Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy sauntered down a hallway in the dungeons, his footsteps echoing. Most everyone was watching the Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff match, while he had no real interest. It didn’t really matter who won, as far as he was concerned… Slytherin would dominate anyway.
As he turned to head toward the Slytherin common room, a tall figure emerged from a corner, seemingly waiting for him. However, Draco was not expecting this and was startled, but his lips quickly settled into a smirk when he realized who it was, and let out a chuckle.
“So soon?” He asked in amusement, his thumbs hooking themselves into the pockets of his pants.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ron Weasley replied with a touch of annoyance, “I was bored, and saw you stayed behind.”
Draco looked him up and down, mildly irked at the way his tie was thrown on so carelessly. He stepped closer. “Bored?” he teased, taking another step closer and watching the Weasley back into the wall, “Or cock hungry?” a blush tinged Ron’s cheeks and Draco’s smirk deepened, “Ah, is Potter holding out on you?” the Gryffindors eyes narrowed just the slightest, “Or did he find out you’ve been lusting after someone far, far better?”
Draco watched the Weasley let out a sharp exhale, shaking his head in annoyance.
“You’re such a spoiled prat,” he said, bitterness cutting through his tone, which only made Draco giddy.
“Maybe I am,” he said with a shrug, “But there’s a certain part of you that loves it.” He slowly looked the anxious red head up and down once again, eyes settling somewhere around his waist. “Isn’t there?” He asked with a short, satisfied chuckle.
The Weasley huffed impatiently. “Look,” he said, “Do you want to do this or not because we only have about an hour before people start coming back.”
Draco was slightly taken aback at his tone. It wasn’t very often that Ron actually had a real attitude with him. One that was not playful. Not a part of the game. He almost wanted to ask what was wrong, but that wasn’t something they did. Ever.
Not that Draco cared, anyway. He would get his, and that’s really all that mattered.
He gave Ron an amused look. “Well,” he said, reaching up and running the gold and maroon tie through this hand, he could practically feel the Weasley’s heart pounding, “Come on then.” He tugged at the tie, then turned and began heading for his common room, listening to Weasley trailing behind him.
It was only less than a minute later that he had spoken the password, and they crossed through the empty common room, and to his private room. Ron stood in the middle of it, looking around. His eyes scanning over Draco’s queen-sized bed with its satin emerald top cover, his black, cushiony Chesterfield chair, large wardrobe dresser, dark wooden desk, all the way to his very own fireplace which crackled soothingly in the corner.
“You have your own room?” Ron finally asked, looking somewhat annoyed yet still somehow impressed.
“There are perks to coming from money,” Draco replied, sliding out of his school robe and laying it on his desk. Then he walked to a small table in the corner where a small trunk, with the Malfoy family crest emblazoned on it, sat ominously. He opened it. A hiding place for a crystal decanter set. He poured himself a glass of the brandy he had taken from his father’s collection. Normally, he wouldn’t have to take things, but his father was quite stingy about his brandy.
He felt a presence behind him, and received a shock when Ron’s hand slid down his arm, to his hand, and slid the glass out of it. Draco shook his head, setting the decanter down gently, he turned around and took the glass back.
“No sharing if you’re going to have an attitude,” he sneered, walking away and taking a seat in the oversized chair. Then crossed his legs, taking a sip, and eyed the ginger in front of him. He watched his jaw clench just slightly, then relax almost as quickly.
“Ready to play nice?” Draco teased, holding the glass with three fingers and tilting his head.
“Do we ever?” Ron replied with a dubious expression. After he asked this, however, he slid off his own Gryffindor robe, tossing it directly onto Draco’s bed, almost as if marking his territory.
A thought skittered through Draco’s mind. He wondered what Potter would think. What would he do if he knew his best friend, potentially a lover if the rumors were true, Weasley had done nothing to dispel them anyway, was standing here in the middle of his enemies bedroom. Taking off his clothes. Mere minutes from dropping to his knees.
And it wouldn’t be the first time. Nor would it be the last.
The thought was exhilarating. Draco felt a tightening in the bottom of his gut, a tingling of excitement that traveled straight to his cock as Ron walked toward him. The only thing more intoxicating than the fact that he had his own personal Weasley fuck toy, was the fact that Ron did this willingly for him, whereas Potter probably bull whipped him into submission.
As Ron approached him, Draco tried to erase the thoughts of whips from his mind. The thing he couldn’t shake, though, was the feeling that something was wrong. Off. Though everything quickly left his mind when Ron slipped into his lap, knees resting on either side of his waist.
“That’s my good boy,” Draco purred, allowing himself to relax into his chair, enjoying the heavy sensation. It was soothing in a way he could not explain.
Ron’s hand slid along his arm, snagging the glass out of his hand once more, this time bringing it to his lips, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as they stay connected with Draco’s. After he swallowed half the golden liquid he brought the glass to Draco’s mouth, tipping the rest into it and letting him swallow before he held the glass aside and brought their lips together.
Involuntarily, Draco found his hands resting on Ron’s waist, and tilted his head to the side as invitation to let Ron maneuver his way to his neck, which he did almost instantly, rocking and grinding his hips against Draco’s in a way Draco could only describe as desperate.
Draco suddenly felt a sharp bite at his neck and inhaled sharply, gripping tightly at Ron’s waist. He was surprised. Very rarely was Ron ever aggressive. Typically, Ron was gentle. Warm. The light to his darkness. A breath of fresh, warm, air to an otherwise bleak and cold existence that was Draco’s life.
Draco pushed his hands against Ron’s waist, silently telling him to lean back, which he did. This time, his baby blue eyes did not meet Draco’s icy grey ones. He slowly brought his hands back to the center, between them. He seemed to pick up on the fact that Draco was sensing his change in demeanor, and his aura was that of a dog with a tail between his legs. He fondled the crystal glass in between his hands while Draco stared at him with a slight wrinkle in his brow.
He was not sure how to handle this. His first instinct was to just power through. He would get what he wanted from the Weasley no matter what, that was true. However, this was not their first tryst. Or their second. Or third. Or even fourth or fifth.
Or sixth.
No.
This was the seventh time they had became entangled like this. It was purely sexual. A game that had come from an argument months ago, at the beginning of their sixth year. A game based upon two rules. Draco was dominant, always. And no emotions. Ever.
To ask Ron what was wrong would be breaking a rule.
Then again. He and Ron were both rule breakers.
And as they sat there, a different feeling was settling around them. And Draco was not one to bask in the unfamiliar. He let out a sigh, that he hoped came off as impatient. He shifted in the chair, placing one hand on Ron’s thigh as the other pulled the glass from his hands. He despised fidgeting.
“Look,” Draco said steadily, “I will give you thirty seconds. Thirty seconds where we turn it off. I’m not Draco Malfoy, and you are not Ron Weasley. If there’s something you need to say, you have thirty seconds.”
And Ron’s eyes finally met his. To Draco’s surprise, he looked somewhat angry. A genuine anger, that was not a part of their game.
But Draco kept his composure. He was good at that, more often than not. He shifted one of his legs, and Ron slipped out of his lap, snatching the glass back from the Slytherin and walking over to the trunk. Draco watched as he poured more brandy from the decanter and polished it all in one fluid motion, then he turned back around.
Ron’s eyes made their way back to Draco’s, a slow breath exiting his nose as he considered the offer.
“Thirty seconds?” He asked.
“Starting now.”