Vermilion Hunger, Cerulean Thirst, part 2
Apr. 24th, 2007 12:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thrihyrneContinued from here
"Hey there!" Ron called out with a small wave as Dean navigated his way over to the bar. Ron stood out, and not just due to his height, though since he was leaning on the bar and not sitting down, he was quite easy to spot. He'd left his hair down, which he normally kept in a short ponytail at the base of his skull, and he was wearing distinctively non-clubby clothes, dressed in a black v-neck jumper with a t-shirt underneath, though his black denims were nice and snug, showing off his muscular legs.
"Hey! You found it," Dean observed, turning to order a virgin Vampire's Kiss from the bartender.
"Yeah. Great place," Ron said, grinning widely and thumbing toward the stage. "They're really— yeah. Nine inches at least!"
Dean snickered, toasting Ron with his blood-red drink. Ron had a shot of something Dean didn't recognise, but the licquorice smell from it was overwhelming. Evidently his curiosity showed on his face, because after he downed it, Ron said, "Ouzo. Liquorice liqueur. Yummy stuff, pretty potent. Want some?"
Dean shook his head, his mouth already open to tell Ron to shut up as he began to apologise about forgetting, yet again.
"I'm sorry!" he said loudly above the throbbing music.
"Shut up!" Dean replied with a smile, drinking half of his non-alcoholic cocktail. "So! Been here long?"
"No. Just about fifteen minutes. Thought you and I might go a bit closer and see some of the dancers. Whaddya say?"
"Sure! A couple are pretty impressive."
"Reckon if they work here they're all pretty impressive," Ron leered, wiggling his eyebrows.
"You're so easy!" Dean exclaimed as they threaded their way through the thronging, buff men dancing around them.
"Yeah, well, I'm a queer bloke who's not seen cock in a while. Can't blame me for being a bit excited about that, can you?"
"Not at all!" Dean laughed, edging closer behind him when he noticed the many beckoning and prurient looks they were getting from several of the men they passed. It wasn't that he was trying to lay a claim on Ron, since he really didn't know what his intentions were, but unfortunately his possessive nature was coming out in full force. He'd need to mellow that down or he'd end up embarrassing himself and getting in the way of Ron hooking up with whomever caught his eye, if someone did.
They watched a couple of the dancers strip down until their impressive packages were barely contained by their thongs, putting some Muggle money in the thin strip held the thing on. Once a dancer decided he'd made enough money, he went full monty. Dean couldn't resist giving Ron a hard time back at the bar about his wide eyes and needing a drool cup.
"Obviously you've been living more like a hermit than you've let on," Dean said, lighting a clove cigarette and drinking a glass of Muggle soda.
"No, mate, but shite! That one bloke was monstrous!"
"Yeah, just imagine that pounding away into you," Dean said provocatively, raising his eyebrows at Ron's startled expression. "Ah. Not a bottom, are we?"
Ron asked for a double whiskey and then vigorously shook his head. "Nope. Nothing wrong with that, of course," he said quickly before he downed it and asked for a second. "Just, um, no. Tried it a few times, and it's all right, but not what I really like, y'know," he said, his endearing embarrassment reflected at the flush in his cheeks. Or perhaps it was just from the heat of the room.
"Everybody has their preference." Dean took his time enjoying another cigarette, and decided he wanted something a bit stronger. "I'm just off to the loo; back in a bit."
"Right. I'll be here, scoping things out," Ron said, evidently comfortable again, the enthusiasm for being at the club obvious in his relaxed posture.
"Okay. And like I said before, if you want to crash at my place, feel free. All I ask is that if you do come over, don't bring anyone with you."
"I wouldn't dream of that!" Ron said, the insult apparent in his voice. "Don't know that I want a pull tonight, anyway. I'm just here to have a good time with you and enjoy the sights." His crooked grin sent a warm thrill straight to Dean's cock, and his leather trousers left nothing to the imagination.
"I'm glad," Dean said honestly, ruffling his hands in Ron's hair in a spontaneous gesture which Ron didn't appear to mind. "Back in a few."
Ron drank his third double whiskey, wincing a bit before giving Dean a concerned look. "Are you…" his voice trailed off. "Be careful. Cleansing charm and all that, especially with Muggles."
"Thanks, I'm not doing that. Just, well, enjoying a Wheezes product not actually sold in the shop," Dean said, mimicking holding a joint.
"Oh." Ron's face lit up with a wicked smile. "I didn't know that you smoked that stuff! You'll have to share some next time I'm over. See you."
Dean nodded before heading back to the toilets and the alley beyond. He was propositioned several times while outside, but turned all of the men down. A couple of them were quite attractive, which did loads for his ego. When he came back, feeling far more laid-back and knowing the effects would continue on for some time, he found Ron swaying slightly, wearing an expression of relief.
"Glad'yre back!" he slurred slightly, easing up to his full height and collecting himself. "Let's dance!"
"You want to dance?" Ron didn't seem like the type, but Dean was in an increasingly indulgent frame of mind.
"Yeah!" Ron tugged Dean by the hand, oblivious to the dejected look given him by a pair of very young, olive-skinned identical twins with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. "You're my date, right?"
"Dunno!" Dean yelled, having to raise his voice now that they were approaching the wide-open dance floor. "Am I?"
Desire tumbled through him, settling in his groin, while his now-uninhibited longings buzzing heatedly in his chest.
"You're bloody gorgeous. Meant to tell you before now," Ron said, his hot, tangy breath spoken into Dean's ear.
Dean's cock stiffened at that. His ears were highly sensitive and — Merlin! — it was bliss to be pressed against Ron, his arms draped over his wide shoulders, Ron's sloppy smile seeming more sincere than foolish.
"You think so?" he asked, his own voice husky from smoking and the lust pulsing barely restrained under his skin. A faint inner voice suggested reasonably that Ron was far more plastered than he let on, and he himself was stoned to top it off, and this could all lead to a Very Bad Scene in the morning.
"You're fucking beautiful," came out of Dean's mouth regardless. Seconds later, Ron was kissing him with a passionate fervour Dean hadn't even allowed himself to imagine. They snogged, turning slowly in a circle, tongues sliding and battling each other and Ron was making delicious moaning sounds until Dean finally forced himself to draw back to make sure he was still breathing. Ron was back on him in a moment, nipping and sucking on Dean's lips, and Dean was drowning and ohfuck he was hard and aching and wanted to get out of there NOW.
"Back to my flat?" he suggested at last, leaning back just far enough to look into Ron's eyes, the last shred of his common sense having held sway for a few seconds to make sure Ron at least had most of his faculties.
"Yes," Ron said throatily, his voice a low rumbling command that made Dean grind his hips against Ron's to get as much friction as possible.
"You really want me?" Dean said, his hands clutching at Ron's squarish backside.
"Yes, you. Don't you want me?" he asked a bit thickly, losing his balance before catching himself and rubbing his hard erection into Dean's thigh.
"Gods, yes."
Ron smiled slowly, his slightly bloodshot eyes hooded and his pupils dilated with lust. He leaned in and kissed Dean full on the lips, tender and thorough and deep as he plundered Dean's mouth with his tongue, making needy, pleased noises in his throat.
It took some doing, extricating themselves from the swarm of men, retrieving their coats and trying to keep a semblance of decorum as they walked and stumbled to the street. Dean hailed a Muggle cab, recognising that Apparition was out of the question. They groped and kissed all the way back, much to the amusement of their female cabbie from the few surreptitious glances Dean made up to her rear-view mirror. At last they were safely to his flat. Dean headed to his bathroom, casting an Incendio in his small fireplace. He looked at himself in the mirror as he took a piss, seeing how debauched and happy he appeared, and he smiled at his reflection.
Ron took a turn in the bathroom while Dean moved a table out of the way so they could lie down in front of the fire. He really was a romantic sap when it came down to it, especially when he'd had some of George's pot. He frowned a bit at the half-finished Skullsplitter Ron had left on the dining room table, but he knew that Ron's tolerance was more than adequate.
"C'mere," he said, arms wide open when Ron reappeared. Dean couldn't restrain himself, at last about to run his fingers and lips over the skin he'd glimpsed week after week as Ron had changed into his Quidditch gear. Ron returned his enthusiasm, sucking on his neck strong enough to leave marks, the thought of which made tingles shoot down all the way to Dean's toes.
"Too many clothes," Ron said, his lips pressed against Dean's sensitive earlobe.
Dean's body throbbed in agreement, his heart racing as they both got undressed. He found himself murmuring, "Beautiful, beautiful, gods Ron, want you so much," and helping Ron out of his denims because he was far too slow to Dean's liking. He let out a hiss of pleasure when he saw Ron hadn't been wearing any pants underneath, feeling grateful and possessive now that Ron had come home with him. Kissing and groaning at the exquisite touch of skin on skin, Dean found his way to the carpeted floor, bringing Ron with him. He'd had the presence of mind to cast a cushioning charm and had Accio'ed a couple of pillows from his small study.
Ron moved over to lie on his back, arms cradled behind his head. Dean drank in the sight of his lightly-furred pectorals, the persimmon trail of hair which narrowed across his muscled abdomen, then bloomed into lush curls at the base of his cock. He got up on his hands and knees above him before lowering down, thrusting against Ron's pelvis and intertwining his fingers with Ron's. He kissed across the coppery stubbled expanse of Ron's jaw and took possession of his mouth, his heart thumping a patter of all mine, all mine as he sucked on Ron's tongue. Adrenaline and need had set his nerves on fire; his steely cock ached as it slid against Ron's equally hard shaft. The feel of the small bars through Ron's nipples against his own slightly fuzzy chest felt almost barbaric and titillating— he had to quit kissing Ron so he could scoot back and grasp one of the rosy nubs with its piercing in his teeth. Ron gasped and moaned, writhing beneath him as Dean plied his attentions on the other side of his chest.
Ron's cock twitched, jabbing into Dean's thigh as he rolled his tongue around Ron's pierced pink nipples. Dean decided to bring Ron off in his mouth, at least this first time. He looked up from Ron's chest, fixing him with a sultry gaze, and promised, "I'm going to give you one of the best orgasms you've ever had."
Only after the words had left his mouth did he think about that being a bit presumptuous, but Ron didn't seem to mind.
"Fuck, Dean, oh gods," Ron said, getting up on his elbows to watch as Dean backed down his body to the thatch of auburn curls and reddened cock standing up from it, demanding attention.
Dean knew he was quite talented at giving head, and he put all of his skill into tending to Ron's cock until he heard Ron's warning babbles and profanity. He rolled Ron's heavy sac in his fingers, keeping his mouth firmly around Ron's pulsing length as he shouted, the vinegarsweet fluid coursing into his mouth and sliding down his throat. He smiled around the softening flesh, taking a last lick from the crown as Ron let out a wounded noise and slid back to the floor.
"Amazing. You're absolutely amazing," Ron said, his raspy voice sliding over Dean's skin like the slow drag of a warm tongue.
"Thank you," Dean replied with a sly smile, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Ron eased back up to his elbows, the sated glow on his face enough to make Dean's heart stumble over itself. He'd liked making Patric happy, it was true, but the utter satisfaction Dean now felt was far more profound than any torrid sex he'd had with his former boyfriend.
"I'd like to take care of you now," Ron said hungrily, licking his lips and giving Dean a scorching look.
"I'd like for you to," Dean said, sitting back on his heels and lightly stroking himself. His cock ached to be handled fiercely, but mostly Dean craved Ron's fingers on him; everywhere, anywhere.
"Why don't you lie down on your stomach," Ron suggested, easing up from the floor and padding over to the table to his neglected beer.
Dean wasn't sure what Ron had in mind, but if it had to do with his back and arse, he was more than okay with whatever Ron was planning. As he turned over, placing a pillow under his hips and adjusting his erection, he heard Ron's noisy swallows and then the bottle being placed on the table. A bit nervous, Dean flexed his arse, knowing he was exposed and on display for Ron for the first time. He cast a cleansing spell on himself, loud enough for Ron to hear. He found goosebumps springing up on his arms and legs as he felt Ron sink to the floor behind him. Dean couldn't help it— he had to know what expression was on Ron's face, what he was doing. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked over his shoulder, catching Ron's gaze as he glanced down at him.
"You've a gorgeous arse," Ron said appreciatively, his eyes still heavy-lidded. "Been admiring it for a while, actually. So round, and squeezable, not flat like mine," he said with a disparaging tone.
"You won't hear me complain."
"I like yours," Ron repeated decisively despite his decreased enunciation. He stretched out behind Dean after trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses from the base of his spine to one arse cheek and then the other.
Dean was transfixed, rutting slowly into the pillow, wanting to wank himself and desperate to know what Ron was going to do. Ron hadn't recovered nearly enough to be ready for a proper shag, but Dean didn't mind that.
"I'd like to taste you," Ron murmured into the juncture of Dean's arse and upper thigh, his fingers teasing at the damp skin at the top of his legs. "Do you like that? Or is that too much? Too soon for that?"
"Godric, no," Dean said, exhaling a shuddering breath. He loved being rimmed, if the giver enjoyed it. That had only happened on a very few occasions, but they were quite memorable.
"Good," Ron growled, and Dean felt as though his blood had turned molten; a faint prickling above his eyebrows indicated the presence of a light sheen of sweat. Ron nudged him so that Dean put his head down and had his hips and arse up in the air, the easier for Ron to spread him open and flick his tongue around the sensitive, puckered flesh.
Dean's insides were knotted with the agonising anticipation of such an intimate gesture: Ron, his former Housemate, sometime confidante, former drinking friend and current client with an appealing sense of humour, stunning body and tragic past relationship, was about to stick his tongue inside of him and kiss and lick and Merlin only knew what else around his clenching, normally-hidden hole.
Dean rained moans and gasps and embarrassing, broken cries as Ron enthusiastically set to his task. If Dean had thought he was good at sucking cock, his erotic prowess was matched by Ron's abilities at rimming. Dean panted and groaned, whimpering as he pulled on his painfully hard prick, blinking away a few rogue tears that sprang to his eyes at how bloody fantastic it felt. From the soles of his feet, Dean felt his orgasm building until his balls had drawn up and the hand with which he'd been fisting his cock slowed. He tried valiantly to postpone the inevitable, still chanting a litany of wordless pleading whimpers with each breath. Ron was making indecent wet smacking noises as his tongue speared into Dean's channel. His face rubbed back and forth as his tongue wriggled around, all while he kept up his own rumbling enthusiastic grunts.
"Ron, Ron, oh fuck, ahhhh!" Dean's release careened through him, thick gouts of come fountaining over his fingers as he rocked back and forth. His cries ebbed as his body trembled through with the aftershocks of such an intense surrender. Ron nuzzled Dean's right arsecheek before moving away to slide gracelessly down alongside him on the floor. He wiped at his mouth while Dean sagged his chest into the floor, turning his head to look over at Ron with a glazed expression.
A tender, self-satisfied smile graced Ron's lips. "Like that?"
Dean nodded, all at once exhausted and wanting nothing more than to tumble into his cosy bed, bringing Ron with him, wrapping him in his arms and going straight to sleep. Carefully Dean stretched out on his side, gazing mutely at Ron, tracing his lips and eyebrows with his finger.
"You're amazing," was all Dean could think to say, leaning in to place a set of chaste, mouthed kisses on his lips. "Care to come to bed?" he whispered against Ron's mouth.
"Sounds brilliant."
"I'll get a toothbrush and some pyjama bottoms for you." Dean regretfully peeled himself up from the floor.
"I can just borrow a pair of boxers," Ron offered through a yawn, and Dean smiled.
"Okay."
Once their unhurried ablutions were complete, Dean cast a Nox on his lights and spooned alongside Ron, who said that he always slept on his back.
"G'night Ron," he murmured against Ron's shoulder, one arm draped over his chest.
Ron turned his head to kiss Dean on the forehead, the gesture so comforting and natural for a moment Dean thought he'd burst from the utter contentment of it all.
"G'night."
* * * * *
The heady scent of Irish tea permeated Dean's consciousness as he slowly crossed the bounds into full wakefulness. He stretched through a yawn, scratching at his head until the evening's activities and sudden remembering of his guest hit him with the force of a Bludger. Ron must have gotten up and gone to the kitchen and made tea. Dean couldn't help the anticipatory grin that resolutely plastered itself on his face; feeling unabashedly at peace and rather a sap, he leaned over to see if he could smell Ron's distinctive woodsy-cinnamon scent on his pillow. It indeed lingered there in the soft t-shirt sheeting Dean had grown to love.
He forced himself out of bed, taking a quick stop in his bathroom and pulling on a sweatshirt before padding out into the living room. The sight of Ron sitting at the dining room table, his brows slightly furrowed and his gaze downcast sent icy trickles of disillusion through Dean's serenity, lodging like a mass in his stomach. Ron's expression changed when he looked up, his appearance transforming to one of apology and embarrassment.
"Morning," he croaked, clearing his throat before trying again. "Hi there. Made some tea, hope you don't mind," Ron soldiered on, smiling in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Not at all," Dean said, moving like an automaton into his kitchen to pour himself a cup of tea. His formerly buoyant spirits felt as though they'd been pummelled and left bleeding in a corner somewhere.
"You're an adult, Dean, get a fucking grip," he admonished himself. "Merlin knows how many times you got drunk and were a royal cock-up."
That was true, and reassuring in a way, but the self-knowledge only made him feel worse now that he was on the receiving end of it.
"You're awfully quiet," Ron said from the table. "Sorry if I woke you."
"'S'alright," Dean assured him, bringing his tea and taking a seat next to Ron, who looked dishevelled in a manner too endearing to Dean's liking. He decided to cut straight to it; they were both bloody adults. "Look, Ron, do you remember anything about last night?"
Ron's chagrined expression confirmed Dean's assumptions. "Not a whole lot. Things're rather a blur after we left that great club, but I'm glad I'm with you, believe you me."
Mouth closed, Dean licked the front of his teeth before blowing on his tea and taking a sip. "I do, actually. I've had my share of mornings waking up and not knowing what in Hades I'd done the night before, so I'm not going to fault you or anything. But I am disappointed."
Ron sank further into his seat, taking great interest in the teacup he held in his hands, unable or unwilling to look over at Dean. Dean didn't want to rub Ron's face in it, truly he didn't, but he was also determined to finish out his peace.
"I'm only disappointed because you were so into me. You were bloody unreal, passionate and an amazing kisser, among other things," he said wistfully, tapping the edge of the porcelain cup. "Guess you don't remember how great that all was."
Ron looked over, raw regret etched painfully on his features. "Not as well as you do. But I know I felt good that I was making you feel good. But the rest…" his voice trailed off.
Dean took pity on him. "You didn't promise undying love or anything," he said, sarcasm edging into his voice.
"No, I wouldn't've," Ron said firmly. "Nothing against you, at all. But since Harry, I don't know when I'll ever say stuff like that again."
Dean nodded, noticing how rough Ron appeared, slumped in his chair, his jumper and t-shirt still pungent with the smell of cigarette smoke from the club.
"Can I make you something? Toast with marmalade? Or Nutella? Nothing like a little bread and chocolate to make you feel better."
Ron looked so grateful and relieved, Dean was caught between wanting to crush him to his chest in a hug, and deck him in the jaw.
"That'd be fabulous. I'll just go and get dressed."
Dean puttered around making toast, trying to silence his tumultuous mind. It was frantically projecting forward and wondering just how fucked up things would be between them now, and mulling over whether or not it had been worth it, now that Dean had pretty much figured out he'd been a one-night stand.
"Fuck," he swore quietly at the injustice of it all.
Ron walked in, fully dressed and having taken a comb to his hair. Awkwardly he draped his arm over Dean's shoulder, giving him a short squeeze. "D'you want me to come over on Wednesday, like usual?" he asked.
Dean couldn't tell what kind of response Ron was hoping for, but he vowed to be true to himself and not manipulate things to make them into something they weren't.
"No, but thanks. The portrait is practically finished; I'll work on the background for the next week or so. I've found if I spend too much time with the details of the person, I end up overdoing it somehow and it won't be my best work. I'll leave you be in the painting for a while and evaluate it when the rest is complete." He summoned two plates while digging out a pair of butter knives from a drawer. "I'll owl you and find out a good time for you to come and get it, or I can bring it to you." Dean turned his head, his expression neutral, though emotionally he felt like one big, purpled bruise. "Did you want Nutella? Or raspberry preserves?"
"Just butter's fine."
Ron left shortly thereafter, thanking Dean for breakfast and giving him his customary hug at the door, though Dean didn't hold him as tightly as he usually did. He went through the rest of his Sunday in a fog, mindlessly replying in the affirmative to Seamus' owl about meeting to play squash on Tuesday at four o'clock, and purposefully avoiding his studio. A neglected novel involving Scottish werewolf clans with a decent plot and interesting characters occupied most of his afternoon until he caved in to his rumbling stomach and decided to go out to get fish and chips. It had been ages since he'd had an ale, but he felt despondent and self-pitying and had a couple of pints while he ate, finishing off with a tumbler of firewhiskey for good measure. Once back at his flat, he confronted Ron's portrait in the studio, carefully moving it out of the way and putting his Brazil-inspired triptych work-in-progress in the middle of the room. The effects of the alcohol were just what he'd hoped, dulling the regret and pain of the bitter pill he'd swallowed. He cast a silencing spell on the room, put on the Cousteau album he'd become so fond of and cranked it up. With his pack of clove cigarettes nearby, he stayed up until the early hours of morning, painting and smoking.
on to the end
"Hey there!" Ron called out with a small wave as Dean navigated his way over to the bar. Ron stood out, and not just due to his height, though since he was leaning on the bar and not sitting down, he was quite easy to spot. He'd left his hair down, which he normally kept in a short ponytail at the base of his skull, and he was wearing distinctively non-clubby clothes, dressed in a black v-neck jumper with a t-shirt underneath, though his black denims were nice and snug, showing off his muscular legs.
"Hey! You found it," Dean observed, turning to order a virgin Vampire's Kiss from the bartender.
"Yeah. Great place," Ron said, grinning widely and thumbing toward the stage. "They're really— yeah. Nine inches at least!"
Dean snickered, toasting Ron with his blood-red drink. Ron had a shot of something Dean didn't recognise, but the licquorice smell from it was overwhelming. Evidently his curiosity showed on his face, because after he downed it, Ron said, "Ouzo. Liquorice liqueur. Yummy stuff, pretty potent. Want some?"
Dean shook his head, his mouth already open to tell Ron to shut up as he began to apologise about forgetting, yet again.
"I'm sorry!" he said loudly above the throbbing music.
"Shut up!" Dean replied with a smile, drinking half of his non-alcoholic cocktail. "So! Been here long?"
"No. Just about fifteen minutes. Thought you and I might go a bit closer and see some of the dancers. Whaddya say?"
"Sure! A couple are pretty impressive."
"Reckon if they work here they're all pretty impressive," Ron leered, wiggling his eyebrows.
"You're so easy!" Dean exclaimed as they threaded their way through the thronging, buff men dancing around them.
"Yeah, well, I'm a queer bloke who's not seen cock in a while. Can't blame me for being a bit excited about that, can you?"
"Not at all!" Dean laughed, edging closer behind him when he noticed the many beckoning and prurient looks they were getting from several of the men they passed. It wasn't that he was trying to lay a claim on Ron, since he really didn't know what his intentions were, but unfortunately his possessive nature was coming out in full force. He'd need to mellow that down or he'd end up embarrassing himself and getting in the way of Ron hooking up with whomever caught his eye, if someone did.
They watched a couple of the dancers strip down until their impressive packages were barely contained by their thongs, putting some Muggle money in the thin strip held the thing on. Once a dancer decided he'd made enough money, he went full monty. Dean couldn't resist giving Ron a hard time back at the bar about his wide eyes and needing a drool cup.
"Obviously you've been living more like a hermit than you've let on," Dean said, lighting a clove cigarette and drinking a glass of Muggle soda.
"No, mate, but shite! That one bloke was monstrous!"
"Yeah, just imagine that pounding away into you," Dean said provocatively, raising his eyebrows at Ron's startled expression. "Ah. Not a bottom, are we?"
Ron asked for a double whiskey and then vigorously shook his head. "Nope. Nothing wrong with that, of course," he said quickly before he downed it and asked for a second. "Just, um, no. Tried it a few times, and it's all right, but not what I really like, y'know," he said, his endearing embarrassment reflected at the flush in his cheeks. Or perhaps it was just from the heat of the room.
"Everybody has their preference." Dean took his time enjoying another cigarette, and decided he wanted something a bit stronger. "I'm just off to the loo; back in a bit."
"Right. I'll be here, scoping things out," Ron said, evidently comfortable again, the enthusiasm for being at the club obvious in his relaxed posture.
"Okay. And like I said before, if you want to crash at my place, feel free. All I ask is that if you do come over, don't bring anyone with you."
"I wouldn't dream of that!" Ron said, the insult apparent in his voice. "Don't know that I want a pull tonight, anyway. I'm just here to have a good time with you and enjoy the sights." His crooked grin sent a warm thrill straight to Dean's cock, and his leather trousers left nothing to the imagination.
"I'm glad," Dean said honestly, ruffling his hands in Ron's hair in a spontaneous gesture which Ron didn't appear to mind. "Back in a few."
Ron drank his third double whiskey, wincing a bit before giving Dean a concerned look. "Are you…" his voice trailed off. "Be careful. Cleansing charm and all that, especially with Muggles."
"Thanks, I'm not doing that. Just, well, enjoying a Wheezes product not actually sold in the shop," Dean said, mimicking holding a joint.
"Oh." Ron's face lit up with a wicked smile. "I didn't know that you smoked that stuff! You'll have to share some next time I'm over. See you."
Dean nodded before heading back to the toilets and the alley beyond. He was propositioned several times while outside, but turned all of the men down. A couple of them were quite attractive, which did loads for his ego. When he came back, feeling far more laid-back and knowing the effects would continue on for some time, he found Ron swaying slightly, wearing an expression of relief.
"Glad'yre back!" he slurred slightly, easing up to his full height and collecting himself. "Let's dance!"
"You want to dance?" Ron didn't seem like the type, but Dean was in an increasingly indulgent frame of mind.
"Yeah!" Ron tugged Dean by the hand, oblivious to the dejected look given him by a pair of very young, olive-skinned identical twins with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. "You're my date, right?"
"Dunno!" Dean yelled, having to raise his voice now that they were approaching the wide-open dance floor. "Am I?"
Desire tumbled through him, settling in his groin, while his now-uninhibited longings buzzing heatedly in his chest.
"You're bloody gorgeous. Meant to tell you before now," Ron said, his hot, tangy breath spoken into Dean's ear.
Dean's cock stiffened at that. His ears were highly sensitive and — Merlin! — it was bliss to be pressed against Ron, his arms draped over his wide shoulders, Ron's sloppy smile seeming more sincere than foolish.
"You think so?" he asked, his own voice husky from smoking and the lust pulsing barely restrained under his skin. A faint inner voice suggested reasonably that Ron was far more plastered than he let on, and he himself was stoned to top it off, and this could all lead to a Very Bad Scene in the morning.
"You're fucking beautiful," came out of Dean's mouth regardless. Seconds later, Ron was kissing him with a passionate fervour Dean hadn't even allowed himself to imagine. They snogged, turning slowly in a circle, tongues sliding and battling each other and Ron was making delicious moaning sounds until Dean finally forced himself to draw back to make sure he was still breathing. Ron was back on him in a moment, nipping and sucking on Dean's lips, and Dean was drowning and ohfuck he was hard and aching and wanted to get out of there NOW.
"Back to my flat?" he suggested at last, leaning back just far enough to look into Ron's eyes, the last shred of his common sense having held sway for a few seconds to make sure Ron at least had most of his faculties.
"Yes," Ron said throatily, his voice a low rumbling command that made Dean grind his hips against Ron's to get as much friction as possible.
"You really want me?" Dean said, his hands clutching at Ron's squarish backside.
"Yes, you. Don't you want me?" he asked a bit thickly, losing his balance before catching himself and rubbing his hard erection into Dean's thigh.
"Gods, yes."
Ron smiled slowly, his slightly bloodshot eyes hooded and his pupils dilated with lust. He leaned in and kissed Dean full on the lips, tender and thorough and deep as he plundered Dean's mouth with his tongue, making needy, pleased noises in his throat.
It took some doing, extricating themselves from the swarm of men, retrieving their coats and trying to keep a semblance of decorum as they walked and stumbled to the street. Dean hailed a Muggle cab, recognising that Apparition was out of the question. They groped and kissed all the way back, much to the amusement of their female cabbie from the few surreptitious glances Dean made up to her rear-view mirror. At last they were safely to his flat. Dean headed to his bathroom, casting an Incendio in his small fireplace. He looked at himself in the mirror as he took a piss, seeing how debauched and happy he appeared, and he smiled at his reflection.
Ron took a turn in the bathroom while Dean moved a table out of the way so they could lie down in front of the fire. He really was a romantic sap when it came down to it, especially when he'd had some of George's pot. He frowned a bit at the half-finished Skullsplitter Ron had left on the dining room table, but he knew that Ron's tolerance was more than adequate.
"C'mere," he said, arms wide open when Ron reappeared. Dean couldn't restrain himself, at last about to run his fingers and lips over the skin he'd glimpsed week after week as Ron had changed into his Quidditch gear. Ron returned his enthusiasm, sucking on his neck strong enough to leave marks, the thought of which made tingles shoot down all the way to Dean's toes.
"Too many clothes," Ron said, his lips pressed against Dean's sensitive earlobe.
Dean's body throbbed in agreement, his heart racing as they both got undressed. He found himself murmuring, "Beautiful, beautiful, gods Ron, want you so much," and helping Ron out of his denims because he was far too slow to Dean's liking. He let out a hiss of pleasure when he saw Ron hadn't been wearing any pants underneath, feeling grateful and possessive now that Ron had come home with him. Kissing and groaning at the exquisite touch of skin on skin, Dean found his way to the carpeted floor, bringing Ron with him. He'd had the presence of mind to cast a cushioning charm and had Accio'ed a couple of pillows from his small study.
Ron moved over to lie on his back, arms cradled behind his head. Dean drank in the sight of his lightly-furred pectorals, the persimmon trail of hair which narrowed across his muscled abdomen, then bloomed into lush curls at the base of his cock. He got up on his hands and knees above him before lowering down, thrusting against Ron's pelvis and intertwining his fingers with Ron's. He kissed across the coppery stubbled expanse of Ron's jaw and took possession of his mouth, his heart thumping a patter of all mine, all mine as he sucked on Ron's tongue. Adrenaline and need had set his nerves on fire; his steely cock ached as it slid against Ron's equally hard shaft. The feel of the small bars through Ron's nipples against his own slightly fuzzy chest felt almost barbaric and titillating— he had to quit kissing Ron so he could scoot back and grasp one of the rosy nubs with its piercing in his teeth. Ron gasped and moaned, writhing beneath him as Dean plied his attentions on the other side of his chest.
Ron's cock twitched, jabbing into Dean's thigh as he rolled his tongue around Ron's pierced pink nipples. Dean decided to bring Ron off in his mouth, at least this first time. He looked up from Ron's chest, fixing him with a sultry gaze, and promised, "I'm going to give you one of the best orgasms you've ever had."
Only after the words had left his mouth did he think about that being a bit presumptuous, but Ron didn't seem to mind.
"Fuck, Dean, oh gods," Ron said, getting up on his elbows to watch as Dean backed down his body to the thatch of auburn curls and reddened cock standing up from it, demanding attention.
Dean knew he was quite talented at giving head, and he put all of his skill into tending to Ron's cock until he heard Ron's warning babbles and profanity. He rolled Ron's heavy sac in his fingers, keeping his mouth firmly around Ron's pulsing length as he shouted, the vinegarsweet fluid coursing into his mouth and sliding down his throat. He smiled around the softening flesh, taking a last lick from the crown as Ron let out a wounded noise and slid back to the floor.
"Amazing. You're absolutely amazing," Ron said, his raspy voice sliding over Dean's skin like the slow drag of a warm tongue.
"Thank you," Dean replied with a sly smile, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Ron eased back up to his elbows, the sated glow on his face enough to make Dean's heart stumble over itself. He'd liked making Patric happy, it was true, but the utter satisfaction Dean now felt was far more profound than any torrid sex he'd had with his former boyfriend.
"I'd like to take care of you now," Ron said hungrily, licking his lips and giving Dean a scorching look.
"I'd like for you to," Dean said, sitting back on his heels and lightly stroking himself. His cock ached to be handled fiercely, but mostly Dean craved Ron's fingers on him; everywhere, anywhere.
"Why don't you lie down on your stomach," Ron suggested, easing up from the floor and padding over to the table to his neglected beer.
Dean wasn't sure what Ron had in mind, but if it had to do with his back and arse, he was more than okay with whatever Ron was planning. As he turned over, placing a pillow under his hips and adjusting his erection, he heard Ron's noisy swallows and then the bottle being placed on the table. A bit nervous, Dean flexed his arse, knowing he was exposed and on display for Ron for the first time. He cast a cleansing spell on himself, loud enough for Ron to hear. He found goosebumps springing up on his arms and legs as he felt Ron sink to the floor behind him. Dean couldn't help it— he had to know what expression was on Ron's face, what he was doing. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked over his shoulder, catching Ron's gaze as he glanced down at him.
"You've a gorgeous arse," Ron said appreciatively, his eyes still heavy-lidded. "Been admiring it for a while, actually. So round, and squeezable, not flat like mine," he said with a disparaging tone.
"You won't hear me complain."
"I like yours," Ron repeated decisively despite his decreased enunciation. He stretched out behind Dean after trailing a path of open-mouthed kisses from the base of his spine to one arse cheek and then the other.
Dean was transfixed, rutting slowly into the pillow, wanting to wank himself and desperate to know what Ron was going to do. Ron hadn't recovered nearly enough to be ready for a proper shag, but Dean didn't mind that.
"I'd like to taste you," Ron murmured into the juncture of Dean's arse and upper thigh, his fingers teasing at the damp skin at the top of his legs. "Do you like that? Or is that too much? Too soon for that?"
"Godric, no," Dean said, exhaling a shuddering breath. He loved being rimmed, if the giver enjoyed it. That had only happened on a very few occasions, but they were quite memorable.
"Good," Ron growled, and Dean felt as though his blood had turned molten; a faint prickling above his eyebrows indicated the presence of a light sheen of sweat. Ron nudged him so that Dean put his head down and had his hips and arse up in the air, the easier for Ron to spread him open and flick his tongue around the sensitive, puckered flesh.
Dean's insides were knotted with the agonising anticipation of such an intimate gesture: Ron, his former Housemate, sometime confidante, former drinking friend and current client with an appealing sense of humour, stunning body and tragic past relationship, was about to stick his tongue inside of him and kiss and lick and Merlin only knew what else around his clenching, normally-hidden hole.
Dean rained moans and gasps and embarrassing, broken cries as Ron enthusiastically set to his task. If Dean had thought he was good at sucking cock, his erotic prowess was matched by Ron's abilities at rimming. Dean panted and groaned, whimpering as he pulled on his painfully hard prick, blinking away a few rogue tears that sprang to his eyes at how bloody fantastic it felt. From the soles of his feet, Dean felt his orgasm building until his balls had drawn up and the hand with which he'd been fisting his cock slowed. He tried valiantly to postpone the inevitable, still chanting a litany of wordless pleading whimpers with each breath. Ron was making indecent wet smacking noises as his tongue speared into Dean's channel. His face rubbed back and forth as his tongue wriggled around, all while he kept up his own rumbling enthusiastic grunts.
"Ron, Ron, oh fuck, ahhhh!" Dean's release careened through him, thick gouts of come fountaining over his fingers as he rocked back and forth. His cries ebbed as his body trembled through with the aftershocks of such an intense surrender. Ron nuzzled Dean's right arsecheek before moving away to slide gracelessly down alongside him on the floor. He wiped at his mouth while Dean sagged his chest into the floor, turning his head to look over at Ron with a glazed expression.
A tender, self-satisfied smile graced Ron's lips. "Like that?"
Dean nodded, all at once exhausted and wanting nothing more than to tumble into his cosy bed, bringing Ron with him, wrapping him in his arms and going straight to sleep. Carefully Dean stretched out on his side, gazing mutely at Ron, tracing his lips and eyebrows with his finger.
"You're amazing," was all Dean could think to say, leaning in to place a set of chaste, mouthed kisses on his lips. "Care to come to bed?" he whispered against Ron's mouth.
"Sounds brilliant."
"I'll get a toothbrush and some pyjama bottoms for you." Dean regretfully peeled himself up from the floor.
"I can just borrow a pair of boxers," Ron offered through a yawn, and Dean smiled.
"Okay."
Once their unhurried ablutions were complete, Dean cast a Nox on his lights and spooned alongside Ron, who said that he always slept on his back.
"G'night Ron," he murmured against Ron's shoulder, one arm draped over his chest.
Ron turned his head to kiss Dean on the forehead, the gesture so comforting and natural for a moment Dean thought he'd burst from the utter contentment of it all.
"G'night."
* * * * *
The heady scent of Irish tea permeated Dean's consciousness as he slowly crossed the bounds into full wakefulness. He stretched through a yawn, scratching at his head until the evening's activities and sudden remembering of his guest hit him with the force of a Bludger. Ron must have gotten up and gone to the kitchen and made tea. Dean couldn't help the anticipatory grin that resolutely plastered itself on his face; feeling unabashedly at peace and rather a sap, he leaned over to see if he could smell Ron's distinctive woodsy-cinnamon scent on his pillow. It indeed lingered there in the soft t-shirt sheeting Dean had grown to love.
He forced himself out of bed, taking a quick stop in his bathroom and pulling on a sweatshirt before padding out into the living room. The sight of Ron sitting at the dining room table, his brows slightly furrowed and his gaze downcast sent icy trickles of disillusion through Dean's serenity, lodging like a mass in his stomach. Ron's expression changed when he looked up, his appearance transforming to one of apology and embarrassment.
"Morning," he croaked, clearing his throat before trying again. "Hi there. Made some tea, hope you don't mind," Ron soldiered on, smiling in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Not at all," Dean said, moving like an automaton into his kitchen to pour himself a cup of tea. His formerly buoyant spirits felt as though they'd been pummelled and left bleeding in a corner somewhere.
"You're an adult, Dean, get a fucking grip," he admonished himself. "Merlin knows how many times you got drunk and were a royal cock-up."
That was true, and reassuring in a way, but the self-knowledge only made him feel worse now that he was on the receiving end of it.
"You're awfully quiet," Ron said from the table. "Sorry if I woke you."
"'S'alright," Dean assured him, bringing his tea and taking a seat next to Ron, who looked dishevelled in a manner too endearing to Dean's liking. He decided to cut straight to it; they were both bloody adults. "Look, Ron, do you remember anything about last night?"
Ron's chagrined expression confirmed Dean's assumptions. "Not a whole lot. Things're rather a blur after we left that great club, but I'm glad I'm with you, believe you me."
Mouth closed, Dean licked the front of his teeth before blowing on his tea and taking a sip. "I do, actually. I've had my share of mornings waking up and not knowing what in Hades I'd done the night before, so I'm not going to fault you or anything. But I am disappointed."
Ron sank further into his seat, taking great interest in the teacup he held in his hands, unable or unwilling to look over at Dean. Dean didn't want to rub Ron's face in it, truly he didn't, but he was also determined to finish out his peace.
"I'm only disappointed because you were so into me. You were bloody unreal, passionate and an amazing kisser, among other things," he said wistfully, tapping the edge of the porcelain cup. "Guess you don't remember how great that all was."
Ron looked over, raw regret etched painfully on his features. "Not as well as you do. But I know I felt good that I was making you feel good. But the rest…" his voice trailed off.
Dean took pity on him. "You didn't promise undying love or anything," he said, sarcasm edging into his voice.
"No, I wouldn't've," Ron said firmly. "Nothing against you, at all. But since Harry, I don't know when I'll ever say stuff like that again."
Dean nodded, noticing how rough Ron appeared, slumped in his chair, his jumper and t-shirt still pungent with the smell of cigarette smoke from the club.
"Can I make you something? Toast with marmalade? Or Nutella? Nothing like a little bread and chocolate to make you feel better."
Ron looked so grateful and relieved, Dean was caught between wanting to crush him to his chest in a hug, and deck him in the jaw.
"That'd be fabulous. I'll just go and get dressed."
Dean puttered around making toast, trying to silence his tumultuous mind. It was frantically projecting forward and wondering just how fucked up things would be between them now, and mulling over whether or not it had been worth it, now that Dean had pretty much figured out he'd been a one-night stand.
"Fuck," he swore quietly at the injustice of it all.
Ron walked in, fully dressed and having taken a comb to his hair. Awkwardly he draped his arm over Dean's shoulder, giving him a short squeeze. "D'you want me to come over on Wednesday, like usual?" he asked.
Dean couldn't tell what kind of response Ron was hoping for, but he vowed to be true to himself and not manipulate things to make them into something they weren't.
"No, but thanks. The portrait is practically finished; I'll work on the background for the next week or so. I've found if I spend too much time with the details of the person, I end up overdoing it somehow and it won't be my best work. I'll leave you be in the painting for a while and evaluate it when the rest is complete." He summoned two plates while digging out a pair of butter knives from a drawer. "I'll owl you and find out a good time for you to come and get it, or I can bring it to you." Dean turned his head, his expression neutral, though emotionally he felt like one big, purpled bruise. "Did you want Nutella? Or raspberry preserves?"
"Just butter's fine."
Ron left shortly thereafter, thanking Dean for breakfast and giving him his customary hug at the door, though Dean didn't hold him as tightly as he usually did. He went through the rest of his Sunday in a fog, mindlessly replying in the affirmative to Seamus' owl about meeting to play squash on Tuesday at four o'clock, and purposefully avoiding his studio. A neglected novel involving Scottish werewolf clans with a decent plot and interesting characters occupied most of his afternoon until he caved in to his rumbling stomach and decided to go out to get fish and chips. It had been ages since he'd had an ale, but he felt despondent and self-pitying and had a couple of pints while he ate, finishing off with a tumbler of firewhiskey for good measure. Once back at his flat, he confronted Ron's portrait in the studio, carefully moving it out of the way and putting his Brazil-inspired triptych work-in-progress in the middle of the room. The effects of the alcohol were just what he'd hoped, dulling the regret and pain of the bitter pill he'd swallowed. He cast a silencing spell on the room, put on the Cousteau album he'd become so fond of and cranked it up. With his pack of clove cigarettes nearby, he stayed up until the early hours of morning, painting and smoking.
on to the end