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sexyscholar's b'day, R/D, NC-17
I'm a few days late m'dear, and it's short, but I hope you like this wee gift of fic.
Title:How to Succeed in Malfoysian Gift Giving Without Resorting to Dark Magic or Going Prematurely Grey
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2400
Summary: What do you get Draco Malfoy for his birthday, especially when you're Ron Weasley?
Author's Notes Lack of angst! Massive thanks towolfiekins for looking this over and giving feedback! This is set within my Like Wine Through Water universe (and therefore AU as it was written before DH) with knitting!Draco and surfer!Ron. Sorry this is belated, dear Mo, but I hope you like. :)
Ron looked at his own bold scrawl on his calendar with a sense of rising panic. "Draco's Birthday" leered at him from a distance of less than a fortnight. It didn't help that his next knee-jerk thought was to ask Hermione for advice before he made a bloody idiot of himself. Such ingrained thinking brought on a wave of melancholy since she'd died only a year ago and her absence was a fathomless, dull ache.
"Bugger it," he moaned to her missing presence. "What am I bloody s'posed to do? You're supposed to be here to give me grief about his birthday. You never liked him, I know. And I can't explain why it makes sense, but he's really great for me. Damn you for dying. Fuck," he mumbled before taking a swallow of tea.
His lover was currently in some part of France visiting a distant second cousin somethingorother. To his surprise, Ron didn't mind— they'd been spending a lot of time together, and he spent about two-thirds of his nights at Draco's hermitage adjacent to the Manor. This way they had a bit of breathing room, a chance simply to be apart and have an opportunity to miss each other. Odd that such self-revelations were second nature to him now. He thought about going out to surf; being on his board focussed his mind even though he didn't think about anything but the waves and his balance and how his body felt in motion. The Youth Quidditch League had a match in two days, though, and he had coaching in the afternoon.
"A short run, then," he said to himself, draining his tea.
After a satisfying but brief jog around a nearby Muggle park he took a shower. He was still wracking his brain about what to get Draco. He had everything he could possibly need or want, and Ron wasn't exactly flush with Galleons. Well, he'd managed to put a fair bit away since he was notoriously frugal, but that still didn't change the fact that this was Draco Malfoy he was trying to buy for. Who else knew Draco well that Ron could stand having a conversation with?
* * * * *
Pansy Parkinson twirled linguine in her spoon and then looked up at Ron.
"Since the War he's been ignoring his birthday," she said bluntly. She put the pasta in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, evaluating Ron in the thinly disguised judgmental way that instantly put him on the defensive.
"Well, I'm not going to pretend like I don't know it's his birthday," he said stubbornly, cutting into his lasagne. "That seems stupid."
"He doesn't like a fuss. You of all people know how reclusive he is most of the time."
"It's his right," Ron said, defending him. "And he meets up with you and Blaise. Hell, he's over in France now, visiting some relative I'd never heard of before."
"Probably to sort out some family squabble," she said airily.
Ron was beginning to regret having suggested this lunch meet up, but he'd been desperate. He and Pansy tolerated each other, and it really didn't go any further than that.
"Has he travelled a lot?" he asked, a flicker of inspiration flaring to life.
"Yes, of course." She speared a forkful of salad greens. "Though he prefers being in Britain."
"But he likes visiting other places?"
"I guess. I never heard him complaining about trips to Italy and France. Why? You haven't travelled much, have you?"
Ron forced himself to take a mouthful of wine to ensure he didn't say something that would immediately get him in trouble. Reflexive anger climbed in his chest.
"Actually, I spent a few years in Australia. I thought Draco might have told you that," he snapped.
"I didn't mean that," she drawled in an unpleasant mimicry of how Draco used to speak to him when they were still at Hogwarts. "I meant Europe."
"No." Ron was bristling inwardly. He'd been an idiot to think he could have expected true good will from this particular woman. "Don't figure I've missed that much."
She fixed him with a frosty, disdainful look. "No, you wouldn't figure."
Ron's frayed temper gave way. "Look." His voice was terse and dangerous. "I didn't owl you to meet for lunch so you could sit there and be condescending to me. I don't care if you don't like me, because it's only Draco's opinion I care about." He took another swig of wine, enjoying a burst of gratification as her lips pursed like she'd bit into a particularly tart lemon. "It's his twenty-fifth birthday, and I'd wanted your insight. If you think you're going to sit there and smirk and try to make me feel like a world-class idiot, you have another thing coming."
A thick and increasingly uncomfortable wall of silence hung between them. Eventually Pansy made a disgruntled sound, had another bite of linguine, and then said, "He's really into knitting, as I know you know. Maybe something to do with that?"
After taking a mouthful of what was quite excellent lasagne, Ron nodded. "Good idea. I'll look at his wools. Maybe we can go to where some of it's made. Thanks." The last word was said grudgingly.
She took a swallow of wine and gazed at him, unsmiling.
"Don't mention it."
* * * * *
Draco hadn't been able to keep his hands to himself the entire bus ride back to Reykjavik from the Blue Lagoon, so Ron wasn't at all surprised when Draco practically dragged him to their room and locked the door. He pounced. Ron found himself shoved back against the door, Draco writhing against him, his tongue tangling with Ron's as they kissed with an untamed abandon Ron hadn't felt since their first few shags.
"Something on your mind?" Ron gasped when he was allowed to break away for air.
"Should be fairly obvious." Draco reached down and palmed the bulge in Ron's jeans.
"Yeah. Just surprised that being in that hot, relaxing water made you so randy. Not complaining, though!" Ron clarified hurriedly, his hands massaging Draco's arsecheeks through his trousers.
"With all those blokes?" Draco's voice was incredulous.
"You were looking at all the buff Icelandic guys and that's what got you turned on?" Ron felt his ego deflate. He wasn't blind and he'd certainly noted several blokes at the lagoon who were easy on the eyes, but it was Draco who held the throttle on his libido.
"Admiring. It made me horny for you. You're the one who cares about me enough to have thought of such an unexpected gift as taking a portkey to Reykjavik."
Ron's wounded pride swelled a bit and his arousal rekindled. It helped that Draco threaded his fingers through the hair at the base of his skull. "I would never have imagined even a year ago that you would know me well enough to plan something like this."
"I can be a fast learner when I try." Ron smirked, then leaned in to kiss his lover's beckoning mouth. His skin still smelled strongly of the eucalyptus soap he'd used after their extended time in the cyan-coloured geothermal pool.
"Get undressed," Draco demanded. Only too happy to comply, Ron did as bidden, watching Draco do the same. Even though he was in a rush, Draco still moved with unintentional grace that Ron found as sexy as their actual fucking. But nothing beat the vision before him now. He'd been pushed back to the edge of the bed and sat down rather suddenly. Draco knelt between his spread legs, his long fingers anchored at the outside of Ron's thighs. He gave Ron a heated look that flickered with a slight mania before running his tongue along the crown of his cock.
"Nnnnnngh," Ron gurgled. "Oh fuck, Merlin, you're so fucking good," he babbled before focussing on breathing.
"I'm…" Draco swallowed him down nearly to the root, sucked hard, and eased off. "…the best."
After lapping into the sensitive slit, his heavy-lidded gaze travelled up to Ron's face, awaiting a response. Ron let out a rather unmasculine whimper of agreement. With self-satisfied humming noises, Draco continued on with his oral worship of Ron's shaft until Ron rasped, "Hey! I thought you wanted me—"
"To fuck me into next week. Yes, I do," Draco drawled through fellatio-swollen lips.
"Well then get that gorgeous body and arse of yours up here."
Ron raked his fingers through his shaggy hair. The heat still radiating from their soak meant that sweat was beading on his forehead and then stinging his eyes.
"Let me get your wand."
They each cast cleansing spells on the other, just in case Ron felt adventurous later on. His personal plan was to fuck Draco until they were both exhausted. Draco carefully put their wands on a nightstand, rummaged through Ron's rucksack and tossed him their lube. He stood and stroked his erection while watching as Ron poured the oil into his palm and thoroughly slicked his cock.
"C'mere sexy," Ron growled, for an instant startled at just how much he meant the words. On rare occasion he still saw ghosts of the sharp-featured, imperious adolescent nemesis. That spectre had been replaced by the aggressive, confident, erotic man now kneeling in front of him, looking impatiently over his shoulder with an expression of, 'What in Hades are you waiting for?'
Ron got up to his knees and took a few moments to slide his cock up and down the crease of Draco's arse. He hit each arsecheek a few times with his hard prick, making satisfying slapping sounds. Draco moaned and wriggled, pushing back with a desperate eagerness Ron hadn't experienced in quite some time. Ron stopped Draco's hips and pressed the head of his cock against the grasping hole, pushing steadily in until he was buried in his body. From the inside, Draco was a familiar, hot pressure around him. Ron let himself get carried away by Draco's breathy whimpers, the sexy way he egged Ron on as he ploughed into Draco's arse. The whole experience was made rather surreal by the light in the window despite it being eleven o'clock at night and the lingering scent of sulphur from the lagoon.
"Oh, oh!" Draco gasped, and Ron knew he was close. "Harder!"
Clenching his jaw, Ron pulled nearly all the way out, slammed back in, and then pistoned his hips with as much force as he could muster. He'd long ago learned that while Draco was slender, he wasn't at all fragile and almost disappointingly, didn't bruise easily.
"Yes, fuck, Ronnnnnnnn!"
The words transformed to a raw cry as Draco's muscles clamped around Ron's prick. He stilled, panting, and wiped his forehead with his palm, shoving the fringe out of his eyes. Draco's head drooped, his back bowed, the cage of his ribs noticeably swelling and contracting until his breathing gradually returned to normal. Ron eased out of him, not too far away from his own orgasm. Draco flopped onto his back as though his whole body had been affected by a jelly-leg curse.
"You're amazing," he said hoarsely, and then cleared his throat. "Don't mind me watching— you know how much I like seeing you get yourself off."
"It won't be a very long show," Ron warned him. He rooted around the bedclothes to retrieve the lubricant to slick up his cock a bit more while Draco fluffed pillows and lay against them. He really did look like a regal figure in repose, albeit a thoroughly debauched one. From years of experience, Ron brought himself off quickly and with none of the self-consciousness he'd had when he and Draco had first moved from friends to lovers. The tingling and pressure in his sacs prompted him to pump faster, until with a grunt, the waves of release fountained out of him. Short streams of come fell onto the bunched sheets and spilled over his hand.
"You know what's so sexy?" Draco asked rhetorically while Ron caught his breath and wiped his wet hand on the sheet. "Watching your abs when you come. You've almost convinced me to take up surfing, but I'd never look like you."
Despite himself, Ron's cheeks flushed. "Don't be ridiculous. You don't want to look like me! You're hot in a different way."
Draco made a noncommittal noise, then Accio'ed his wand and cast a Scourgify to clean up their musky mess from the bedcoverings. Ron padded over to a table and poured each of them a small tumbler of the infamous local liquor, nicknamed Black Death. He handed Draco his glass and toasted him. Draco gave the liquid a disapproving sniff but tossed it back regardless. Ron did the same, coughing as it burned down his throat.
"Happy birthday," Ron spluttered. "Bloody hell! I'll have to take the rest of this back to Seamus. I think he's the only person I know who could actually stomach it."
"It's not aged port, that's certain."
Draco gingerly placed his glass on the floor as though it might explode on contact. He turned back to Ron, who was sliding his tongue along the front of his bottom teeth, trying to discern any actual flavours in the potent drink.
"Thank you," Draco said earnestly, his clear eyes warm in a way Ron didn't see all that often. "I imagine that you had a bit of anxiety about my birthday. Only you could get away with something like this. Usually I ignore my birthday."
Ron nuzzled against his slightly stubbled cheek and mouthed a couple of kisses near his earlobe. "That's what Pansy said. She helped, sort of, in my coming up with a short trip."
Draco drew back, his expression a mix of sceptical and awed. "You talked with Pansy about me?"
"Met for lunch," Ron said ruefully, "while you were in France. We didn't get in an argument or anything."
"I'm impressed," Draco purred, draping himself on Ron's chest.
"I was, too," Ron admitted.
Draco swatted him gently on the hip, and then massaged the side of Ron's arse. "I really do appreciate the effort."
Ron glowed at his praise. He thought back briefly to the War, of Draco's taunts and his own inflammatory retorts, and thanked Merlin for a second chance to be able to get things right. Without a shred of irony, he replied, "Anything for you."
Title:How to Succeed in Malfoysian Gift Giving Without Resorting to Dark Magic or Going Prematurely Grey
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2400
Summary: What do you get Draco Malfoy for his birthday, especially when you're Ron Weasley?
Author's Notes Lack of angst! Massive thanks to
wolfiekins for looking this over and giving feedback! This is set within my Like Wine Through Water universe (and therefore AU as it was written before DH) with knitting!Draco and surfer!Ron. Sorry this is belated, dear Mo, but I hope you like. :)Ron looked at his own bold scrawl on his calendar with a sense of rising panic. "Draco's Birthday" leered at him from a distance of less than a fortnight. It didn't help that his next knee-jerk thought was to ask Hermione for advice before he made a bloody idiot of himself. Such ingrained thinking brought on a wave of melancholy since she'd died only a year ago and her absence was a fathomless, dull ache.
"Bugger it," he moaned to her missing presence. "What am I bloody s'posed to do? You're supposed to be here to give me grief about his birthday. You never liked him, I know. And I can't explain why it makes sense, but he's really great for me. Damn you for dying. Fuck," he mumbled before taking a swallow of tea.
His lover was currently in some part of France visiting a distant second cousin somethingorother. To his surprise, Ron didn't mind— they'd been spending a lot of time together, and he spent about two-thirds of his nights at Draco's hermitage adjacent to the Manor. This way they had a bit of breathing room, a chance simply to be apart and have an opportunity to miss each other. Odd that such self-revelations were second nature to him now. He thought about going out to surf; being on his board focussed his mind even though he didn't think about anything but the waves and his balance and how his body felt in motion. The Youth Quidditch League had a match in two days, though, and he had coaching in the afternoon.
"A short run, then," he said to himself, draining his tea.
After a satisfying but brief jog around a nearby Muggle park he took a shower. He was still wracking his brain about what to get Draco. He had everything he could possibly need or want, and Ron wasn't exactly flush with Galleons. Well, he'd managed to put a fair bit away since he was notoriously frugal, but that still didn't change the fact that this was Draco Malfoy he was trying to buy for. Who else knew Draco well that Ron could stand having a conversation with?
* * * * *
Pansy Parkinson twirled linguine in her spoon and then looked up at Ron.
"Since the War he's been ignoring his birthday," she said bluntly. She put the pasta in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, evaluating Ron in the thinly disguised judgmental way that instantly put him on the defensive.
"Well, I'm not going to pretend like I don't know it's his birthday," he said stubbornly, cutting into his lasagne. "That seems stupid."
"He doesn't like a fuss. You of all people know how reclusive he is most of the time."
"It's his right," Ron said, defending him. "And he meets up with you and Blaise. Hell, he's over in France now, visiting some relative I'd never heard of before."
"Probably to sort out some family squabble," she said airily.
Ron was beginning to regret having suggested this lunch meet up, but he'd been desperate. He and Pansy tolerated each other, and it really didn't go any further than that.
"Has he travelled a lot?" he asked, a flicker of inspiration flaring to life.
"Yes, of course." She speared a forkful of salad greens. "Though he prefers being in Britain."
"But he likes visiting other places?"
"I guess. I never heard him complaining about trips to Italy and France. Why? You haven't travelled much, have you?"
Ron forced himself to take a mouthful of wine to ensure he didn't say something that would immediately get him in trouble. Reflexive anger climbed in his chest.
"Actually, I spent a few years in Australia. I thought Draco might have told you that," he snapped.
"I didn't mean that," she drawled in an unpleasant mimicry of how Draco used to speak to him when they were still at Hogwarts. "I meant Europe."
"No." Ron was bristling inwardly. He'd been an idiot to think he could have expected true good will from this particular woman. "Don't figure I've missed that much."
She fixed him with a frosty, disdainful look. "No, you wouldn't figure."
Ron's frayed temper gave way. "Look." His voice was terse and dangerous. "I didn't owl you to meet for lunch so you could sit there and be condescending to me. I don't care if you don't like me, because it's only Draco's opinion I care about." He took another swig of wine, enjoying a burst of gratification as her lips pursed like she'd bit into a particularly tart lemon. "It's his twenty-fifth birthday, and I'd wanted your insight. If you think you're going to sit there and smirk and try to make me feel like a world-class idiot, you have another thing coming."
A thick and increasingly uncomfortable wall of silence hung between them. Eventually Pansy made a disgruntled sound, had another bite of linguine, and then said, "He's really into knitting, as I know you know. Maybe something to do with that?"
After taking a mouthful of what was quite excellent lasagne, Ron nodded. "Good idea. I'll look at his wools. Maybe we can go to where some of it's made. Thanks." The last word was said grudgingly.
She took a swallow of wine and gazed at him, unsmiling.
"Don't mention it."
* * * * *
Draco hadn't been able to keep his hands to himself the entire bus ride back to Reykjavik from the Blue Lagoon, so Ron wasn't at all surprised when Draco practically dragged him to their room and locked the door. He pounced. Ron found himself shoved back against the door, Draco writhing against him, his tongue tangling with Ron's as they kissed with an untamed abandon Ron hadn't felt since their first few shags.
"Something on your mind?" Ron gasped when he was allowed to break away for air.
"Should be fairly obvious." Draco reached down and palmed the bulge in Ron's jeans.
"Yeah. Just surprised that being in that hot, relaxing water made you so randy. Not complaining, though!" Ron clarified hurriedly, his hands massaging Draco's arsecheeks through his trousers.
"With all those blokes?" Draco's voice was incredulous.
"You were looking at all the buff Icelandic guys and that's what got you turned on?" Ron felt his ego deflate. He wasn't blind and he'd certainly noted several blokes at the lagoon who were easy on the eyes, but it was Draco who held the throttle on his libido.
"Admiring. It made me horny for you. You're the one who cares about me enough to have thought of such an unexpected gift as taking a portkey to Reykjavik."
Ron's wounded pride swelled a bit and his arousal rekindled. It helped that Draco threaded his fingers through the hair at the base of his skull. "I would never have imagined even a year ago that you would know me well enough to plan something like this."
"I can be a fast learner when I try." Ron smirked, then leaned in to kiss his lover's beckoning mouth. His skin still smelled strongly of the eucalyptus soap he'd used after their extended time in the cyan-coloured geothermal pool.
"Get undressed," Draco demanded. Only too happy to comply, Ron did as bidden, watching Draco do the same. Even though he was in a rush, Draco still moved with unintentional grace that Ron found as sexy as their actual fucking. But nothing beat the vision before him now. He'd been pushed back to the edge of the bed and sat down rather suddenly. Draco knelt between his spread legs, his long fingers anchored at the outside of Ron's thighs. He gave Ron a heated look that flickered with a slight mania before running his tongue along the crown of his cock.
"Nnnnnngh," Ron gurgled. "Oh fuck, Merlin, you're so fucking good," he babbled before focussing on breathing.
"I'm…" Draco swallowed him down nearly to the root, sucked hard, and eased off. "…the best."
After lapping into the sensitive slit, his heavy-lidded gaze travelled up to Ron's face, awaiting a response. Ron let out a rather unmasculine whimper of agreement. With self-satisfied humming noises, Draco continued on with his oral worship of Ron's shaft until Ron rasped, "Hey! I thought you wanted me—"
"To fuck me into next week. Yes, I do," Draco drawled through fellatio-swollen lips.
"Well then get that gorgeous body and arse of yours up here."
Ron raked his fingers through his shaggy hair. The heat still radiating from their soak meant that sweat was beading on his forehead and then stinging his eyes.
"Let me get your wand."
They each cast cleansing spells on the other, just in case Ron felt adventurous later on. His personal plan was to fuck Draco until they were both exhausted. Draco carefully put their wands on a nightstand, rummaged through Ron's rucksack and tossed him their lube. He stood and stroked his erection while watching as Ron poured the oil into his palm and thoroughly slicked his cock.
"C'mere sexy," Ron growled, for an instant startled at just how much he meant the words. On rare occasion he still saw ghosts of the sharp-featured, imperious adolescent nemesis. That spectre had been replaced by the aggressive, confident, erotic man now kneeling in front of him, looking impatiently over his shoulder with an expression of, 'What in Hades are you waiting for?'
Ron got up to his knees and took a few moments to slide his cock up and down the crease of Draco's arse. He hit each arsecheek a few times with his hard prick, making satisfying slapping sounds. Draco moaned and wriggled, pushing back with a desperate eagerness Ron hadn't experienced in quite some time. Ron stopped Draco's hips and pressed the head of his cock against the grasping hole, pushing steadily in until he was buried in his body. From the inside, Draco was a familiar, hot pressure around him. Ron let himself get carried away by Draco's breathy whimpers, the sexy way he egged Ron on as he ploughed into Draco's arse. The whole experience was made rather surreal by the light in the window despite it being eleven o'clock at night and the lingering scent of sulphur from the lagoon.
"Oh, oh!" Draco gasped, and Ron knew he was close. "Harder!"
Clenching his jaw, Ron pulled nearly all the way out, slammed back in, and then pistoned his hips with as much force as he could muster. He'd long ago learned that while Draco was slender, he wasn't at all fragile and almost disappointingly, didn't bruise easily.
"Yes, fuck, Ronnnnnnnn!"
The words transformed to a raw cry as Draco's muscles clamped around Ron's prick. He stilled, panting, and wiped his forehead with his palm, shoving the fringe out of his eyes. Draco's head drooped, his back bowed, the cage of his ribs noticeably swelling and contracting until his breathing gradually returned to normal. Ron eased out of him, not too far away from his own orgasm. Draco flopped onto his back as though his whole body had been affected by a jelly-leg curse.
"You're amazing," he said hoarsely, and then cleared his throat. "Don't mind me watching— you know how much I like seeing you get yourself off."
"It won't be a very long show," Ron warned him. He rooted around the bedclothes to retrieve the lubricant to slick up his cock a bit more while Draco fluffed pillows and lay against them. He really did look like a regal figure in repose, albeit a thoroughly debauched one. From years of experience, Ron brought himself off quickly and with none of the self-consciousness he'd had when he and Draco had first moved from friends to lovers. The tingling and pressure in his sacs prompted him to pump faster, until with a grunt, the waves of release fountained out of him. Short streams of come fell onto the bunched sheets and spilled over his hand.
"You know what's so sexy?" Draco asked rhetorically while Ron caught his breath and wiped his wet hand on the sheet. "Watching your abs when you come. You've almost convinced me to take up surfing, but I'd never look like you."
Despite himself, Ron's cheeks flushed. "Don't be ridiculous. You don't want to look like me! You're hot in a different way."
Draco made a noncommittal noise, then Accio'ed his wand and cast a Scourgify to clean up their musky mess from the bedcoverings. Ron padded over to a table and poured each of them a small tumbler of the infamous local liquor, nicknamed Black Death. He handed Draco his glass and toasted him. Draco gave the liquid a disapproving sniff but tossed it back regardless. Ron did the same, coughing as it burned down his throat.
"Happy birthday," Ron spluttered. "Bloody hell! I'll have to take the rest of this back to Seamus. I think he's the only person I know who could actually stomach it."
"It's not aged port, that's certain."
Draco gingerly placed his glass on the floor as though it might explode on contact. He turned back to Ron, who was sliding his tongue along the front of his bottom teeth, trying to discern any actual flavours in the potent drink.
"Thank you," Draco said earnestly, his clear eyes warm in a way Ron didn't see all that often. "I imagine that you had a bit of anxiety about my birthday. Only you could get away with something like this. Usually I ignore my birthday."
Ron nuzzled against his slightly stubbled cheek and mouthed a couple of kisses near his earlobe. "That's what Pansy said. She helped, sort of, in my coming up with a short trip."
Draco drew back, his expression a mix of sceptical and awed. "You talked with Pansy about me?"
"Met for lunch," Ron said ruefully, "while you were in France. We didn't get in an argument or anything."
"I'm impressed," Draco purred, draping himself on Ron's chest.
"I was, too," Ron admitted.
Draco swatted him gently on the hip, and then massaged the side of Ron's arse. "I really do appreciate the effort."
Ron glowed at his praise. He thought back briefly to the War, of Draco's taunts and his own inflammatory retorts, and thanked Merlin for a second chance to be able to get things right. Without a shred of irony, he replied, "Anything for you."