Title: Not Necessarily Wanting Me

Author: Lorien_Eve

Pairings: Harry/Ron, Ron/Draco

Disclaimer: All the characters in this story belong to J.K. Rowling. I dirtied them up a bit, but I promise to have them nice and clean when I give them back.

Spoilers: Everything

Rating: PG - NC17; this chapter is NC-17

Feedback: I'd love some!

Summary: Ron's in love with Harry, but he's afraid Harry will never feel the same way. Draco helps him forget - even if it's just for a little bit.

Genre: Romance, a little angst, a little drama

Author's Note: I wrote this story for NaNoWriMo back in November. After I went over my word count of 50,000, I set it aside and worked on some other things. The story isn't finished, but I'm still working on it and I'm a little over halfway done. I wanted to go ahead and post it to hopefully put pressure on myself to finish it. This has *not* been beta-ed. No way would I put my beta through such torture. I've read over it myself, but I know I missed a few things, so please excuse any typos and mistakes. I'm really bad at writing summaries, so don't judge the story by my description of it. It's better than it sounds. Honest.

The doors leading out of the castle had been left open for those students who wanted fresh air, a little privacy, or a combination of both. Not wanting to go back to Gryffindor Tower just yet, Ron passed through the doors and out into the courtyard. He sat down on one of the cool stone benches and put his head in his hands.

Why had he approached Malfoy? That had to be the stupidest decision he’d ever made. Right up there with agreeing to go with Harry into the Forbidden Forest. He could only hope that Malfoy didn’t know what he was hinting at. Malfoy would never let him live it down. If he could’ve just been with Harry, if he’d had the courage to tell his best friend that his feelings for him went beyond friendship, he wouldn’t have gone to Malfoy. It was a momentary weakness, exaggerated by seeing Harry close to someone other than himself. Tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow he’d laugh and joke and remind Hermione that their paper on pogrebins wasn’t due for another week.

But tonight he didn’t feel like laughing at all. Tonight he felt like burying himself under ten layers of blankets and pretending…

“Weasley!”

Ron turned. It was Malfoy.

“What do you want?” Ron spat.

“I should be the one asking you that,” drawled Malfoy. “You came to me, did you not?”

Oh, yeah. Malfoy did have a point. Ron looked away, counted to ten, and hoped that when he turned back around, Malfoy would’ve magically vanished. No such luck.

“So Potter deserted you for someone more, shall we say, feminine?” Malfoy asked mockingly.

Damn Malfoy. Damn him to hell with every Death Eater, with each god-awful Potions class Ron had ever endured, and with whatever methods of evolution created hairy, eight-legged creatures.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Ron, though his voice was lower than he would’ve liked it to be.

“Sure, Weasley.” Draco sat down on the bench. His curiosity was indeed rising. “Now, what was it that you were trying to tell me back there?”

“Nothing, forget it.”

Draco wasn’t accepting that as an answer. He knew something was going on with Weasley, and he was going to find out what it was. It would just take a little psychology.

“Ok, then,” he said lightly. “I’m going back in. I’ll leave you with your self-pity.”

Draco had almost reached the steps leading back into the castle when Weasley called his name.

“I’m not wasting my valuable time out here with you,” he spat, though he retraced his steps to the bench. “What is it?”

“About that…the…the other…”

“I think you’ve already said that, Weasley,” snapped Draco. “Understanding jibberish isn’t one of my many talents, so get to the point.”

Ron had already humiliated himself tonight. Several times, in fact. One more time couldn’t hurt.

“It’s about that night in Snape’s room” he forced out, speaking hurriedly before he came to his senses.

Draco’s gray eyes grew a fraction wider, but he was quick to hide his surprise. A smug grin curled his lips. He leaned casually to one side and crossed his arms in satisfaction. So that was what Weasley was after. He shouldn’t be surprised, not really. He expected Weasley to come crawling to him. He was a Malfoy, after all, and a very gorgeous Malfoy at that.

Ron looked at the ground. He waited for Malfoy to mock him and tell him how thick he was. Malfoy didn’t do either. There was a small chuckle, and then, “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? You could’ve saved us both a lot of counterproductive talk.”

Ron raised his head and looked at Malfoy with is mouth open. He couldn’t mean what Ron thought he meant. Had he heard him right? Finding a word that reflected his multitude of thoughts, he said, “What?”

“You heard me. I don’t have that annoying habit of stuttering like you do. Now stop asking stupid questions. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.” Draco spun on his heel, his long, shiny cloak flowing out behind him. “Let’s go,” he directed, not bothering to look over his shoulder.

As if in a dream, where everything is blurry and moving in slow motion, Ron pushed himself up from the stone bench and followed after Malfoy. He kept his mind blank, not that that was hard to do after the events of the evening, just in case reality struck him and he realized where he was going and what he was probably going to be doing once he got there.

Malfoy was a good bit ahead of him, and by the time Ron reached the foyer of the castle, he had lost him. He looked around for a few seconds, then saw a white head and a red mask peek out from a shadowed corridor. “You coming?” Malfoy whispered.

Ron quickened his paces, trying to catch up, the bells on his shoes echoing down the dark, deserted hallway.

“Take those damn things off, will you?” hissed Draco, when Ron reached him. “I don’t want anyone to see me with you.”

Ron obeyed, took the shoes off, and stuffed them into a broom closet. His bare feet padded on the cold, stone floor, following Malfoy around a few turns and further down into the castle. Ron guessed that Malfoy was leading him to the Slytherin dungeon. He’d been there once before, a few years ago, though not quite under these circumstances. At last Malfoy stood in front of a seemingly solid stone wall. “DOA,” he said. Ron wondered if that was some kind of ironic foreshadowing.

A concealed door slid open and Draco strolled in, feeling very pleased with himself. Taking Weasley was one thing, but taking him in the Slytherin dorm rooms was another turn-on altogether.

Ron took hesitant steps, uncertain about being here, but not wanting to go back, either.

The Slytherin common room was long and low, with greenish torches hanging from the ceiling by heavy black chains. Stiff-looking, green leather chairs and sofas sat at random intervals, accented by dark, cherry wood bookcases and tables.

“We’re going down here,” said Malfoy. “I don’t want anyone walking in on us.”

Ron tried three times to swallow the growing lump in his throat. On the fourth try, he finally succeeded. He was completely insane for agreeing to this. He could turn around now and go back. No harm had been done-yet. But what else did he have to look forward to? Certainly not an empty Gryffindor common room, and even more certainly, not the scene in the Great Hall where Harry was dancing with Parvati. Doing rapid calculations in his head, Ron decided that as long as Malfoy didn’t plan on a threesome with Snape, he was better off in the dungeon.

The Slytherin dorm room was low and rectangular, not circular like the Gryffindors’, and the hangings on the four-poster beds were a deep green, almost black. It was much colder down here than it had been up in the common room. Ron wondered how anyone could possibly sleep in this frigid temperature, until he remembered how cold-blooded the Slytherins where, and decided that they probably found it quite pleasant.

Draco pulled back the drapes hiding his own bed and propped his shoulder egotistically against one of the posts. “Is this what you came for, Weasley?”

“Uh…” was all Ron could manage.

“We really must do something about that stuttering of yours. Perhaps if your mouth was better occupied…come here.”

Ron moved over to where Draco was standing, willing his hands not to shake and his legs not to wobble. He thought he did surprisingly well under the circumstances.

“First we have to get you out of those ridiculous clothes,” said Draco. That should be fun, he added to himself.

Ron shook his head, thankful that his obnoxious hat had been left behind. “I’m not doing it until you do.” He didn’t like the feeling of being so exposed in front of his sworn enemy, though he would’ve desperately liked to get out of his lame costume. “You take yours off first.”

“I look good in this,” said Draco, sounding almost insulted and gesturing boldly at his outfit. Then he paused and cocked his head, thinking. “But you’re right, I look even better naked.”

Ron was shocked by Malfoy’s inhibition. He didn’t think the git had it in him. Soon, too soon for Ron’s liking, Malfoy had made quick work of the cape and black tailored suit. Lastly, he whipped the red satin mask from his face and tossed it away flippantly. Ron hated to admit it, but Malfoy was sexy. His pale body was almost iridescent in the muted light. His gray eyes contained specks that would sometimes sparkle, but at other times would dim. The silver hair caught flickers of candlelight, giving in the illusion of being wet.

Draco hopped onto the bed, reclined, crossed his legs, and said, “You’re next.”

Feeling his contempt coming back, and not wanting to be outdone by a bloody Slytherin, Ron jerked his own clothes off and climbed onto the bed. He shifted uneasily, trying to find the most effective way to cover himself, though he was careful to stay in a small corner, a safe distance away.

“You’re going to have to get closer, Weasley. I’m well-endowed, but not grotesquely so.” Ron shuffled forward until his leg was touching Draco’s. “Much better.”

Draco ran a finger down Ron’s arm, erasing a thin line of goose bumps as it passed over his skin. Ron shivered as the warming shock spread downward. It was a small comfort in an otherwise hopeless situation, and he allowed himself to benefit from it. Draco pulled at his elbow and urged him closer. Ron scooted forward, but stopped before their faces were too close.

“Kiss me,” said Draco softly. “I know you want to.”

Ron did want to, but he was scared. Scared about what he was doing, and scared that he was doing it with Malfoy. “I…I…”

“Goddamnit, Weasley, I told you about that stuttering!” yelled Draco, causing Ron to draw back and bring himself to his senses.

“Look, Malfoy, I’m doing the best I can, so leave me the hell alone!” Ron was getting pissed off now, and although he was in a compromising situation, he wasn’t going to take Malfoy’s shit.

“Okay, okay,” sighed Draco. He’d have to be careful with Weasley. He was so obviously a virgin. “Just lean into me and I’ll kiss you. Can you do that?”

It was a dare. Ron glared. “I can do even better.”

Ron grabbed Draco’s face in his hands and pushed their lips together roughly. Draco was taken completely off guard, and he hummed in surprise through his pinned lips. Ron pushed him away and sat back with a confident expression on his face. Draco would deal with that soon. No Weasley ever had the right to look confident in his presence.

“Is that what you wanted, Malfoy?” Ron asked.

But Ron had no sooner said the words when Draco pushed their mouths together again. It wasn’t as forceful or awkward this time. Ron discovered once more that Draco’s lips were a lot warmer than one would imagine, and he liked the way they felt against his much more than he wanted to admit. When Draco’s tongue licked against his lips, Ron opened his mouth to allow entrance. The slender tongue explored his mouth leisurely, running over his teeth and curling circles around his own tongue. Lastly, he licked the insides of Ron’s lips and pulled away slowly.

“Lay down,” he whispered, so close that Ron felt his moist breath against his chin.

Ron lay down on the soft green comforter without protest, and Draco climbed over him. He lowered himself and slid his erection up the length of Ron’s cock. Ron gasped, but Draco immediately lifted himself again.

“Want some more of that?” he asked, his voice heavy.

It was all Ron could do to nod in the affirmative. No one had ever, ever done anything like that to him, and although something in his head kept reminding him that it was Malfoy, he was anxious to see what other sensations he had been missing out on.

“Good boy,” said Draco as he lowered himself again and gave into the temptation of pressing firmly against Ron. He gave a loud moan, and heard it echoed from the throat of the boy below him.

Bending down so that his mouth was just inches away from Ron’s ear, he breathed, “It’s time to get what you came for.” He gave the lobe a quick flick with his tongue and sat up.

“I’ve never done this before,” said Ron, feeling unsure, and not for the first time.

“Don’t worry, Weasley, it’s easy. Like you.”

So he really was a virgin. Draco had suspected as much. Who would ever fuck Weasley? Well, besides himself, and that was a different matter entirely. He’d deal with the inferiority complex in the morning. Right now he had a need, and there was a willing, albeit freckled, body under him, and he wasn’t questioning fate.

“Hand me that tube,” said Draco, tilting his head in the direction of the table next to his bed.

Ron looked at him questionably, but reached over and grabbed the small clear tube. Draco poured a bit of the cool substance on his fingers, and moving down so that he was between Ron’s legs, he smoothed some around the tight, muscular entrance. Ron jerked away at the contact.

“Fuck, Malfoy! What the hell?”

“Look, Weasley, in case you didn’t know, my cock has to go in your arse, and I don’t think you want it going in without this. So hold still!”

Ron took a deep breath and felt a cold, thick liquid being applied to places he never dreamed anyone would touch, least of all the person who was touching them now. He tried to push those thoughts out of his mind and enjoy the feelings he was receiving from the most unlikely source. Just as he was getting used to this totally new concept, he felt something prodding him. He tensed up and looked at Draco with great annoyance.

“Again, Weasley, mine in yours, and if you have a compliant, you can take it out the door.”

“Just hurry up, will you?” Ron didn’t have a complaint, he was just growing impatient. It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good-it did-but the longer it lasted, the more cold reality crept over him.

“Alright then,” said Draco, ready to kick the red Weasel out of his perfectly made bed. “Don’t say I never warned you.”

Indeed, without warning, Ron felt something very solid, and much thicker than before, pushing against him. He wanted to cry out, but with Draco’s scathing words still reverberating in his mind, he bit his tongue and dealt with the pain. He tried to calm himself down and just let it enter. It’d be over with in a minute, he reminded himself. That helped a little bit, and as Draco’s cock pushed deeper, Ron’s sole focus was on relaxing those muscles.

When Draco was all the way in, he released a great sigh of gratification, which caused him to tilt forward so that he had to brace himself with his hands on Ron’s shoulders. Ron felt it, too, and although he was still aching a little bit, the pressure was pleasurable. Draco moved out slowly, until the head was all that remained in. He held it there, fighting with want to push back in again. He’d bottomed enough to know that ring of muscle was the most sensitive part, and for some reason that he couldn’t explain, he wanted to prolong that for Weasley.

That attention didn’t go unnoticed, as Ron groaned from deep in his chest, and forced his hips upward, wanting even more. Draco shuddered and thrust in and out sharply, not pressing too far in and not pulling too far out. Ron spread his thighs further apart, trying to increase the sensation. Suddenly, Draco plunged in deep, and his cock grazed over something that sent shockwaves through Ron’s body. He cried out and arched his back up off the bed. It was the most intense thing he’d ever felt.

“I don’t see Potter doing that for you,” grunted Draco, very pleased with himself.

Ron could’ve slapped him for that comment, and probably would have, if his disobliging position had allowed it. His anger was quickly forgotten, though, as Draco struck that spot again and Ron’s mind nearly went blank. Draco hit it again and again, and it was all Ron could do to stay on the bed. He’d never felt anything like it before. It was almost agony, frustrating and mind numbing, but so physically gratifying that he didn’t want it to stop.

He was jerking beneath Draco, desperately searching for the glorious pleasure of climax, but not wanting to give up the teasing just yet. He reached for his cock, which was soaked at the tip with pre-cum. He pumped it quickly, trying to copy Draco’s tempo. In almost no time, his breathing sped up, coming out of his mouth in loud pants. His muscles started clinching around Draco.

“Stop it…Weasley…or I’m not…going to…last,” Draco choked out.

But Ron could already feel his release spiraling forward. It started in his stomach, and then moved to his navel and to the base of his cock. It spread upward, to the very tip, where it shot all over his chest and dabbled his chin. He came hard, screaming every obscenity he’d ever heard, and making up new ones for the boy who had just made him feel this way.

Draco couldn’t resist any longer. Between the enclosing tightness around his cock, and watching Weasley come, he made a couple more thrusts and poured himself into the limp body below him.

“Dear God…” he groaned, pushing in all the way, trying to lengthen his orgasm, not wanting to vacate his territory.

“Get off ,” Ron said at last, pushing Draco away and curling himself up until the aching numbness dissipated. He felt something warm drip out of him onto the sheets, and tried not to think about what it represented.

He felt the bed dip as Draco fell next to him, in a panting heap. He never knew it would be like this. That he…and Malfoy…that it would’ve felt like that. The festival, the costume, the atmosphere, and the dance had completely left his mind now. All he remembered was that somehow, he’d ended up in Malfoy’s bed, naked, and got fucked like he’d never dreamed.

But as the waves of pleasure ebbed, he felt ashamed. If he had to be fucked by a guy, why couldn’t it have been someone else? Harry preferably, but at least someone in Gryffindor. Of all the people in the bloody world, it had to be Malfoy.

Once he felt the feeling come back in his limbs, he pushed himself off the bed and picked up the wad of clothing that had been his costume. He could feel Malfoy’s eyes watching him.

“Going back to Potter already?” he drawled in amusement.

“No,” muttered Ron. He could only wish that were the case. Instead, he’d be going back to Gryffindor Tower and sleeping in his bed, alone.

“When he can’t satisfy you, you know where to find me,” said Draco, turning away again. He heard the door close a few seconds later and knew that the Weasel had left.

For what started out as one of the dullest evenings on record, it had turned out to be one of the most entertaining nights Draco had known. Just as he had suspected, Weasley had come crawling to him. And he would be back, too, Draco had no doubt about that. Potter didn’t have the means to please Weasley, that much was apparent. It was just a matter of time. Weasley was a horny, teen-aged boy. It wouldn’t take long. Draco pulled the soiled comforter off his bed and threw it in the floor. He pulled back the sheets and crawled under them, immensely happy over his latest conquest.