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 – NC-17; this chapter is NC-17

Feedback:  I'd love some!

It was Monday. The very worst day of the week. Ron and Harry were leaving their Transfiguration class.

“Oh, Weasley,” came a lazy, singsong voice.

Malfoy seemed to be acknowledging Ron again. It relieved him and infuriated him at the same time. What did Malfoy want? And why, why had he chosen this time, when Harry was around, to finally decide to talk to him again?

“Professor Snape wants a word with you,” continued Draco.

“What have I done now?” asked Ron, turning around.

Great. Now he was in trouble with Snape, who would just as soon curse him as look at him. He’d probably end up with another detention. On second thought, that first detention hadn’t been so bad. He doubted he’d be so lucky a second time, though.

“He didn’t say, but knowing you, it’s something abysmal,” said Draco with glee.

“I’ll catch up,” Ron said to Harry, “if Snape doesn’t hang me in the dungeons before I can escape.”

“This way,” indicated Draco, when Ron started off for the dungeons.

“I don’t have time for this, Malfoy. I’m in enough trouble already.”

“You prat. You’re not in trouble. That was only an excuse so I could get you alone.”

Ron stared at him for a minute. “You made that up? You mean Snape doesn’t want to see me?”

“Of course he doesn’t. But I do. Now come over here.” Draco’s original plan had been to tell Weasley to study more for his stuttering problem, an obvious hint to go back to the library. But when Ron turned on him, his gaudy red hair flying in his face and his eyes flashing with what looked like anger and anticipation, Draco went to Plan B: fuck Weasley now, then fuck him again later.

Ron had barely rounded the corner, following after Malfoy, when he was thrown up face first against the stone wall.

“This will be much more interesting than visiting Professor Snape,” Draco whispered in his ear.

Ron could feel something, hard and persistent, pushing against his backside. The whole arrangement had taken him off guard, but he couldn’t say that he was sorry for the way things were turning out.

“I won’t keep you long,” whispered Draco again, and Ron felt hands move around his waist to the front of his trousers. With deft fingers, they snapped open the button and lowered the zip, all in one fluid movement.

“What makes you think I want this? You haven’t contacted me in days. I might have changed my mind,” said Ron.

“I doubt that,” said Draco, walking his fingers up Ron’s cock. “Your body is hardly protesting.”

Well, Draco was right about one thing.

“What if someone sees us?” asked Ron, trying to ignore the skimming of fingers, and wondering how he’d talk his way out of this if anyone were to catch them.

“They won’t,” said Draco heavily against the back of Ron’s neck. “All the good little girls and boys are in class.”

He lowered Ron’s trousers so that his arse was fully exposed.

“So nice,” he murmured, rubbing his hands across the soft skin and sliding a single finger into Ron’s entrance.

“Just get on with it, will you?” said Ron. That finger was just enough to tease, just a prelude to something better. Still, he felt uncomfortable being out in the open like this, and he didn’t appreciate Malfoy gazing at him like he was some object. Though it was slightly flattering.

There was a pause and a rustling of fabric, and Malfoy was pressing against him, teasing again, but not yet delivering. Ron felt something thick and solid wedging itself between his cheeks and he groaned into the coldness of the wall.

“I know you want it,” said Draco arrogantly. Weasley was so easy to read. A warm touch here or a light rub there, and he would be begging for it.

Not wanting to prolong the foreplay, Draco pushed himself inside the other boy, smirking at the appreciative moan that corresponded with his progress. He thrust again, driving Ron into the solid wall, taking a bizarre liking to the slapping sound of skin against stone.

“If you push me any further…I’m going to disappear through the wall…and right now…I don’t think you want that,” said Ron, though it was hard for him to concentrate on talking.

Weasley did have a point, Draco thought. Any other time he would’ve loved to see him disappear, but this particular time, he had plans for him. He grabbed Ron’s hips, keeping him stationary and providing himself with an exquisite outlet.

Bracing his upper body against the wall with his forearm, Ron grabbed his cock with his free hand. He knew by now that Malfoy was in this for one thing—his own pleasure—and that he wouldn’t do anything to help anyone else.

Speaking of pleasure, Ron was feeling it in excessive amounts. Draco was shoving into him without reservation, hitting more nerves than he was aware of, and causing electric shocks to shoot through his entire lower body. It would’ve been painful had he been able to retain enough of his senses to register it. At this point, all he could feel was pleasure-- dangerous, white-hot, mind-numbing, and complete.

“God, Malfoy,” he choked out, when the pressure became too much to hold inside.

Draco took this as encouragement. He spread Ron’s cheeks further apart, stretching the taut muscles, and leaving half moon indentions with his fingernails. He wanted a wide opening, spread out before him, leaving nothing to his imagination.

He was thrusting quickly now against the exposed redness, his thick sac smacking against Ron’s each time. He removed one hand from Ron’s hips and cupped his own balls with it. They were aching from the jarring motions and a much-needed release. He rolled them around in his hand, pressing them up into his body. A fog clouded his vision, but he kept pumping into Ron though it was almost automatic and unconscious.

He was hardly aware of his surroundings—not thinking about the public setting or the cold corridor—just that he was fucking Weasley, hard, incessantly, and with abandonment. He felt the prickly, groping fingers of his own orgasm creeping up, and he grasped his sac with fervor, rolling the round masses between his hand and moaning with every breath. He released himself into Ron, grunting each time his cock pulsed under the climax.

Feeling a wet, liquid heat shoot through him, Ron came soon after, fisting himself until he came, splattering white lashes against the wall, which dripped in slow dollops onto the floor.

Draco pulled himself out of Ron and collapsed in exhaustion against the opposite wall, resting his forehead against his knee and drawing quick, calming breaths. He picked up his sticky, flaccid cock and tucked it back into his trousers, zipping them up and fastening the button.

“Look for a message,” he said in a huff, lifting himself from the cold, stone floor.

Ron knew exactly what he meant, and he looked forward to the correspondence. The meetings couldn’t come soon enough for him these days. He’d be sure to check the library tomorrow. Right now, though, he had to come up with a story to tell Harry.

****

“So, Snape wasn’t there when you got to the dungeons?” asked Harry for the third time that day.

“I already told you, Harry. No, he was gone. The room was empty.” Ron was getting tired of Harry’s suspicions and questions. He’d come up with the best probable excuse in the short amount of time that he had. He knew if he’d said Snape was there, he’d have to find a reason why he was in trouble and then come up with a suitable detention. Saying that Snape wasn’t there seemed like the only believable explanation.

“You’re lucky. If it’d been me, I’d be serving detention for a week,” said Harry, trying to shift the conversation from Ron to himself, once he saw how defensive Ron was being about his inquiries.

“Yeah, well…” said Ron, stuffing his mouth with shepherd’s pie so that a more specific answer wouldn’t be expected.

****

During the break for lunch the next day, Ron ran to the library. He didn’t bother asking Madam Pince where the book was. He had it memorized by now. Isle 7, row 13, shelf 22, page 536. There was the note, written hastily, but still in a neat, looping manuscript.

Kitchens, 12 o’clock

Ron read the note twice before it sunk in. Why in the bloody hell was Malfoy choosing the kitchens? They were crawling with house elves, and Ron was sure the elves would report back to Dumbledore about two students debauching the place. The Astronomy Tower had been a much better location, or even an out-of-the way broom closet or empty classroom. He’d suggest these to Malfoy later.

Ron shoved the small piece of parchment into his pocket. He was thankful that their Potions class had been the previous day, because sitting through an entire class with Malfoy, trying to act composed, was something he didn’t think he could do.

****

Ron panted his way down a winding staircase to his next class, Charms. He was out of breath when he arrived, and he knew there had to be a quicker way to get from the library to the classroom. At least Professor Flitwick wasn’t overly strict about being tardy. Hermione was already at her desk when he came running in, and Harry was sitting behind her with an empty desk next to his. Ron slid into his seat as quickly and quietly as possible.

Professor Flitwick taught them a Conjuring Spell. Harry had seen Dumbledore and some other older wizards perform it, but he always thought it would be terribly complicated. He was right. This was one of the most difficult Charms lessons they’d ever had. It took even an accomplished witch like Hermione almost half the class period to conjure a roll of parchment. Harry was having no luck at all, and Ron was far too preoccupied to care about some stupid spell. The only thing he was interested in conjuring was a little privacy and a lot of Malfoy.

Even with Hermione’s help, they weren’t able to conjure anything. It was almost at the end of class, when Harry was beginning to wonder if his wand had suddenly stopped working, when a single tissue appeared out of nowhere and fluttered down to his desktop. Ron looked insulted that Harry could do something that he couldn’t. He screwed up his face in concentration to try the spell one last time when the bell rang, signaling the end of the period.

“I bet I would’ve gotten it that time,” he said to Harry and Hermione, trying to sound like he had put in an honest effort.

****

Thankfully, the Gryffindor common room wasn’t very crowded that night. Hermione was buried deep under enormous books, Ginny was talking quietly with Neville in a corner, Seamus had no doubt cornered Dean because neither one of them had been seen for hours, and Harry had gone to visit Sirius and Remus.

Ron tried to sneak out early while the other students were busy, but just as he went to open the portrait hole, Fred and George came jogging up.

“And just where do you think you’re going, little brother?” asked Fred.

“Don’t you know it’s too late for you to be roaming the halls,” chimed in George.

“I—I,” started Ron, “Harry’s gone to see Professor Lupin. If he has the right to be out, so do I.”

Fred and George traded smiles. “Going to meet Harry, are you? We won’t tell. As long as you give us all the details.”

Ron stared at them for a minute. He only wished he were meeting Harry. And if he were, he would never share any of the details with Fred or George. “Sod off, the both of you. It’s none of your business where I go.”

“Fine, Ron, have it your way,” said George, “but if you get caught and lose us points, I’ll tell the whole school you’re sleeping with Draco Malfoy.”

Ron stood frozen with his hand outstretched. “No, you…you wouldn’t…”

“Oh, but we would,” said Fred. “That’s your worst nightmare, isn’t it, sleeping with Malfoy?”

“Don’t put it below us to extract revenge by any means necessary. If we have to slander you, we will. Just don’t you lose us any points.”

Ron let out a breath of relief. So they didn’t really know about him and Malfoy. It was just a threat to scare him into staying in the tower. Still, though, he couldn’t take any chances. “I’ll get Harry’s cloak,” he told them. “Just in case.”

Fred looked over to George, but then nodded his head. That seemed to satisfy them.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Ron bounded up to the dorm. Harry’s cloak was in his trunk at the foot of the bed. He rummaged through it, throwing out a few extra school robes and shoving books out of the way. The cloak was at the bottom, and he pulled it out and slipped it on. He’d get Fred and George to open the portrait hole for him. Although they weren’t usually helpful, they always encouraged mischief, and now that he had the cloak, he was sure they’d help him.

He put Harry’s robes back in the trunk and tried to remember how everything had been arranged before he had disturbed it.