Nectar So Sweet
Draco Malfoy pulled off his padded black gloves and tossed them unceremoniously into his silver-caged locker beside his boots. Flexing his long fingers, he examined his calloused hands. Who says flying a broom is harmless, especially when it involves dodging killer balls and trying to catch a little golden sphere that is faster than the dive of an eagle? His skin was clammy and weighed with dry sweat, which made the task of peeling off his knee-length socks a repulsive and rather smelly experience. His rump was cool against the emerald green bench, not that he could expect more protection from his black silk boxers. The thought of steaming water cascading over him sped his efforts to disrobe. He shrugged out of his Quidditch uniform's bulky windbreaker and let it fall back to drape over the bench as he stood to lift his undershirt over his head. He threw that into his locker as well. Smoothing over his ice blond hair with a delicate hand, he stepped away from his locker and stood before a full mirror to admire his figure.
A lanky and lean-muscled reflection stood happily before the boy who smiled in return. He ran his open palms along his slender sides then brought them forward to allow him to finger the etched lines of his protruding pelvic muscle. Draco Malfoy could not hide the pleasure he took in knowing how handsome he had become at age seventeen. His abs were as defined as surely as his jaw, his chest was developed, and his cheeks were young and perky. Turning to the side he grinned to himself as he observed his rear, Yes, both pairs of cheeks. Satisfied—no, wait, he thought. Slipping out of his luxurious underwear, he gazed once more at his reflection; his nude reflection. With a prideful smirk, Draco Malfoy stepped away from the mirror, picking up his boxers as he went.
The shorts swayed freely on his index finger as he walked to the shower room that was really just a long featureless rectangle with about two dozen shower nozzles lining its side walls. Before entering, he tossed a towel over his shoulder from the full fresh towel bin near the mouth of the shower room. Then, upon entering, he placed his boxers and the towel onto separate hooks; two of many, set purposefully into the inside of the shower walls furthest from the actual showers for clothes towels and what not. He went to the nearest shower and jammed a palm against the serpentine S that protruded from the wall a half-meter below the nozzle. Hot water jetted from the nozzle and Draco bathed in the euphoric warmth, submerging his face into its dozen streamlines. Soon, the shower room was choked with clouds of steam as Draco washed away the cold and filth from his milky flesh.
After what he guessed was about twenty minutes, Draco pressed a dripping appendage against the S and the water ceased its flow, save for a few renegade droplets. He pressed both palms to the front of his scalp then ran them backward, wringing the water from his drenched mane. He took a few moments to dry the majority of his body, head, and face with his towel, slipped back into his boxers, and smoothed over his hair.
Deciding all was finished he draped his towel across his shoulders and turned—only to come face-to-face with Ronald Weasley. The loathsome twit leaned coolly against the threshold of the shower room, arms crossed, wearing a gold-and-crimson bathrobe. His witless smirk agitated Draco even more than his trespassing in the Slytherin locker room.
"Ah, don't you look pretty, Malfoy?" The ginger mocked, his smirk growing.
"Shut it Weasel, what the bloody hell are you doing in here?" Draco seethed through clenched teeth, his fingers flexing instinctively.
"Malfoy," Ron began, his tone oozing false incredulity, "You being the intelligent Prince you are," Draco's gaze narrowed and his cheeks warmed, "I would have assumed you would find it obvious that I've come to congratulate your victory in today's skirmish. Though, we both know Slytherin cheated."
Draco glared and saw through the slanderous claim then consciously flexed his fingers subtly and spoke within his mind. A light clamor sounded from the locker area. Moments later, his hawthorn wand was in his hand and pointed directly at the intruder.
"Care to repeat that, Weasel-bee?"
"Slytherin," he paused, "Cheated."
"That's IT!" Draco sneered and thrust his wand frontward, "Incarcerous!" A rope of golden light shot forth from his wand.
Ron dodged the spell and raised his own wand, which he had kept hidden deviously behind his folded arms, "Expelliarmus!"
The charm hit its mark and Draco's wand flew high into the air toward Ron, whom then caught it with a Keeper's grace and tossed it out of sight.
"No more magic," he tossed his wand in the same direction as he did Draco's, "We're going to settle this the good ole muggle way," the redhead stated, the air of satisfaction plain in his resolution. "I've waited a long time for this, Malfoy. Daddy can't save you now."
At the mention of his imprisoned father, Draco channeled his building fear into pure rage.
"Do not ever talk about my father, you blood-traitor trash." Draco fumed, glaring, his fingers balling into fists.
Ron took a few steps into the room, "What's the matter; Prince-y gonna cry, is he?"
The rage welled in his chest boiled over; Draco charged, his towel flapping off and behind him, and swung his right fist as hard as he could. It crunched against Ron's face, just grazing his bottom lip enough to split it wide. Blood sprayed onto his knuckles.
Ron moved with the impact of the blow and recovered quickly, coming up fast with his right fist into the blond's gut.
Draco's lungs exploded painfully, every ounce of air was expelled from them and little lights popped and blurred his vision. Survival instinct drove his next response as he tackled Ron, carrying them both out of the shower room and onto the locker room floor.
Ron easily propelled the lighter boy off of him, Draco's back slamming against a wall of lockers nearby, and he took his chance to stand up and started to rise.
The blond's cry of pain shifted to a growl of raw fury and came on again, a fire in his eyes. Draco ignored the trickle of blood running down his spine and flung himself onto Ron. They crumpled to the floor and he immediately clamped his long fingers about the redhead's throat. His entire form trembling as he began to choke the life from Ronald Weasley.
Ron struggled against the blond's rage-driven grip, his hands failing to pry away his assailant's long fingers, and felt his lips beginning to cool. Intent on surviving, he mercilessly chopped with the outside of his hands in one brute action against the hinges of Draco's locked-out elbows. The maneuver succeeded and Draco's grasp faltered, bringing the blond's face within reach.
Draco felt his head rock back and forth like one of those idiotic muggle bobble-heads as Ron's fist connected with the outside corner of his left eye and heard him gulp at the air. His body went rigid and Ron rolled atop him, straddled his waist, and pinned his wrists firmly against the cold, smooth granite floor.
"It's over, Malfoy. I win."
"The hell it is," Draco cursed, focus returning, and attempted to thrash about, but found his efforts to be in vain. The boy atop him was heavier than he and stronger, though he hated admitting it, and hated even more to admit that there was no escape.
"Give up, Draco."
"I'd rather d—."
Ron dove with the speed of a Snitch to slam his full lips against Draco's pink and parted ones. Draco eyes were thrown wide and he saw that Ron's eyelids were closed as if sleeping peacefully, not squinted or clenched like he would expect. Soon, his eyelids sagged languidly and closed in the same manner as Ron's; Draco gave himself completely to the kiss. Warm, wet, and tainted by the copper tang of blood as it was. He felt Ron's grip loosen and his hands became free; one entwined about the redhead's rotund, vascular forearm, the corresponding hand followed suit by wrapping about Draco's forearm. His other slid to gently clench the back of Ron's neck.
Fire and Ice lulled about in zealous matrimony. Their gentle maws fitting together like matched puzzle pieces. To break the fit was to break the puzzle; to break the puzzle was to destroy the incarnation of a faultless dream.
Soon, the lips of both parties slowly drew apart, the warmth of twin breaths tickling their skin, and they looked upon another as they never had. They each saw beauty, uncovered the flame of passion, and stared love in its imperfect face, like the soil of a dried-up pond. Within the fractures of love's shattered complexion, the lovers supped at the glimmering rivulets of lust therein. And, what a nectar so sweet it was.
Their parched loins thirsted for more.
Their lips collided again and again, teeth pinching at lips and lips suckling at tongues, only parting to draw sharp breaths before submersing within the tango of red and pink all over again.
Draco drug his nails across Ron's neck, eliciting a moan from the boy, then stopped and rested his palm and fingers around the side of his throat, thumbing the boy's Adam's apple and jaw line as he silenced the moan with the press of his lips and the pull of his body.
Ron relinquished the forearm and interlocked his fingers with its hand and laid the enmeshed hands upon the cool granite while his free hand explored the length of Draco's bare torso and chest. His pioneering phalanges paused intermittently only to briefly tease the boy's already stiff nipples before forging onward and downward, across and about, and back again.
Draco fumbled with the knotted belt looped about the Gryffindor bathrobe, finally working it free.
Fair is fair, he mused, grinning to himself.
Ron took the cue in stride and leaned back and cast off the garment, leaving him only in azure briefs that complimented both his waistline and his soft blue orbs.
His eyes soaked in the illustrious icon of the brawny Adonis straddling him. Prominent pectorals below marvelously engorged deltoids and shoulders, corded biceps, triceps, and radials, all atop and attached to a chiseled abdomen and all glistening behind a thin coat of perspiration. The blond had known Weasley to be athletic, but this was ridiculous.
Suddenly, in an impressive feat of strength, Ron slid his arms beneath and around Draco's torso, his fingers finding handholds in the crooks of the boy's hips, and lifted him effortlessly into the air, drawing a gasp from the blond.
Quieting himself and not missing a beat, Draco wrapped his legs about Ron's backside, his ankles finding tentative ground atop the ginger's firm buttocks.
Over-balanced by the abrupt addition of weight, Ron stumbled forward then backward even more, knocking over the towel bin as he went, then slammed his back harshly into a wall. Still, their passion burned fiercely as ever, their lips never parting for more than a few seconds. He slid to his knees and nudged the blond's chin upward with his nose, allowing him to sow affectionate pecks along Draco's neck that were met with mingled soft moans and giggles. Kissing his tender neck, Ron gently laid his lover onto the newly-made bed of clean towels, continuing their tango, yet to be abated.
Draco lost himself, consumed by the momentous happening; so much so that he did not realize he had been turned onto his stomach nor that his boxers were being slid off his ankles until he felt the tickle of their silken texture on his toes.
"Shh… trust me this once, will you?"
Trust a Weasel? Oh, brilliant idea, genius even, he wanted to say, but could not deny his peaked curiosity… or his manhood—which so happened to be nestled comfortably within the towels beneath him.
He felt rough hands caress the cheeks of his bare rump and closed his eyes. After a few moments the caressing ended and he heard the ruffle of cloth sliding across skin. He sensed the aura of Ron's body heat intensify as the proximity between them diminished once more. The redhead slithered atop him, conforming to Draco's shape. The nude body was hot against that of his cool pale flesh; the sensation was magical. It was only outdone by what followed.
A bumpy wetness slid languorously from the base of his neck down his spine. His spine reflexively became a concave arch as Ron's tongue slid over the half-way mark of his back and continued even further south on the map of Draco's skin. The caress of his cheeks resumed as Ron's salivated tongue slicked over his tailbone. Then, they were gently spread wide.
Gasping, the blond clenched up fistfuls of towel as the wetness skated about his rectum, lathering and coating the opening. His eyes rolled back into his head; the ecstasy that coursed through his veins could not be refuted. The dribble that leaked from his throbbing shaft was more than enough proof to the fact. A moan skipped past his lips as the tongue entered him, wiggled about, slid back, and re-entered. The cyclical process continued till Draco's moans turned soft and his breaths came shorter. From the cheeks of his buttocks, the warm hands moved north to his hips and gently turned him right-side up and he looked upon Ron's naked form first time. Needless to say, he was not in the least disappointed by the sight, if somewhat intimidated.
The flame-haired boy, on his knees between Draco's slightly upraised legs, smiled at the gleaming sheath of clear fluid that covered boy's erection. Then, he leaned over the pale body to steel another pink kiss. Sitting back on his knees, he began to gently stroke himself as well as the prone blond. The strokes of his considerable length turned to rubbing and prodding at Draco's sopping rear.
Draco felt its heat, its bulk, like a warmed iron kissing his most sensitive area again and again. Licking his lips, the blond gave his answer to the wordless inquiry; he nodded.
Ron leaned forward over Draco once more, kissing the smaller boy profusely, desperately, eagerly. Then, he drew back and silver skies linked with blue oceans.
Draco could see it in Ron's eyes, he could feel it; Ron had to be feeling it too.
Is it okay? The oceans asked.
Yes, it's okay. The skies answered.
The blond propped his thighs against Ron's quadriceps, kissing him all the while.
"Go slow, Weasel-bee," he whispered softly, the usual insult lightened by tones of affection, "Or I'll kill you."
Ron grinned then hushed him with a prolonged lip-lock that dwarfed the virtues of star-crossed Romeo and Juliet.
The prods at his rear became one persistent pressure and Draco cringed slightly as the tip of the iron slipped within him. Burly arms slid beneath and around his shoulders, holding him, protecting him, and Ron did not enter further. Wrapped in those warm arms, he felt safer than he ever had; Draco gave Ron a subtle tug at his hips, cuing the gentle giant to continue. Draco bit his lip as Ron slid fully into him. Surprising to him, the pain was minor while the pleasure was absolute.
He arched his back eagerly and clenched towels till his knuckles whitened as he pressed his buttocks against the bulging quadriceps as far he physically could. Gouts of prickly flames erupted from his skin wherever Ron Weasley planted those lush lips: along his neck, about his chest and shoulders, and neck again. Resting himself back against the fluffy white bed, Draco reached up to frame his lover's face then brought it down and kissed the full rouge lips. Slowly, Ron moved his hips back then forward, then back, then forward.
So it began.
With each thrust of the redhead's hips, the tempo increased; with each thrust, Draco Malfoy moaned louder; with each thrust, the blond dug his fingernails harder into Ron Weasley's broad back. Soon, the thrusts became a blur, their youthful steed-like stamina serving them well, more than well.
"Yeah," the blond moaned eagerly. "Right FUCKING there," he screamed shamelessly.
Draco had no idea what Ron had done to find it, but the spot he hit was perfect and the boy thrummed it again and again.
Their grunts and moans, loud and soft, deep and high pitched, reverberated off the granite floor and walls, the silver lockers and emerald benches. Their lips locked time and again, passing soft whimpers of jubilation between them. Ron plunged within Draco, his repetitive spelunking halted only by pale quivering thighs. Their short breaths came longer and longer, heavier and heavier as their endless love-making masked the passage of time. Soon, the moment was upon them.
Draco's shaft throbbed painfully which contrasted wonderfully against the numbing bliss within him that brought him ever closer to the brink of oblivion. He was close.
Ron's flesh was as bright as a ripe strawberry and his light blue eyes were glossed over. His breathing was slow and his thrusts fell into rhythm with the rise and fall of his chest. He was close.
Gently, Ron hefted Draco up with ease and sat back on his knees, holding the boy around his waist and gripping his hips. The blond leaned into him and wrapped his wiry legs about the sweat-slicked body and hooked his arms under Ron's and gripped the thick shoulders. Their chests pressed together. In their ears they heard the beat of their hearts; a unified melody.
The realms of silver and blue linked once more.
Ron buried his crown of flame against the pale chest and his muscles snapped taut, his arms constricting about the slender waist. With all his might, he thrust his hips upward and shoved the boy downward simultaneously as his entire form convulsed.
Draco tossed back his mane of ice, his legs involuntarily squeezing tighter as he arched his spine to conform to the embrace, and entrenched his fingertips into the shoulders. A feral roar vibrated vehemently against his chest and he clamped his maw to Ron's thick neck to muffle his responsive, would-be scream of sheer unadulterated elation. His delight manifested in the piercing release that pulsated forth from his length, drenching the heaving torso that it was pressed up against. He fell, backward, into paradise, his lover collapsing atop him then rolling off to his side.
For a long while they listened, unmoving, to their breathing; first heavy, compulsory, expelled from mouths held agape. The pace decreased gradually to steady, then calm, now expelling solely from their nostrils.
Ron's shaggy hair tickled Draco's chest as he laid his head upon it then draped an arm across the boy's slender hips. Though the affection was unwarranted, he welcomed it, craved it even, and nestled the long digits of a hand within the fiery locks.
The realization caused a lone eyebrow to arc as he leered at the blank ceiling.
Well, fuck… by Merlin's bushy-ass beard, I'm in love with a Weasel.
Hope you had a good read :]