look. “You know what I want to hear.”

“No!” Ron denied quickly. “No, I haven’t!”

Draco rounded on him. “I said full disclosure. Those were girls. All of them. But you know your way around a bloke’s body too damned well for me to have been the first.”

Ron’s face heated. Draco waited.

“There’s just the one…”

“Obviously someone I know or you wouldn’t mind saying,” Draco said pointedly, tapping the edge of the wineglass.

Ron was nervously silent.

“One of your brothers perhaps? Your Percy’s always looked a little on the —” Draco smiled slyly.

“No! No! It’s just that, well, I promised.”

Draco glared at Ron. “I just told you I was a virgin. At nineteen. You owe me.”

“It was just the once… “ Ron cringed.

Draco gave him a doubtful look, and waited. Sipped his wine.

Ron took a deep breath.

“Harry.”

Draco sprayed wine all over himself. “Potter!? You’re joking! You’re not! Potter’s queer?! That’s bloody marvellous! Potter-the-pouf!” Draco laughed hysterically.

“He’s-not-he’s-not-he’s-not! I knew you’d take it this way!” Ron shouted. Draco kept laughing. “It was just one of those things!” Ron flung at him. Then Ron moaned, put his head in his hands. “Oh Merlin, we’d better not live or Harry’s gonna kill me…”

“Were you his first time? You were, weren’t you! Oh — that’s rich! What was it like? Who was on top? Pleeeeeeeease tell me it was you… details, Ron, I want details!” Draco urged him.

“It wasn’t me, and I’m not telling you any more!”

“I’ll get it out of you eventually, you know. Little Ronniekins wants his dick sucked? That’ll cost you.” 

“It was just one of those things!”

“You’re still clinging to that ‘I’m straight as an arrow’ thing, aren’t you?” Draco said, amused.

“I am straight!”

“You keep telling yourself that. At least one of us will believe you.”

“It’s just circumstances! Harry — we were drunk, things got out of hand. Here, I mean — well, look around you.”

“This Potter story keeps getting better and better.”

“We’re friends, Draco. That’s all.” Ron was emphatic.

“Very close friends. So caring. So… warm.”

Ron yanked the pillow out from under Draco, and threw it at him. “You’re lucky I won’t hit a girl.”  He stormed off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to take a piss.”

“Ugh. Can’t you act like a civilised person, and not be so specific?” Draco sniped.

“What’s wrong with pissing?”

“You have no class. You don’t tell people what you’re going to do in the loo — spare them the charming details. You leave it to their imagination. They can figure it out,” Draco explained irritably with an arrogant wave of his hand. “Preferably you don’t even tell them where you’re going; you just excuse yourself and leave.”

“You asked.”

“My mistake. And while we’re at it, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop apologising when you fart, too. Bad enough I have to hear it, bad enough I have to smell it, you have to go out of your way to remind me of the ‘blessed event’ moments later. Just to impress it on my memory for all time I’m sure,” Draco complained.

Ron stood in their bedroom doorway with folded arms.

“I have to take a piss. Be right back. I’ll be sure to tell you if I fart in there. Since I don’t need to take a shit at the moment that’s probably unlikely, but, well, you never know!” Ron grinned, unapologetically. “I have this great image of you sitting on the pot with your pinky extended.”

“Fuck. Just go.”

“I have to stop by sometime when you take a shit, just to see if you do it the same way normal people do.”

Draco looked at Ron, exasperated. “I’ve also been meaning to talk to you about coming in to piss while I’m in the shower —”

“When you gotta go, you gotta go.”

“I don’t want to have to listen to you when I’m washing up. Bad enough we’re in this sardine can. It’s worse than Hogwarts!”

“Tinkle, tinkle. You know that dick you hear pissing? That happens to be the same dick you suck on a regular basis.” Ron waggled his eyebrows at Draco, who looked a little green. “Now I’ve gotta piss. Bad. A lot, probably. It likely will be really yellow since I’ve been drinking tonight. But I’ll be right back, so you can suck that dick some more.” Ron grinned and swung through the doorway.

“You’re unpleasant. How can someone like you be pureblood? Your whole family’s vermin — Ow!”

The small object bounced off Draco’s forehead — Ron’s aim had improved over the months. Furious, Draco pounced on it to throw it back at Ron, but opened his hand with a surprised sound.

“What’s this? Oh, wow, I’ll be damned.”

~*~*~

When Ron emerged from the bathroom he found a trail of heady smoke drifting from the bedroom. It smelled a little like burning wet leaves, sort of, or like sage. Ron had smelled something like that from Fred and George’s bedroom once or twice, which Ron had assumed was one of their experiments. A failed one.

He peered cautiously around the corner, steeling himself to face a cheesed-off Malfoy. But Draco was sprawled on the bed, his legs and skirt splayed out. He looked like a little blonde doll that had been carelessly dropped. His head was propped on the pillow as he lolled back against it. He smiled a slow, sideways smirk at Ron and coughed a little.

“I’d throw this back at you,” Draco said in a tight, slightly choked voice, “but I found a better use for it.” Draco pulled something out of his mouth and exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Not to worry. I’ll have my revenge when you least expect it. Why didn’t you tell me there was a pipe on the table?”

“That thing I threw at you? It wasn’t on the table. It was on the floor,” Ron said. “What is it?”

Draco snickered. “You, Ronnie-boy, are about to find out.” He crooked a finger at Ron. “I figured out how to work that top part of the stove, by-the-way. Needed something to light this.” He handed the pipe to Ron with a nod.

Ron snorted, “I’ll bet if we found some Muggle drugs you had to bake, you’d learn to cook pretty quick.” He held this ‘pipe’ doubtfully.

“There’s always the biscuits. The candle is easier. Couldn’t work the lighter-whatevers, though. I think they’re all broken.” Draco waved his hand lazily. “Well. Stop staring at it and smoke up.”   

Ron tried it, and burst into a fit of coughing. His eyes watered as the smoke hit the back of his throat. All that he thought about, as the slight wave of euphoric dizziness hit, was where on earth did Fred and George get Muggle drugs? Draco laughed raucously, he leaned on Ron heavily and his eyes danced.

“Come on there. You can do better than that. Take another hit.”

~*~*~

Draco was a fun-fun-funny bloke. Ron didn’t know what it was about him, but he couldn’t stop laughing. They burst into fresh giggles as Ron pointed out that there was far too big a lump in the front of Draco’s dress.

“It’s not a dress - it’s lingerie,” Draco corrected.

“Lin-ger-rrrrrie…”  Ron said, in a very phoney French accent. Which completely broke Draco up, so Ron said it again.

Draco turned the slit around so it was right in front… and there he was, hanging out of his dress, with this big silly grin.

And Draco pointed out Ron was wearing lingerie, too.

Ron burst out laughing — ‘cause he forgot!

He told Draco that he’d forgotten, and Draco nearly rolled off the bed, giggling like a girl. And then, and then, Draco said that maybe if he really forgot, he might wear it to work tomorrow. Ron thought that was a scream!

“Could you imagine the look — ahhahahaha — the look on Percy’s face?” Ron could hardly breathe, his face was beet-red.

“Percy wears all the wrong colours…” Draco observed, pointlessly.

“And Lucius!” They burst into fresh giggles.

“Act like everything’s normal,” Draco urged him. “ ‘Good morning, sir. Do you have my reports for the day?’ “

“Like nothing was different! The whole day!”

“That would be great! What do you do at that job, anyway?” Draco asked. Ron took another hit.

“As little as possible,” Ron grunted. And they both snickered. “What do you do all day?”

“Wanking, mostly.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, “that’s what I thought you did.” And they laughed some more.

Draco took back the pipe, and coughed. “You ever wank in the office?” Draco’s voice was tight as he breathed in.

“Yeah. What are doors for? It’s great being the boss…”

“Brings up a whole new image to the word ‘assistant.’” Draco snickered. “What do you think about?”

“You, mostly.”

“Only mostly?” Draco spluttered.

“Hand me that pipe.”

“Sure. If you tell me you love me.”

“I-love-you, you prissy little bastard; now give me the fucking pipe.” Ron breathed in another hit, coughed and leaned back on the pillows. “I feel like honey, poured from a jar…” Ron sighed, and stretched his arms over his head, rolling over.

“Stop it. You’re making me hungry.” 

“Yeah… I’m hungry, too. I don’t suppose you scored any chocolate?” Ron asked.

“I’ve scored everything —” Draco leered at Ron, who snorted “— except chocolate. What’s with you? You’ve been talking about chocolate all night.”

“I want chocolate.” Ron shrugged.

“Well, I haven’t got any.”

“That’s a shame. I brought strawberries,” Ron complained.

“None left. I checked.”

“Shit. Any of that Ethiopian?”

“You mean din-din?” Draco asked in a child-like singsong voice.

“Din-din.” Ron smiled at him. Draco was rather cute when he was high.

“Fuck no.”

“Shit.”

They both stared up at the ceiling, which was waaaaay far away. The pillows were awfully comfy, or would be, if they weren’t hungry.

“Damn you, Weasley. Now you’ve got me thinking about chocolate.”

“Percy’s got chocolate,” Ron thought aloud.

“Fuck Percy.”

“He’s got chocolate.”

“Fuck Percy… but the chocolate sounds good. Is there anything to eat around here?” Draco said.

“Flour. Butter. Eggs…” Ron said.

“What? All those bags, and that’s it?”

“Have to cook.”

“What good is that?”

“Percy has chocolate,” Ron intoned, turning to Draco on the bed. It was becoming a mantra.

Draco finally got the point. “Yeah. He does. It’s not far, right?”

“Yeah.”

They scrambled up, gathered their skirts. They took the pipe with them (of course).

“You know what, Ron? I love Percy,” Draco decided.

“Because he has chocolate?” Ron asked.

“Yeah.”

They both giggled as they went out the door.

They had to be very, very quiet to avoid the guards, because they were in prison, under house arrest, and this was breaking curfew. And that was a very bad thing, a bad thing indeed. All of it seemed pretty funny.

“If we get caught,” Draco pointed out to Ron, as they peered around a corner. They scampered up the stairs.

“We’ll get caught in dresses!” Ron said, puffing behind Draco.

“Just act like it’s natural. Like at work tomorrow,” Draco said.

Ron spluttered with laughter, and Draco hushed him, as he tried not to laugh either. Neither of them was successful, and they huddled behind a pillar, giggling madly. Ron slid to the floor.

“Oh shit, oh shit, you’re so bloody funny,” Ron giggled. His skirt rucked up around his waist, exposing a very naked arse, and quite a bit more.

“C’mon. Get off the floor. Chocolate, Ron. Percy’s chocolate,” Draco chanted. He managed to pull Ron up and propel him forward.

Ron said, “I love Percy. Even without the chocolate.”

“I know.”

“But he’s better with chocolate,” Ron giggled, and teetered into the corridor wall.

They both burst out laughing.

“Sh-sh-sh-shhhhh!” Draco sputtered. “Guard’s coming! Hide!”

They both looked around, panicked. But there was nothing to hide behind, just an empty hallway.

Empty?

“Oh, ah,” Draco was embarrassed. “Sorry. That was just my shadow.”

“You scared the piss out of me!” Ron hissed.

“You with the piss again,” Draco giggled.

“It was yellow.”

“Piss is always yellow. Oh. ‘Cept when I did that curse on that Third Year. He was very upset. Mudbloods are a riot,” Draco sniggered.

They were surprised to find they were already at Percy’s door. Whoa! That was fast. Then Ron patted his pockets and realised he hadn’t brought his keys. He usually had them in his pocket, but this dress didn’t have any pockets. In fact, it didn’t have much of anything. Damn the thing was short… it was probably meant for someone shorter than him. His cock dangled out of it like a bell clapper. Oh, right. Ron laughed at his own thought. Of course it was too short. It was meant for a girl.

“That’s all right. I have the keys,” Draco said. He jangled them loudly in Ron’s face.

“Really?” Ron asked. “How did you get the keys?”

“Because I’m smarter than you. I picked them up on the way out.” Draco inserted the keys in the lock and rattled them.

“You are not smarter than me!”

“Yes, I am. Professor Snape said so. And he’s really smart, so he would know.”

“You were fucking him, weren’t you?”

“No. But he wanted me, I could tell. I didn’t want my first time to be wasted on that greasy old fuck.”

“So it was wasted on Crabbe and Goyle instead.”

Draco stared at Ron, thunderstruck. His face fell in dumbfounded, open-mouthed shock.

“Weasley, you cunt!” Draco’s voice was a squeak. “Who the fuck —! You —! Get inside!”

They scurried into Percy’s Ministry flat. It was larger than theirs, with nicer furniture. There were photos on the wall, and some knick-knacks Percy had already collected. Draco slammed the door.

Ron wailed. “I’m sorry, it just came out —”

“Do you think I chose that?!” Draco’s cheeks had two pink spots, and his eyes were wild, dark.

“I know, I know,” Ron said. Draco looked like he wanted to hit Ron; he turned away and stared about helplessly with glazed eyes. Ron pulled him close, and Draco shut his eyes, his jaw clenched. “C’mere. Stop. Shhhh… stop crying. Draco.”

Draco shoved him away. “I’m not fucking crying! Don’t touch me!"

“I know,” Ron said and he folded Draco against his chest anyway. “Don’t. I know. It came out wrong. I’m here. Dammit, I’m such an idiot.”

“You are,” Draco mumbled into Ron’s shoulder.

“Damn them,” Ron breathed. “This is all the Death Eaters’ fault.”

“And Lucius.”

“And Lucius. We’ll kill them. It’s all set up. It’s all right. Shhhh,” Ron said. He sat on one of the stools by the counter. He pulled Draco close, and then up onto his lap.

“There’s chocolate here.”

“Don’t want chocolate.”

“Yes. You do. C’mon. Open wide…” Ron rubbed Draco’s back like his Mum used to do for him when he was sick or unhappy.

Ron said, “I know why you stay home. And it’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Draco said.

“Take as long as you need, Draco. As long as you need.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet a moment as they nibbled the chocolates. Draco leaned into Ron and sighed heavily.

At long last he said, “Do we have to leave Percy any chocolate?”

“We can leave him one,” Ron said. Draco smiled a little.

“Yeah. Let’s do that. Find the one with the coconut. I hate those.” Draco snickered weakly into Ron’s shoulder. Ron giggled.

“I’ll poke out all the bottoms for you,” Ron offered. “Percy hates that.”

“I hate Percy,” Draco said, sincerely.

“I know you do.”

“Hey! Look, there’s a whole other layer of chocolates underneath!” Draco was as delighted as a child.

“Goldmine…” Ron said with his mouth full, two chocolates in one hand; he helped Draco dig into the new treasures. Ron clumsily kissed the side of Draco’s head, leaving a little smear of chocolate in his hair. Oops. Draco slipped a little, so Ron readjusted him on his lap with a little snuggle.

They sat there for a bit, floating in chocolate bliss. Ron’s legs felt distantly cold, but he ignored it. Draco kicked steadily at a rung of the stool.

A door creaked behind them. Suddenly, they were rudely interrupted by a sharp voice:

“What on earth?”

It vaguely occurred to Ron as he turned to face his older brother, that this probably looked kinda odd.

Percy stood in his dressing gown, rubbing at his eyes, jaw hanging open. He had his glasses clutched in his hand. He quickly put them on and stared, completely confounded.

After all, Ron was sitting in Percy’s flat, in the middle of the night, eating Percy’s very delicious chocolates. He held Draco perched in his lap, and, come to think of it, they were both in makeup and wearing lingerie… his mind did that phoney French accent on lin-ger-ie again. And that’s probably why Ron started laughing.

Which was likely what set off Draco, though the astonished look on Percy’s face — Ron almost had his giggles under control, but then Draco said to Ron in a loud stage whisper:

“Act natural.”

That was it. The giggles and then full out laughter just bubbled out of Ron and he couldn’t stop.

Draco slid off his lap, bent over in hysterics and Ron fell out of his chair, rolled on the floor, laughing uproariously. Percy stood over them in his robe, his jaw working around words that didn’t materialise.

Finally Percy managed, “Wha… what is —? My chocolate…”

Draco curled up in a ball, convulsed with peals of high-pitched laughter.

Percy blinked. “If you could just be… what in hell’s name are you wearing?”

Ron sobbed with long snickering laughs, his shoulders shook; he finally breathed out, in a phoney French accent:

“Lin-ge-rrrie.”

— before dissolving into giggles again. Draco was spread out on the floor, and looked like he was in convulsions at this. His hair was a mess and Ron had never seen his face so pink.

“I see that,” Percy said quite seriously. A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “And what are doing in my flat?”

Unable to speak, Draco held out a melting chocolate — and not incidentally a really sticky, chocolate-y hand — as evidence. That hand looked yummy. Ron wanted to lick the chocolate off.

“And how did you get here?” Percy asked, enunciating carefully, as if speaking to two very slow children.

Now that was a very, very stupid question. Getting into the pantomime, Ron pointed at the door. Draco quickly followed suit. Ron grinned foolishly up at Percy, before he burst into fresh laughter.

Draco mimicked the grin. Perfectly.

Wanker. Ron fell apart again, put his head on the floor and snorted and snickered. His sides were starting to hurt; this was all Percy’s fault.

Percy ignored their obviously hilarious comedy routine and sagged onto the edge of the couch. He put his head in his hands. “Oh my God. You broke curfew.”

“We had to,” Ron said earnestly. Draco tittered before he even finished. “We didn’t have any chocolate!”

“You walked through the Death Eater hallways, dressed like that?” Percy asked in disbelief.

Ron lunged and snagged the chocolate out of Draco’s hand. Draco shoved him away.

“Dressed like what?” Ron said through his mouthful, grinning absurdly. Draco giggled and shoved Ron again.

Draco whispered to him, “Keep it up, Ron. He’ll never notice. Any lawyer will tell you: deny, deny, deny.”

Percy blinked at them. “Makeup. You have on makeup.”

Draco wiped his hand across his lips and stared at it, wide-eyed, “My God! What happened?” he joked.

Ron broke out laughing again and rolled over onto his back. Percy winced, holding up a hand to block what fell out in this view. Well, the skirt was too short.

“Have either of you any idea of the risk you took in coming here?”

Ron looked at his hand and realised his was sticky with chocolate, too. He smeared it on Draco’s cheek. Draco pushed him away, glanced over and snickered. “Someone might’ve looked up your skirt, Ron.”

“Hard not to,” Ron said gruffly, and tugged uselessly at it.

“Do you realise what could have happened if one of the guards caught you? Out after curfew — let alone dressed like that?”

“They’d think they’re having a hallucination…?” Draco offered. He irritably wiped at the chocolate on his cheek, which smeared it further.

Ron tittered, “It’s getting everywhere. Don’t get any on the carpet or Percy will be mad.”

Percy stood up in frustration. “This is not a game! Dammit Draco, Ron never did things like this before you showed up!”

“A crying shame.”

“I had to keep myself company,” Ron said, and smiled at the ceiling.

“In your office. With the door shut.” Draco waggled his finger at Ron, and they both laughed.

“Muuuuuch more fun now.” Ron lolled on the carpet luxuriously, giving Draco a naughty glance.

Draco grinned over at him. “Wanker.”

“Me?! Look who’s talking!”

“Dammit, both of you — listen to me! If you two had been dragged off to the dungeons, how would I find you? Where would I look?” Percy said, standing up and looming over them. “Lucius isn’t all-powerful. There are other Death Eaters with other agendas! Ones that do not include us. What do you think I deal with on a regular basis? Death Eater politics don’t get you fired — they get you killed!”

They were silent a moment.

“Wow, Percy,” Ron said seriously, squinting up him. “That was… really long.”

“Yes. Kinda lost track there halfway through,” Draco admitted. “But it sounded quite good,” he added with quick politeness, and he and Ron nodded. “Very long. I feel like we should applaud or something.”

They obligingly clapped, though with only two people it really didn’t do Percy’s speech proper justice. Which was disappointing.

“Then let me be succinct: I keep Lucius alive, and that keeps us alive,” Percy said. “I can’t do that if you pull stunts like this! Do you know what could have happened to you? Draco, you of all people should know.”

“You’re a Death Eater,” Draco drawled.

“Draco, shut up,” Ron said.

Percy ignored Draco. “Don’t be so stupid! Ron, your job is to stay alive. Until Dumbledore launches his attack and the Ministry is retaken.”

“I can just see the white horse — gallop, gallop, to save us — how many Death Eaters are just like Percy?” Draco said. “I’ve got the tattoo, but he’s the real thing.”

“Draco, shut up…” Ron repeated lazily, lolling on the carpet.

“Bloody hell, Ron,” Percy’s voice cracked. He ignored Draco. “I am not telling Mum how you died!”

“I saw it tonight,” Draco said. “I understood. An army of apathy and fear… the scary Death Eaters are sheep, little sheep. Armed to the teeth. But I’m a Malfoy. No sheep here.”

“Baaaa,” said Ron.

Percy turned his attention to Draco. “Ron saved your life, Draco! And this is how you repay it, by risking his?”

“He didn’t save my life. He postponed my death. There’s a difference.”

“Baaaaa,” Ron said again.

Percy stared at them with a completely bemused, flabbergasted expression. He sat on the couch again and ran his hand through his hair.

“You’re high, aren’t you?” he asked at last, hands over his eyes.

Draco answered quickly, “No, no — we’re not! We’re drunk!”

Wow. That was a really good lie. Ron was impressed. Even Harry couldn’t have come up with a better one.

“Draco. I know this is your fault,” Percy said, and sighed. “Let me get you some clothes.” He brushed the lint off his dressing gown and stood. “I suppose you could stay here, but I don’t fancy walking you to your Sections in the morning. They’ve changed the passwords again and I’ve had a devil of a time with them.”

Percy disappeared into his bedroom.

Ron grabbed Draco by the collar, and Draco looked up at him with a startled expression.

“Hear that? Passwords, Draco. Percy has passwords!” Ron hissed. “I knew it.” Ron dropped Draco, who stared at him. “He doesn’t have a curfew either. Bloody perfect!” Ron beamed. “I’d no idea they trusted him that much.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s a Death Eater…” Draco mumbled.

“No, he’s not. Oh, they’re so stupid.” Ron slapped his forehead and laughed. “They don’t get him. At all.”

“What are you blathering about….”

“Think, Draco! They think he’s one of them!”

“Here we are.” Percy emerged with two basic black robes. “Hopefully you can walk. I'm not carrying either of you down all those flights of stairs.

Draco held out the robe and stared at it. He laughed. “Clothes, Ron. We could have got dressed!”

Ron struggled into his. “Now why didn’t we think of that in the first place?”

~*~*~

“Here,” Draco said diffidently. “Have another drink, Percy. It’ll take the edge off the shock.”

Percy slumped on the couch of Ron’s flat. He was surrounded by contraband booze, drugs, clothing, perfume, bubblebath, a mirror of unknown origin, black market Muggle music disks, and probably other items Ron hadn’t discovered yet. Percy stared off into space, and absently accepted the refill.

At least he didn’t know about the wand.

All told, Percy was taking it rather well. At least, Ron hoped so. The fact he hadn’t said a word struck Ron as rather ominous, though.

They’d kind of forgotten about all that stuff — until they’d opened the door. The speed with which Percy had registered the contraband, shoved all of them into the flat, closed and locked the door behind them really spoke well of his presence of mind in an emergency.

Draco laughing probably didn’t help matters much. But it was, after all, pretty funny that they’d forgotten. Now the three of them sat quietly in a row on the couch, with Draco in the middle, supplying the alcohol.

Percy stared at his glass, then suddenly knocked back the lot of it in one long gulp. He held the glass out to Draco. He did the same with the next. It was really nothing less than astonishing how efficiently Percy could get drunk, once he set his mind to it.

Draco turned on some music. It wasn’t long before he had Percy up off the couch, dancing to a fast, catchy tune. And Percy didn’t need to be taught.

He wasn’t bad, either.

Amazing the things you learn about your brother.

In the mirror Ron caught glimpses of Percy dancing with two half-dressed girls, a tall redhead and a dainty blonde. There were flashes of skin, teal silk and dark blue, and Percy’s swinging dark robe. Now that was a sight Ron never expected to see. Months later, when Ron tried to remember the details from this night, the image of the little blonde and Percy dancing in a mirror came back to him with vivid clarity.

~*~*~

Some time later, Percy was curled into the corner of the couch, his eyes shut.

Ron stretched out on the carpet. Draco’s head was on his shoulder, and he stared at the ceiling, languidly leaning against Ron’s chest. Draco’s borrowed robe was flung over the couch, supposedly because he was hot, but Ron knew better. Flirt. And a show-off, with company here.

Ron’s fingers absently played with his exposed nipples, which were small and (with a little effort) pointy. Pink. Ron’s were broad and flat. Pretty cool really, how different people’s bodies were. Ron’s fingers circled, did little figure-eights, mapping Draco’s chest.

“I guess we’ll know soon enough if we can trust him,” Draco sighed.

“He didn’t call the guards, now did he?” Ron said.

“No.”

“Trust who…?” Percy’s slurred voice startled them. They didn’t answer. Percy’s half-lidded eyes scanned the two of them, and fell on Ron’s hands. His brow furrowed slightly. “Ron? Are you sleeping with Draco Malfoy?”

Draco laughed — how could he have not known? — and Percy read the answer in Ron’s face. Percy shook his head and snorted. “God.” He let his head fall back to the couch with a soft thump.

~*~*~

Over an hour later, though time seemed to have lost all meaning, Draco nudged Percy to make sure he was asleep or otherwise unconscious. Percy didn’t budge. Ron looked up blearily from his half-doze. The night had taken on a strange timeless glow, disconnected from the reality Ron knew. An after-effect of the drugs, or just exhaustion? Ron wasn’t sure. Briefly, he wondered if Draco had slipped something into Percy’s drink. But his mind snapped into sharp focus at Draco’s first word.

“Conference,” Draco whispered.

“Conference,” Ron nodded at the signal. They spoke in curt whispers. The shift was disconcerting, but they never knew how long they’d have, or if Lucius had ways of listening. So far they were still alive; that was a good sign.

“Passwords, Draco. He has them. Who knows how many. But if I know Percy, he’s made it his business to know as much as Lucius does, wherever possible. It’ll make your getting past the Death Eaters that much easier. And if you have contact outside for this kind of shit —”

“— they won’t help us.” Draco shook his head, firmly.

“Don’t rule it out. Some people will do anything for money!” Ron urged. “If a contact can get Percy’s passwords to Dumbledore before they attack, they can slip people inside. A couple of weeks and I can have a list of all the weak points of the Ministry. This place’ll collapse like a game of exploding snap,” Ron said.

“That’s assuming Percy will give them to us.”

“Dammit, Draco. Of course he will! Why won’t you trust him?”

“Why don’t you? You haven’t told him a thing about our plans!” Draco said in a fierce whisper. “Why is that, oh trusting brother.”

“I can’t tell him our plans!” Ron said; his voice rose to a stage whisper. “He’s too bloody close to Lucius.”

Draco looked victorious.

“Not the way you think,” Ron explained. “Percy’s a horrible liar. Just — terrible. He turns pink. It’s pathetic, actually.”

“We’d better get rid of this crap then,” Draco observed.

“Yeah. Fast,” Ron snorted. “But when everything goes down, he’ll be there —”

Draco shook his head doubtfully.

“He’ll. Be. There. He’s very smart, and he’s in deep with Lucius. Because Lucius can trust him.” Draco opened his mouth, but Ron interrupted. “No, you listen to me. Lucius can trust him not because he’s on their side, but because he’s Percy. Hard-working. Upstanding. Lucius gets people better than you do, Draco! He gets everyone but you, though God knows he has a blind spot a mile wide where you’re concerned — that’s why I need you. I can’t do this without you, Lucius is too well-protected.

“But Percy’s loyal, and they’ve forgotten that. I bet they think he’ll just choose the winning side. They’re dead wrong.

“For you to live through it — we need Percy and everything he knows. With Percy, we’ll either get out of this alive, or we’ll do ten times the damage before we’re goners. Ten times the damage: picture it, Draco. Get that image burned into your short-sighted little brain.” Ron sighed. “In case you haven’t noticed, that’s why you need me: I plan.”

Draco gave Ron an appraising look.

“You’ve changed, Weasley.”

“You Malfoys kind of have that effect.”

“I like it.”

“I don’t. I’d rather be watching Quidditch.”

“It’s hot.” Draco’s hand slid down the front of Ron’s robes. “Boss.”

Ron was suddenly aware of little things. The way Draco’s hair tickled his chin, the faint scent of strawberry, the alcohol on Draco’s breath as he climbed on top and they kissed.

“Oh… well… maybe it’s not too bad, sometimes,” Ron added as an afterthought.

Draco’s face hardened, shadowed and suddenly grim above Ron. “You realise I may have to sacrifice one or both of you to get Lucius.” It wasn’t even a question.

Ron didn’t say anything. He knew.

“I want you to know: I don’t want to.” Draco looked at the floor.

Ron looked up, suddenly understanding him. “Don’t be stupid, Draco. Please don’t be stupid! If you have to choose between the two of us, make it Percy.”

Draco opened his mouth, but Ron interrupted him.

“I’m not being self-sacrificing here, honest! Hell, I want to live as much as the next guy. Maybe more. But Percy’s your only chance of getting out of here alive. Once everything starts, my job is done, the plan’s in motion. There’s nothing more I can do.”

“Don’t lie to me. You are being self-sacrificing.” Draco’s eyes were penetrating. “Just not for Percy.”

Ron had nothing to say to that. He swallowed. “I want to live. But without Percy, we’re all finished.”

Draco was silent a long moment, clearly contemplating the choice he’d have to make. He rolled onto his back, and threw an arm over his face.

He said finally, “Fuck me, Ron. Hard. Till I can’t think or feel anything any more.”

Ron’s jaw was set, determined.

Before, there had always been a sense of their using each other. Mutually, of course, by some unspoken agreement, but it was still there. This was different. There was a pause as Draco glanced up, seeming aware of this, too. His eyes looked up at Ron, curiously vulnerable. He watched Ron’s face as Ron stroked oil along himself, instead of his usual lascivious glances at Ron’s cock.

Seeing things were somehow changed, against orders Ron took it slow, and put everything he had into it. Those grey eyes watched him, as Ron touched his lips to Draco’s, delicately; then as he was invited in, Ron softly took his mouth.

Ron drew back, and Draco swallowed, feeling the difference. His heart, pressed against Ron’s chest, raced.

This is what your first time should have been like, Ron thought.

Ron’s heart thrummed as he deepened the kiss… and… wow, Draco could kiss. Ron drew back, opened his eyes and saw those perfect lips, still slightly pink from the lipstick, the beautiful sweep of lashes as he blinked, eyes dark now, stormy grey. His eyes tilted up at the corners, matching the chiselled cheekbones and pointed chin. Ron finally admitted to himself that Draco was every bit as pretty as he said he was. Prettier even, with that soft, sultry look in his eyes, and his face glowing up at Ron like that.

Ron’s fists dented the carpet to either side of Draco. Those dark eyes swept Ron’s face intently, as if memorizing and counting his freckles. Ron blushed, and a smile — Draco’s real smile — played across his face. Ron beamed. He nuzzled into Draco’s neck. Draco tipped his head with a shuddering sigh, writhing under Ron. God, he was sensual. Ron wanted him. Wanted every inch of him.

Ron wrapped his arms around Draco and kissed him again, holding him slightly off the ground. Draco’s eyes widened at the sheer strength this took, and kissed him back enthusiastically.

Knowing Draco had been a virgin made all the difference. Draco hadn’t been inconsiderate. He’d been inexperienced. Ron wanted to see his total abandon, that wanton vulnerability.

Ron’s hands and arms slid down cool skin that shivered at his touch, and he took Draco’s nipple in his mouth, trailed kisses down his stomach, sucked his cock into his mouth. Draco moaned softly, sweetly, and Ron’s expert touch smoothed between the firm curve of his cheeks. Ron’s breath caught momentarily; Draco had already prepared himself. When had he done that? After a few strokes with a forefinger, Ron, very serious, pressed his cock against Draco; he held it there, and made sure he got the angle just right.

He stroked inside with a guttural groan, lost for a moment in the overwhelming sensation. He marvelled again at how limber Draco was. He nuzzled Draco’s neck, and Draco panted into Ron’s hair. Those hands on his back told Ron what he wanted to know as they suddenly dug in on a thrust. Got it. Ron winced as Draco bit his shoulder - ouch, he was never fond of that - but kept going.

He imitated Draco’s own slow, forceful pace, going deep, as Draco did with him. He was rewarded with a breathless moan and Draco’s mouth was suddenly hungry for Ron’s lips, desperate. Draco’s arms dragged Ron closer on top of him. He trembled.

“Come inside me,” Draco’s insistent whisper teased along his neck.

Ron simply nodded, but his eyes and whole body blazed at this and he slid into his own faster pace, Draco puffing beneath him, his lips slightly parted… so close to Ron’s. Sweat streaked Draco’s forehead, the carpet burned underneath Ron’s knees… Draco’s legs were so smooth along his sides, his eyes so very bright. Draco’s hands stroked along his own cock between them. Ron came in a sudden powerful flood, losing himself completely.

He still saw Draco’s burning eyes, as he closed his own.

Draco sped his own climax, moaned and arched, quieter than earlier. His lips under Ron’s were cool, and he came softly. Ron realised Draco had waited for him to come, just to watch his face.

Ron opened his eyes, and met Draco’s warm, possessive smile, the only warm expression Ron ever recalled seeing there.

Gently, Ron rolled to his side rather than squish him, and Draco curled up in Ron’s arms, sighed, and tucked his head into his shoulder. He looked dazed and frankly amazed.

Ron said breathlessly, “This is what you do to me every night.” Which didn’t make sense to him, even moments after he said it. But he hoped Draco understood anyway.

As the sweat cooled on their bodies, Ron slowly became very aware of the dig of the carpet into his cheek. And the fact that there were no blankets.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered.

As though reluctant to move, Draco slowly nodded. He suddenly gave a little yip of surprise as Ron scooped him up — Draco was such a little thing after all — and carried Draco through the living room. There was a flash of annoyance in Draco’s eyes. He did not like being reminded he was smaller than Ron. Ron grinned at it mischievously.

“Stallion,” Draco said sarcastically, as he wrapped his arms around Ron.

~*~*~

Ron woke first the next morning. He scratched his head and tasted the detritus of the previous night in his mouth. A low, slow hangover burned behind his eyes, though it was nothing unmanageable, or even unfamiliar. He raised up on an elbow and studied the delicate boy sprawled beside him.

Draco had half-kicked the blankets off; one arm was flung over the pillow. Warmed by a smile, Ron pulled the blankets back over him. Draco stirred restlessly, but sighed back to sleep.

Draco’s wrists were so thin, and Ron had never seen his hair quite that much of a mess. It was stuck to his face. There were two exhausted smudges under his eyes. Or maybe that was eye makeup; it was hard to tell. But he glowed somehow, and Ron’s heart did a little flip; his skin was almost translucent, like something out of a fairy tale.

Though Ron knew Draco was tougher than he looked, at the moment, he seemed impossibly fragile.

Not everything could be fought off with a sharp tongue. As they both knew. Ron felt a familiar surge of white-hot anger. Draco was both more and less than a friend; frankly, he still drove Ron up the wall. But if anyone touched Draco again, Ron would kill them. With his bare hands if he had to.

He entertained for a moment the glorious starry-eyed dream of taking out personally those who had hurt Draco… facing them on the other side of a wand, and just what he would say before he… but Ron shoved that fantasy aside, reluctant, yet realistic. Not that he hadn’t dreamed of it a hundred times really. But those kinds of heroics were for Harry. Ron could do it, sure. Probably. But, heh, the chances were he’d lose.

Besides, why resort to chancy heroics when you could win with overwhelming force?

Ron mentally added an item to his to-do list: to find the locations of certain persons and make sure they were seriously in the way of any attack. Even if he couldn’t manage it, planning made Ron feel just a little less helpless.

He dragged himself out of bed, highly aware that he hadn’t had a shower; he was careful not to wake Draco. Draco made a rather cute sound as he turned over. From the doorway Ron watched Draco stretch delicately, and just swore to himself… the little bastard.

Ron crossed into the living room. Wow, what a disaster.

There were bottles and glasses everywhere, dishes on the floor, scattered clothing — both lingerie and normal Ministry clothes. Strawberry tops were sprinkled about and ground into the carpet here and there. Booze made a slick pattern on one of the tables. Draco’s pills were all out of order. Oh, he wasn’t going to be happy about that. There was a pair of trousers, Draco’s, crumpled and flung into the corner. Ron rescued his tie from where it was knotted to a leg of the couch and tried flatten it out. He didn’t remember that part. Did things get a little kinky? Uh, kinkier —?

It looked as if they’d had twenty people over for a party, not just the two of them.

Ron thought, if Draco’s ever going learn how to clean, now’s the time.

Percy was still asleep on the sofa, cuddled under a blanket Ron couldn’t remember getting for him. Oh well, maybe he fetched it himself. Ron checked the time, and let him sleep a little longer.

After a shower, Ron started making breakfast for everyone. He heard Percy stir in the living room and ignored it. Then he heard another sound behind him. He knew who it was instantly, and for some reason his face burned, and he didn’t turn around right away. He was unaccountably shy. And he wasn’t at all a shy person. Ron finally bit his lip and looked. He’d have to face Draco sometime he supposed.

Draco leaned in the doorway. He had a very intense look on his face, sort of like the look he had when he was angry, but more passionate. 

Ron should have expected the kiss, deep and compelling, Draco’s hands holding both sides of his face. But it sort of blew him away. It was nothing like Draco’s usual delighted but self-indulgent kisses. Ron spluttered and stared at Draco, dazed. He was glad — no, make that infinitely grateful — but Draco was a little overwhelming at full power.

Ron whimpered into the next kiss. He wanted Draco again for, what, the sixth time in how long? It was crazy. And he had to go to work. Shit. Draco kissed Ron again, slower, more sensually.

A voice cleared its throat behind them. The sound came from the kitchen doorway.

Percy.

Right.

Damn.

Ron was suddenly aware of Draco’s hand, which now rested on Ron’s bare hip, and the fact they were both stark naked except for the towel around Ron’s neck. Normal enough for their place, but it was an easy bet Percy wasn’t used to it. Oh, this must be a sight. Sorry, Percy.

Percy looked a little worse for wear. His eyes were bloodshot, his shoulders sagged, and Ron’s head throbbed just looking at the way Percy held his forehead. “If you’re quite through,” he said diffidently, “breakfast is burning behind you. I don’t think I’m — I’m all that hungry, but the smell alone is going to kill me. I’m late, and Lucius is going to have my hide. And please get rid of all this shit. I don’t care where it goes, just… get rid of it.”

“I’m first in the shower,” Draco said brightly as if completely unaffected by any kind of hangover. It was probably an act, but a good one. He patted Percy on the cheek on the way and grinned. “Don’t worry Percy. Just tell Lucius you were ‘entertaining’ me. He’ll understand. And do try to look tired —” Draco winked. “— it’s more complimentary.”

Draco disappeared with a skip before Percy could close his mouth.

“Is he always like that?” Percy squinted after him.

Ron shrugged. “You get used to him; I think I’ve reached unshockable by now. You go kind of numb. He was making incest jokes last night.” Ron pulled the bacon pan off the stove. The sound of the shower started in the next room.

Percy sagged miserably against the wall. “Ron, last night… ugh.” Percy put his hands over his face and rubbed his eyes. He looked weird without his glasses. “For next time, could you not do that directly in front of me?” he groaned.

Ron blinked. He suddenly realised what Percy meant. Oh.

“I really don’t care, but there are certain things about family that you want left to the inactive imagination. And their sex lives is one of them.”

Ron bit his lip. He knew what else Percy must have witnessed.

“How much did you hear?” Ron asked. Amazing how calm he was really.

“Not a thing,” Percy said brusquely. Then he stared fixedly at the floor a long moment. His eyes, so naked without the glasses, were intense, dark with concern when he finally looked up.

“Be careful, Ron.”

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