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Ron’s feelings never caught up with his thoughts. He knew, or thought he knew, that it wasn’t his fault he and Hermione were taking a break. But the reality of being without her was still punishing.
Hermione had put it like this: they had started as a trio, and the three of them had an obligation to each other. And if the two of them didn’t work out after getting in too deep, it would fuck Harry over spectacularly. (Ron said that part, not Hermione.)
He knew Hermione had a point, but it still felt like shit not to be with her. He shouldn’t be contemplating another solo round on a Tuesday night in whatever dodgy pub he was in, because he had to be at work in less than eight hours. He was doing it anyway.
He missed her like she was a phantom limb. He was not going to contact her. He was going to see her for lunch in two days and he would talk to her then. Anyone could tell he’d been crying but he was alone in this near-empty pub.
Harry was working an overnight with his new partner and it was mad to feel envious of that, but if he couldn’t be with Hermione he wanted to be around Harry. Everyone else made his head hurt.
Hermione had told him, gently, before the break, that he needed a life outside of her. Ron thought this was stupid. They weren’t really normal people.
He wasn’t going to contact Hermione though, because he was giving her space. Ginny’s words. He felt younger than Ginny, sometimes, which made his head hurt as well. But she was being nice to him.
“Weasley?” said a disbelieving voice.
“Fuck off,” said Ron, automatically, not registering who the voice belonged to until the words had already left him. “Oh. Malfoy. Fuck off, extra.”
Malfoy sat at the bar, instead. Not next to him, thank Merlin, or Ron would have decked him, but only a chair away. There were about six wizards in the whole place, and Malfoy was doing this.
“Right, absolutely, but I’m surprised you’re here.” Unlike his father, Malfoy had avoided Azkaban because Harry had vouched for him. Lunacy. He’d mostly been lying low after the trials.
“It’s a pub. I drink alcohol, which they serve at pubs.”
Malfoy barked out a very strange laugh in response to this, and Ron whirled around to look at him properly. He looked like shit, more or less--too angular, hair a little dull, dark circles under his eyes. His collar was turned up, which looked mind-numbingly stupid.
“It’s not a regular pub, Weasley. Don’t tell me you wandered in here by mistake.”
Ron hadn’t even read the sign. He just knew it was a pub because Seamus had mentioned going once, and it was far away from anywhere he’d been with Hermione, so he Apparated to it. He was trying not to think about anything for more than five seconds at a time.
He glanced around again, wondering what Malfoy was on about, and saw that two of the wizards were snogging at a little corner table. Oh. Brilliant. (Oh. Seamus.)
Because the alternative was admitting he’d been drinking alone at a gay bar without realizing, Ron said, “I don’t really give a shit, about any of that. I’m just drinking.”
“That’s odd,” said Malfoy, which was fair enough. Ron felt his ears getting hot. He hoped Malfoy wouldn’t tell any of his Slytherin pals he’d seen Ron Weasley alone at the gay bar.
Oh. Malfoy. Was also alone at the gay bar.
“I’m here because I’m...not going to fuck anyone tonight,” Ron invented.
“Probably shouldn’t be sitting by yourself at a pouf bar, if that’s the case,” Malfoy pointed out. It wasn’t right to hear him talking sense.
Ron scooted one chair over. “Malfoy, you owe me one. More than, actually. Cover for me.”
“What, from the hordes of admirers who haven’t left your side all evening?” said Malfoy. Nice to know he hadn’t lost his sense of humor.
“You’re the one who--whatever,” said Ron, finishing his whiskey. He stood.
“You look...rough. And I do owe you,” said Malfoy. He put up two fingers. He was getting Ron another drink, amazingly.
Ron sat down again. Said, “I drink for free, most places.” Malfoy raised his eyebrows.
“Thanks,” Ron sighed, wondering who would be throwing him his parade for saying thank you to Draco Malfoy.
“Don’t mention it. Under any circumstances,” said Malfoy. He drank.
Ron laughed a little. “Right, well, so we’re clear, I’m not a pouf, nothing wrong with them, obviously, or you...well, there’s a lot wrong with you, but not not for that. My brother, he...Anyway. I’m just here to drink because I’ve split up with my girlfriend. And I wanted the quiet.”
“You’re certainly the quiet type,” said Malfoy. “Which brother?”
“Charlie,” said Ron.
“He’s fit,” said Malfoy.
“I’ll pass it along,” said Ron irritably. Malfoy said nothing. Ron wondered if he was going to ask about Hermione. He didn’t want Malfoy to say her name.
Instead, Malfoy said, “I was hoping to get laid, is the thing.”
“Everyone here is...old, or a troll,” said Ron. “Or taken.”
Malfoy finished his drink and looked around. “You’re right.”
“Have another, if you like,” said Ron. “I want to keep drinking. Maybe I will become a pouf, now.”
“You have the body for it,” said Malfoy. His eyes darted towards Ron, and then away. Ron was aware his face was burning, but it was only because the comment was such a shock. Unless it was an insult, and he’d misread it. Probably that was the case.
“I still play pick up Quidditch,” said Ron. “You’re a fan of mine, remember?”
He wondered if Malfoy was going to apologize. He found he didn’t really want an apology. Malfoy held up two fingers again and said nothing for a long time, not until their drinks came. Ron forced himself not to, either, which was fine. It was something different.
Then Malfoy took a swig and said, “I lied. I wasn’t surprised to see you here. I knew you and Granger, you know, but some people go both ways. I do.”
“Congratulations,” said Ron. It was what Hermione had told him to say when Charlie came out. Malfoy laughed properly, this time. His eyes were gray. Ron had always thought they were blue. “I don’t know which way I go, since there’s only ever been one person for me.”
“How romantic,” said Malfoy. He was sneering, but it was a different sort of sneer than the one Ron remembered. He downed his drink without taking his eyes off Ron. Then he looked at Ron’s throat.
“Doesn’t matter, now,” said Ron. Something was twisting in his stomach. It wasn’t desire, exactly. It was more sinister than that. It was a snake, curling and uncurling in on itself. It was the way Malfoy had eyed him, up and down. It was the way Malfoy had held up his fingers. It was whatever.
Malfoy kept looking at him. “I’m not a virgin whisperer,” he said. His eyes narrowed. They were drunk and alone. They weren’t kids anymore. Ron swallowed and made a decision.
“I’m not a virgin,” said Ron.
Malfoy arched an eyebrow. “Weasley.”
“Malfoy,” said Ron, growing braver now. He was drunk, but still able to feel his cock stirring. He licked his lips. “You owe me one.”
Malfoy sneered again. His eyes strayed down to Ron’s half-hard cock inside his jeans. It was an answer. “I’m going to the gents’,” he said.
In the five seconds Ron took before following him, he thought of Harry, then decided he was allowed to have one bloody thing that wasn’t about Harry.
Everything kept happening to him. He wanted to make something happen instead.
It was a single use toilet, which was lucky, as Ron didn’t bother to knock, just pushed the door open and joined Malfoy inside. Ron locked the door behind him with his wand, and stood against the door.
He moved towards Malfoy and pressed up against him, looking at his mouth, which was girlish, in a way. He smelled whiskey. He felt Malfoy harden underneath him. It was turning Ron on to know he could turn someone on, like this. Someone he hated. Someone who hated him.
“No need to kiss me,” said Malfoy.
“Fuck that,” said Ron. He yanked Malfoy’s lip down with his teeth, trying to punish him, maybe. He pulled at Malfoy’s hair. It was a little oily. It was like touching a feather.
He did want to kiss Malfoy, though. He wasn’t gentle but he wasn’t rough, either, just covered Malfoy’s mouth with his own, sliding his tongue inside almost immediately. Hermione hated when he did that too soon. He didn’t care what Malfoy thought. Malfoy moaned a little, in Ron’s mouth. It sounded raw.
It was better than hearing him talk.
Ron didn’t know what was next but he didn’t want to lose his lead, and he wasn’t an idiot. He felt Malfoy’s hardness against him and he grabbed for Malfoy’s fly, unbuttoning and unzipping. Malfoy laughed a little. Ron didn’t like that, and kissed the wind out of him.
Ron was good with his hands. He was going to try something. He broke the kiss and pressed his erection against Malfoy’s thigh. He felt Malfoy’s cock over his briefs, thumbing the underside, then gripping the length of it firmly, wondering what would happen.
Malfoy’s eyes opened. He said, “Weasley.”
Ron said, “For fuck’s sake. Ron. I’m Ron.”
Malfoy bit his throat. He said, “Ron,” into the hollow of it, and Ron shivered. He’d forgotten his hands were on Malfoy’s dick outside his boxers and he reached a hand inside. He was trying something new. Malfoy felt hot in his hands, narrower but longer than he was. He was stroking Malfoy, it was not actually all that weird, it was fine, and Malfoy groaned into Ron’s chest.
Ron liked that. He kept stroking Malfoy, rigid and pressing into his hand, and Ron was hard, because he was powerful, doing this. He could watch Malfoy open his mouth and his eyes roll towards the ceiling. Ron was making him do it. Malfoy was hot, and hard, and already leaking, a little.
Malfoy said, “I--” and he stopped. He was panting, wild.
Ron kept stroking, said, “I know, you’re going to come, you’re fucking filthy, go ahead, come, you fucking tosser, fucking hate you, I hate you, come for me.” He said it low, in Malfoy’s ear. He wasn’t sure why he knew it would work, but he did.
Malfoy cried out, just once, a yelp, like someone who’d been caught. Ron felt him shoot into his hands, his cock spasming in Ron’s grip and the fluid dripping down onto his curled fingers. They were both still basically dressed, Malfoy’s dick just hanging out.
Malfoy gave him a blistering look. Ron released his hand and Draco muttered “Scourgify.”
Ron laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “It’s not funny,” he said.
Malfoy said, “Do you ever shut up?”
“Make me,” said Ron, chuckling a little again. It wasn’t funny, but it was hard not to laugh.
Malfoy was touching his chest under his shirt, his hands were all over, groping him, pawing at him, at whatever he could grab, twisting his nipple and feeling around for Ron’s cock, half-hard in his jeans, his mouth on Ron’s ears and jaw.
Malfoy touched Ron’s face, briefly, and planted a kiss square on his mouth. He kissed him slowly, carefully, even. Ron was breathless. He pulled away, looking at Malfoy, who was smirking like he’d figured something out.
Well, fuck that.
Then Malfoy was on his knees in front of Ron.
Malfoy yanked Ron’s jeans down and freed his cock. He licked it, and Ron bit his lip, he was noiseless, he was shutting up, as Malfoy opened his mouth onto Ron, taking the length of him inside. He felt Malfoy’s mouth around him, the warmth and wet of it. His mouth was too soft, like her mouth . He thought it would have been rougher.
Ron wanted to be somewhere else. He was looking at the filthy bathroom tiles and the basket of condoms on the toilet tank. His head was throbbing, and he was here while Malfoy sucked him.
He pushed Malfoy off him. “It’s not...I want to…” he said, miming an obscene gesture. Malfoy rolled his eyes, then nodded, on his knees. He stood and undid his pants, eyes darting, but chin steady.
Malfoy turned around. Ron shoved him against the wall, wanting him to feel the same pounding and angry hurt Ron did. A piercing you are nothing, you are nothing without her voice in his head. He wanted to transfer that to Malfoy. He squeezed Malfoy’s backside, the paleness of it absolutely foreign to him.
“There’s a spell--”
“I know it,” Ron countered. He would show Malfoy that he was better, in every way. Malfoy was nothing.
Ron muttered the lubrication spell. It looked like the wispy beginnings of a Patronus when it shot out of his wand. Ron coated his fingers first. He wanted to hear Malfoy whine.
He went two at a time, he wasn’t starting slow, Malfoy would take it. He hissed. Maybe Ron hissed. He wasn’t sure.
His head was throbbing. He throbbed all over. His cock was purple, pressed against Malfoy’s arse. He wanted to commit the image to memory. He wanted to forget it.
He steadied his hand and added a third finger into Malfoy, who was clenching around him. Hermione said, Women don’t have a prostate, Ron, in his head.
He said, “Shut up,” to Malfoy, who hadn’t said anything. He curled his fingers and thrust as hard as he could, once, then again slowly. Malfoy groaned.
“Yes,” Ron hissed. That was it. He slid his fingers out and rubbed his cock with his hand, looking at Malfoy lubricated and gaping, open. To him.
“I’m going to?” asked Ron, and he thought he could probably stop if Malfoy demanded it. He would stop, if he had to. He was better than that.
Malfoy looked behind him in surprise, or something. It was weird. Then Malfoy said yes through gritted teeth.
Ron helped himself to one of the condoms. There were spells for that too but he couldn’t be arsed. He wasn’t catching whatever Malfoy had. He was rolling the condom on. He rubbed the remaining lube from his fingers onto it. He knew how to do this.
He took five seconds but he wasn’t thinking of anything at all, just staring down at himself, which was fucking bliss, fucking finally .
He hitched up into Malfoy. The warmth of Malfoy pulsating around his cock made his arm shake, and he watched his arm hairs ripple and felt searing heat. He’d lost his head entirely, and didn’t want it back.
Malfoy made a sound like a whimper and Ron was present again and thrusting, gritting his teeth, eyes open to Malfoy’s fluttering hair behind him. He groaned into Malfoy. He could hear his balls slapping as he moved, the noise filthy and disgusting.
He said, “You wanted this, you wanted me to fuck you like this, you wanted my cock up your arse, fucking knew you did, how long have you wanted me, how long?”
Malfoy rutted into him, saying nothing, pale fingers with bitten-down nails trailing down the bathroom wall. Ron thrust harder, wanting more noise out of Malfoy, and Malfoy cried out into him. Ron pressed his face into Malfoy’s sweaty neck, smelling their shared whatever.
“Tell me,” Ron panted, “that you want this.”
“I’m not-- fuck, ” Draco burst out, and he pushed back against Ron, shoving Ron by the shoulder so he had an angle to stroke himself with the other hand.
Ron pushed him back against the wall, trapping Malfoy so he couldn’t reach his cock anymore, hissing low into Malfoy’s ear, “You fucking want this. You want my cock, you want me, you want me to come inside you, tell me you do--”
Draco moaned so loudly Ron felt himself start to lose it. He eased up a little, slowing, muttered low again, in his ear, “I know you need it.”
Malfoy closed his eyes and finally said, “Do it, inside me, use me,” and Ron was stuttering into him, fucking without a rhythm until he got there. Ron was going to mark him. He could be anything, he was powerful, he was somebody. He was better.
Ron’s yelp was a scream, he was saying, “fuckfuckfuck.” Tears were forming in his eyes as he spasmed and shot out inside Draco, because her face was there, she was there, those brown eyes staring through him, he didn’t want her like this at all but he couldn't stop it. He was leaking tears as his cock leaked. Malfoy shook against him with his whole body, coming into the cold tile and coating it with their stupid fucking mistake.
Ron gasped, pulled out, and turned away to wipe his eyes. Fuck. Merlin. Fuck.
Ron found his breath again and chucked the condom into the trash, zipping his pants back up. He swiveled round to catch Malfoy sliding down the bathroom wall. He sat motionless, there, for an eternity. Maybe he was thinking of someone else too. Then he snatched up his wand and cleaned the wall off.
“This stays in here,” said Ron. He sounded hoarse. He expected a retort but Draco just looked up and nodded once. Ron took a step forward, hand outstretched to help him up. Malfoy took his hand, and Ron pulled him to his feet.
He dropped the hand and Disapparated on the spot.
He’d fucked Malfoy. He’d wanted it. But it didn’t matter because he was in love, possibly born that way, would certainly die that way. He was nothing, and Hermione was better than him.
(She woke him up in the morning before his rounds. She was hungover, too. He cried into her shoulder, like a child, and she said, “Sssh, Ron, it’s okay,” and he said he was weak and she said of course he wasn’t, that they were just stronger together. She needed him. She’d gotten this wrong. But she was never wrong, he said, and she laughed, and he would tell her about this, because he belonged to her. Hermione owned his fucking heart. She could have it.)
He thought about Malfoy occasionally, and he knew regret wasn’t the right word for what he felt.