OMG SO EXCITED RIGHT NOW
I AM GOING TO HAVE A FANTASTIC HALLOWE’EN WEEKEND WITH LOADS OF FANNISH PEOPLE. HOPEFULLY MY AWESOME LACY FROCK COAT WILL DRY IN TIME FOR ME TO BRING IT.
ALSO, I FINALLY GET TO POST THIS.Title:
UnexpectedAuthor: lokifanBeta: elainemalfoyWord count:
It’s Ron’s birthday, and apparently his birthday gift is a surprise. This will almost definitely be a good thing. Right?Warnings:
cross-dressing (ie Draco in knickers)Disclaimer:
The boys belong to JKR, even though I’m often much nicer to them than she is.Author’s Notes:
This one is for sexyscholar
, who has had a very rough time of it lately. As a birthday present, and token of my affections :) For she is adorable and lovely and always incredibly supportive. I hope you enjoy!
“It’s going to be a surprise.”
Those words from Draco’s lips should have worried Ron. Draco Malfoy had surprised Ron several times in his life, and not always happily. Even now, there were several surprising
things that Ron’s contrary lover could do for his birthday than Ron wouldn’t like at all.
But then, a lot of Ron’s life had been unexpected. Neither breaking up with Hermione, nor going into the Department of Magical Games and Sports, had been in his plans. Certainly it was a surprise to find himself drunkenly kissing Draco Malfoy at an office party; it was a downright shock to find himself bending him over a table that same night. He still turned round every so often and blinked at himself: was this, happily living with Draco Malfoy, actually his life? Draco was the greatest surprise of Ron’s life, and the happiest; so a birthday surprise from him was sure to be a good thing.
Ron’s silence and expression apparently spoke for him. Draco laughed, his breath sliding warmly over Ron’s cheek. “Don’t you trust me?”
“I choose not to answer that, because it’s my birthday and I want to have sex.”
Draco made a hmph noise and moved, his sleep-warm naked body sliding over Ron’s skin. His elbow pushed into Ron’s stomach, his unseen slim fingers wriggled happily over Ron’s hipbone; the awkward physicality of it all was bliss. Ron stared at the ceiling, grinning, for a moment. I get to have sex with
him! he thought gleefully at the world, and hoped Draco had not become a Legilimens on the sly.
Draco’s warm fingers wrapped around his cock, and Ron made a breathless, cut-off sound, pushing up into the grip. Draco sniggered against his shoulder. “Needy this morning.”
“Don’t be rude,” Ron mumbled. He was still sleepy and grumpy, but one part of his body was awake and rearing to go. He rolled over. The movement dislodged Draco’s hand, but it was worth it; Ron wrapped his arms around Draco and lay still under the duvet, pressed against warm and deliciously naked skin. Draco wriggled a little closer, pressing against Ron’s cock enough to send chills through him, and kissed his grin.
“Happy birthday, Mr Weasley.”
Ron kissed him again, mumbling “Happy birthday to me,” against plush lips. The kiss was long, and leisurely, and probably involved horrific morning breath on both sides, but Ron was not in the state of mind to care. He gripped Draco more firmly around the waist, drawing a complaining noise from the lovely lips, and rolled back over, bringing Draco on top of him.
Then he smiled widely and spread his legs. “Can I have a happy birthday fuck now?”
Draco, the horrifyingly spoilt brat, actually pouted
at this invitation. “I’m sleepy. Can’t you fuck me? I love it when you fuck me while I’m still half asleep.” He pressed his body closer, his lips so close to Ron’s ear that they almost kissed it with each word, hot breath curling round the sensitive skin. These were entirely unfair tactics, and Ron was determined that they would not work. “Don’t you love it too? I’ll be all relaxed and pliant, you can have me just how you want, and...”
“Stop it before I agree,” Ron said very fast. “It’s my birthday, so for once you will not manipulate me, you horrifically bossy little bottom. You’re going to fuck me, and you’re going to do it like you mean it.” He grabbed the little tube of lube from his bedside table, and handed it very firmly to his boyfriend.
Draco made a patently insincere face, and kissed him. Ron smiled, enjoying the smug glow of getting the better of Draco for once. He stroked Draco’s back, enjoying the lean lines of Draco’s body, as Draco’s hands stroked gently through his hair. One slid down to trace the soft skin below Ron’s ribs, and Ron made a hoarse sound into Draco’s mouth; that spot always made him squirm. Draco chuckled warmly, and the hand travelled still further down his side, stroking gently down his left hip. Ron kept kissing him, fervent, as Draco’s hand travelled round the curve of thigh to reach his crease.
He made a garbled noise that did not resemble words in any way as a slick finger smoothed its way inside him. By the time Draco was satisfied, Ron was pushing down on his fingers like there was no tomorrow, a hand grasping roughly at Draco’s hair as they kissed. Draco was still stretching him, ignoring Ron’s impatience. Grinning suddenly against his lips, Ron moved his right hand from groping Draco’s arse to pinch his nipple cruelly.
Draco gasped, his mouth falling open in pain and lust; he pulled his fingers out, shoved Ron’s knees to his ears and said “all right then, you little bugger. You’re going to find sitting about all day hard if I have any say in it.”
Ron laughed, glee spiralling inside him, as Draco pushed inside. Then Draco started wanking him, and Ron was far too busy moaning and murmuring ridiculous things and pulling Draco’s hair because the little masochist adored it to laugh.
Draco proved as good as his word.~*~
Ron liked his job; monitoring professional Quidditch for the Department of Magical Games and Sports involved a lot of watching Quidditch matches, and practical spellwork that he enjoyed. Besides, whenever Draco made fun of him for needing to have an actual job (as opposed to somehow being busy and important and rich without having one) Ron teased him right back, and talked a lot about how fit and young the Falmouth Falcons’ new Seeker was.
Today, though, he just couldn’t focus. It didn’t help that he’d had to get ready in a hurry after their delicious morning sex.
The first thing he saw when he got into the office was a towering pile of parchment: somehow Ron had been lumbered with the job of reviewing a three-hundred-page piece of proposed legislation for the monitoring of professional Quidditch equipment. Ron stayed flattened against the door, blinking at the behemoth, for long seconds before he managed to walk to his desk and get started.
Despite Ron’s usual enjoyment of his work, this was just not interesting. And he was distracted by wondering what Draco’s surprise was going to be. Draco wouldn't give him something he really wouldn’t enjoy, would he? But what if it was a joke present? What if he bought horrifying sex toys from the adult section of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes? What if he redecorated the house and brought in Malfoy portraits to sneer at Ron’s endowment while they had sex? What if he hired male strippers for tomorrow’s dinner at the Burrow?
Wait, no. Ron tried to slow his racing brain. Draco wasn’t going to do those things. He was a loving boyfriend and he cared about making Ron happy more than he cared about the chance to point and laugh at Ron and his family and friends.
Oh, Merlin. He was doomed.~*~
Ron was thankful that it was his birthday; otherwise, he’d never have got away with the amount of staring out of the window that he did that morning. The pleased excitement, and the frantic anxiety, both made him squirm and fidget in his chair. He caught two of his colleagues exchanging a significant look and a giggle after one especially noticeable wriggle, and felt his ears go red.
Lunch was lovely, though. Harry and Hermione came by, and took him out for lunch at a nice Indian restaurant – the kind Ron loved because it was the sort of food his mother would never make. It was always fun, and very comfortable, to be just the three of them. Ron wasn't sure why warm nostalgia for his days at Hogwarts filled him whenever the three of them ate together; his teenage years had been significantly more stressful than adulthood, what with the smorgasbord of evil teachers and the giant killer spiders and the evil tyrant constantly trying to kill his best friend.
Perhaps it was no wonder he’d gone for someone who made him nervy with promises of surprise and sprung things on him and could be counted upon to threaten his life with plates thrown at his head if they had a fight. After that
adolescence, anyone other than Draco would have been insufferably boring as a lover.
His friends wished Ron a happy birthday, and gave him presents: a state-of-the-art Muggle camera from Harry, and three books on photography from Hermione. This included The How-Tos Of Pornography
, which was exactly what it sounded like. “A present for both of you,” Hermione said, straight-faced.
“Malfoy’s a bit of an exhibitionist, right?” Harry said with a wolfish grin.
Ron’s ears went red and he mumbled an answer, which caused both his friends to roar with laughter. Yes, Draco was
an exhibitionist; but Ron wasn't about to discuss that with his friends. Too much chance they'd bring it up with Draco, and then Ron would be castrated with a spoon for spilling their sexual secrets.
This despite the fact that Pansy Parkinson apparently knew the exact measurements of his cock, and had used them to create a Weasley Men Are Vikings In The Sack Pack to sell from George's ‘adult’ section. Draco swore Pansy was simply ‘a very good guesser’. Sceptical of this, Ron had made Draco learn the exact measurements of his cock all over again - he'd practically imprinted the mould into Draco's throat by the end of the night - before he let it drop.
Ron thanked them for their gifts, and settled in to listen to Hermione sermonise on what a disgrace the education of werewolf children was, and how she and Luna were going to make sure every magical child had a Hogwarts education if it was the last thing they did. Ron believed her; after all, his shrugging response to Spew had never had much impact. If Hermione and Luna had one thing in common, it was that belief from the common man meant little to them.
Ron told them that Draco’s present was a surprise. At this, Harry’s green eyes flickered across to meet Hermione’s gaze before they both loudly said how they knew nothing but they were sure it would be fine. Suspicious, but vaguely reassured, Ron made his way back to the office and settled in for an afternoon of worrying about Draco’s surprise and airing out his tongue.
At five o’clock, Ron sprang from his chair like he’d sat on a firework, grabbed his outer robes and headed for the Floo. Laughing, Maureen called “have a happy birthday!” behind him.
He came out of the Floo into his sitting room, to find Draco waiting by the fireplace. “Draco?”
Draco grinned at him shyly, scratching the back of his neck. Ron loved his shy gestures, moments when he fidgeted or tripped or in some other way forgot the comportment that had been drilled into him. “Hello.”
“So... do I get to have my surprise now?”
Draco’s forehead creased; for a moment he was clearly debating his answer. Then he smiled sunnily up at Ron and said, “yes. Here.” He turned round, and the next moment was cramming blue cloth into Ron’s hands. “Muggle clothes.”
Ron looked at what he was holding, and blinked. Blue denim – jeans, and a navy cotton t-shirt. Proper Muggle clothes. Draco must have researched this; perhaps he’d asked Hermione or Harry for help. Certainly his own friends wouldn’t have a clue.
Draco’s pointed, “well?” made him realise he hadn’t responded: he’d simply been looking at the clothes in his hands. Ron looked up, and saw that two faint spots of pink marked Draco’s cheeks, and he was on the verge of pouting. “Let me guess,” Draco continued, voice still needle-sharp. “You’re now going to reveal that all that Muggle-loving was a lie, and actually you’re horrified at the thought of wearing Muggle clothes?”
Ron smiled at his defensive lover. “Not at all. This is great! Give me a second to get changed.” Draco seemed ready to give a sarcastic retort, but he choked on his sarcasm as Ron opened his robes right there, and let them fall. He wriggled into the jeans – strange to feel them against his skin, he’d rarely worn Muggle clothes in adulthood – and then the t-shirt. For a finishing touch, Draco handed him socks and a pair of massive white trainers.
Ron laced them up carefully while Draco watched. His eyes were intent, as if he were trying to work out how the trainers worked; it was very sweet. Ron smiled at him. “So what now? Or is the surprise your secret fetish for me in Muggle clothes?”
Draco’s cheeks flamed, and Ron roared with delighted laughter.
“Shut up!” Draco’s tone suggested he was about to stamp his foot. “I don’t
! And anyway, that’s not everything! Stop laughing!” Ron couldn’t quite do it: Draco’s pink-cheeked indignation at his laughter was simply too charming.
Then Draco started to unbutton his robes.
Draco gave him a withering look. “It’s not what you think.” He dropped his robes, letting them land around his feet in an expensive puddle of ruinously creased fabric.
He was wearing Muggle clothes.
Ron nearly swallowed his tongue. “You – how – ”
“I asked Granger to help me,” Draco mumbled. He wasn’t quite meeting Ron’s eyes. “I didn’t want to get it wrong.”
Nothing about this could be wrong. Ron was very sure of that.
Draco was wearing jeans
. They followed the slim lines of his legs perfectly. Ron nearly swallowed his tongue as Draco shifted under his wide eyes: the movement had the denim stretching tightly across his thighs. An image of himself wanking Draco – his hand thrust inside the jeans and chafing on the rough material as Draco pleaded and moaned – flashed in Ron’s mind with shocking vividness.
He was wearing trainers too, dark green ones with white soles, and a long-sleeved black t-shirt that emphasised the shocking white-blond of his hair. His hair that was in his eyes now, as he dipped his head. Draco’s cheeks were blotchy pink, like he’d been slapped, and he’d crossed his arms defensively.
Ron reminded himself that if he tried to give Draco a hug just now, he might well be decapitated. And he wasn’t going to die before he’d had the chance to fuck a Draco in Muggle clothes.
“You look amazing.”
Draco narrowed his eyes, watching Ron closely. He obviously recognised Ron’s – somewhat strained, no doubt – expression, the way Ron flushed but tried to keep his face blank. Slowly his scowl blossomed into a smile. “All right. Shall we go?” He lit the fire and threw Floo powder in. Ron didn’t move.
“Er – where are – ”
“Do you trust me?” Draco sounded almost angry: a blaring sign he felt uncertain.
Ron shook his head, smiled, and put his hand in Draco’s. “Of course.”
Although Draco was smaller than him, and built on far less rangy lines, his hands were big. They looked funny at the end of his skinny wrists, but the clasp of a hand only slightly smaller than Ron’s was reassuring as Ron followed him into the Floo.
Then Draco called out, “the Stag and Unicorn!”
It was the name of Ron’s favourite pub. Ron breathed a sigh of relief as they began to travel, and promptly began to choke on soot. He was still coughing when he and Draco came out of the pub’s Floo.“Happy birthday Ron!”
The chorus seemed to reverberate in Ron’s ears with its volume. The pub was stuffed to the rafters with a crowd of his friends, colleagues, schoolmates and relatives, all grinning and cheering. There was a banner hanging above, with HAPPY BIRTHDAY RON on it – unmistakeably George’s work, since it was flashing rainbow colours and occasionally sending off tiny fireworks.
Happiness exploded inside Ron at the sight of them all: joking and smiling and raising their glasses, and here for him
. His relatives seemed to outnumber everyone else put together, although that was partly because they were so often enormous, and so very redheaded. And because they were coming over: a crowd of Ron’s brothers was descending. Already laughing, Ron nevertheless felt Draco tense a little; George made him nervous. Ron returned Draco’s tightened grip with a reassuring squeeze before he allowed himself to be caught up in the tide of Weasley men.
Draco disappeared to talk to their mutual friends, and Ron got caught up in laughing with his brothers, rolling his eyes at their teasing, trying to hold three beers at once as everyone tried to buy him birthday drinks.
Draco turned out to have rented the pub for the night. He’d invited everyone, it seemed: the place was stuffed to the rafters and ringing with the sound of laughter.
The best part, though, was that everyone there was in Muggle clothes.
Hermione was in a sweet yellow sundress; Harry was in a very tight t-shirt, in an apparent rebellion against the Dursleys; Rich from the office wore flowery shorts and a button-down shirt. Most of the Muggle-borns were in jeans – usually baggier and more worn-looking than the ones Draco was wearing. The ones that really showcased the sweet curves of his arse, and were responsible for more than a little zoning out on Ron’s part. He smiled guiltily at Parvati, who was looking cross as she tried to wish him a happy birthday, and dragged his eyes from Draco’s elegant form.
Still, his fingerprints were everywhere Ron looked: let no man say that Draco Malfoy skimped on a party theme. He felt something heavy and sweet in his chest at the thought that Draco had chosen to ignore his prejudices for the night, so he could make Ron happy. Draco silently – or not-so-silently – sneered at Ron’s interest in Muggles rather often. But for tonight, Draco had actually allowed Muggle clothes to touch his pampered pureblood skin, and Ron couldn’t be more pleased.
Or turned on. He wanted to bend Draco over the table right here and thank him with great enthusiasm.
After an hour had vanished in a whirlwind of people’s good wishes and trying to remember the names of everyone’s spouse, Ron ended up sitting at the biggest table there with his Gryffindor dormmates – except Neville, for some reason – drinking Bitterbeer. Seamus was trying to drink every kind of whiskey the Stag and Unicorn stocked, and was seeing treble.
“Hi there,” Ron said. Draco was leaning in, elbows planted on the table next to Ron. He was ignoring Lakra, Ron’s only goblin colleague, who sat on Ron’s other side; but his focus on Ron was so strong that Ron couldn’t find it in himself to mind. Draco was smiling and bright-eyed, and holding a glass of Firewhiskey which couldn’t be his first: his hair was a little ruffled. Ron smiled back. “How are you doing?”
“Very well,” Draco replied, automatically polite. “Not like Lavender.” He started to chuckle. “She’s hitting on Longbottom, and he obviously has no idea what to do.” Draco rounded his cheeks a little, and gave Ron a wide-eyed look. “Er... well, I... I like being Herbology professor... I don’t, erm...” Ron bit back a laugh. “And she’s getting pissed off but she’s still making an effort and it’s just making him even more bamboozled.” Draco ruffled his hair then threw his head back, laughing in an ear-piercing way Ron recognised very well. Draco’s impressions were often cruel but always accurate – especially when he was like this, excited but not quite drunk.
, Neville! You should be on stage!” Draco leant forward, squeezing his upper arms against the sides of his chest as if to push forward non-existent breasts, and widened his eyes. His tongue made a slow circuit of his lips, and Ron’s cock jumped. Ron took a deep breath and reminded it very firmly that Draco was kidding
. But Draco was close enough for Ron to taste the alcohol on his breath, and Draco was giving him an overblown pout and wide, solemn eyes, as if he took Ron very seriously and would love for Ron to sweep him into a kiss –
Harry’s laugh distracted them both. “Stop eye-fucking him, Malfoy, this is a public forum.”
Draco pulled back instantly and made a face at Harry. “Just because Lavender’s not aiming her cleavage at you, Potter – ”
Draco bent over the table, probably in an effort to be a bit closer and more intimidating, as Harry retorted. They could laugh together now, for Ron’s sake, but the rivalry between them still leaked out in banter and body language.
And thank Merlin for it – Ron’s eyes went automatically to Draco’s arse as he bent over.
It wasn’t his fault. Alcohol always got him going, and people kept buying it for him to celebrate the slow decay of his liver. And Draco was in jeans
Distracted both by Draco’s arse and by justifying his ignoring the conversation to appreciate it, it took Ron a moment to register what he’d seen. Draco’s pale lower back was exposed by the low-slung jeans and his top riding up. And at the hips, above the line of the jeans, was an ever-so-thin strip of scarlet lace.
Ron’s mouth went drier than the Sahara, and his brain went blank. Draco was still laughing, his face bright, while Harry rolled his eyes. Ron couldn’t think.
Draco was wearing knickers. Red knickers
were stretched over Draco’s prick. Ron could strip him and see him in nothing but a scrap of scarlet lace right now
He tried to stand up, only to realise that if he did, his height and Lakra’s lack of it would put his erection directly in her eyeline. So instead he patted Draco’s flank to get his attention. “Draco.”
“Yes?” Draco turned, and saw Ron’s face. After a confused moment, recognition flickered across the pointed features and he straightened. The line of red lace was hidden again. He leant in closer to Ron. Ron could smell his hair. It didn’t smell of anything special, just that hair-musk and Ron’s vanilla shampoo, but it still made his heart rate jump.
“So you saw,” he breathed.
“And you’re going to Apparate home right now and show me your knickers.” Ron’s voice wasn’t a weightless puff of quiet lust like Draco’s; it was almost a growl.
Draco shivered a little, but recovered. “No I am not. We’re grown ups and I’m damned if – ”
Ron grinned, wrapped his arms round Draco’s waist and pulled. Draco fell, straight-legged as he fought it, straight into Ron’s lap.
Draco squalled in outrage as Ron’s friends laughed heartily. They hadn’t heard the quick exchange, of course; but they didn’t need to. Draco was straddling Ron’s left thigh and being cuddled to within an inch of his life. Ron gave a wide, silly smile and snuggled his face against Draco’s back, playing up for the laughing crowd.
Draco tugged at his forearms, struggling hard. He couldn’t get any decent leverage, though, and Ron simply tightened his arms round him. Ron fought with Bludgers for a living, and had had five brothers besides; there was no way Draco could defeat him physically.
He could always win for pure drama, though.
“Get off me you horrible, abusive brute! Let go right now!”
“Nope! You’re mine now,” Ron shouted, laughing.
Harry shook his head, laughing. “Carry him back to your castle, mate!”
“Shut up, Potter!” Draco dug his nails into Ron’s forearms, the little bastard, and Ron decided he couldn’t wait any more.
“Thanks for coming, everyone!” he called, and Disapparated.
Ron fell backwards, Draco half-sprawled on top of him, as the pub bench seemed to disappear from under them. They hit the sitting room floor with a whompf
. Ron laughed breathlessly, joy welling up inside him, as Draco wriggled round atop him – pointy elbows forcing themselves into every soft part of Ron’s body – and kissed him.
Draco’s mouth tasted like Firewhiskey; his kiss passed the tang of it to Ron’s mouth. Groaning, Ron slid his fingers through Draco’s hair, holding him in place, and chased every trace of the whiskey from Draco’s mouth. All through the long kiss, Draco was touching him, hands squeezing Ron’s arse and pushing up his Muggle shirt.
He would never have believed ice-blond Draco Malfoy would be warm and moaning atop him, wanting him.
Ron turned, tumbling Draco onto his back on the carpet. Draco sprawled there, a little surprised but grinning with his swollen mouth. His hair was ruffled, and his long jeans-clad legs were open, and he was obviously willing to let Ron do as he liked.
Ron felt his focus narrow inescapably, and he reached for Draco’s jeans. He fought with the button and zip for what seemed like endless seconds – stupid Muggle invention, zips – and then Draco’s fly was open and his knickers were revealed. Draco raised his hips, letting Ron pull the jeans down. He hated to see them go, but the mouthwatering length of Draco’s cock was accessible to his hands and mouth and that was all that mattered.
The scarlet lace was vivid against Draco’s pale, soft skin. Ron slid a hand along Draco’s stomach, enjoying how it jumped under his touch, tracing the line of the knickers. Draco’s breathing was harsh, his hips pushing up a little, seeking stimulation. His cock was hard, and there was only just enough fabric in the knickers to contain the head.
Ron lowered his head, unable to resist, and tasted Draco’s cock through the knickers stretched across his hips.
Draco groaned and slid his fingertips into Ron’s hair; his fingers tightened as Ron slid down. Ron enjoyed the sensation for a few moments as he sucked Draco’s cock, enjoying the weight and the heat of it. Then he slid off and took hold of Draco’s slim wrists. Their eyes met and held as Ron pushed Draco’s wrists down by his head. Draco’s breath hitched audibly, and when Ron moved away, Draco left his wrists where Ron had put them.
Pre-come was soaking through the lace, now. Ron went back to work, licking assiduously until the fabric was sopping from his mouth. Draco was panting in tight puffs of breath, his thighs like rock under Ron’s hands. He was obviously trying to stay still, to let Ron do as he liked, to obey Ron’s wishes and keep his wrists against the floor. Teasing, Ron slid Draco’s cock into his mouth again, went down until Draco’s pale pubic hair was tickling his nose; Draco made a soft, stomach-punched sound as his whole body went tense. He was straining for obedience, and that made Ron’s whole body feel like it was burning.
Ron kept sucking, ramping Draco up; the ache of his own cock was almost forgotten in the pleasure of Draco’s choked-off moans. But this wasn’t how he wanted Draco to come. Ron let the head of Draco’s cock slip between his lips, feeling its heat under the slight scratch of the lace. “So hot,” he murmured.
“Didn’t your mother teach you not to t-talk with your mouth full?” gasped Draco.
Ron snorted and put his palms on Draco’s tense inner thighs, forcing his legs further apart. He wandlessly summoned the lube in the sofa cushions and got it open with fingers clumsy from impatience. He slicked his fingers, then edged the knickers aside and pressed two fingers inside Draco’s cramped heat.
Draco gasped, and Ron had to use the other hand to hold him down.
The angle was awkward, and Draco wasn’t making it any easier as he writhed on the floor. Ron kept one hand on his thigh, to hold Draco in place, but Draco squirmed nonetheless. His hips shifted restlessly as Ron plied him with fingers and tongue, stretching and sucking him. Ron’s ears were full of the pounding of blood in his head and Draco’s rough breathing as he got closer to the edge -- too close.
He pulled back.
Draco was still in his black top, his cheeks bright pink and his hair a mess. His eyes were dark, and he grinned in an attempt at smugness. “Like what you see, Weasley?”
Ron’s eyes slid down the long bare length of Draco’s legs with their sparse blond hair, and the scarlet knickers so wet you could see every vein on Draco’s cock, and the way for all that Draco was trying to look smug and poised, his hips were rocking forward ever so slightly. Desperate for touch.
Ron grinned, knowing it was what Draco called his lion-grin. “I do.”
He reached for the hem of Draco’s top; Draco obediently raised his arms for Ron to lift it over his head, ruffling his hair. Ron reached for Draco’s hard nipples instantly, and stroked his fingertips over them to make Draco gasp. Pinching them made him groan; Draco’s hips jerked again, his reddened cock shining with precome.
“Hands and knees,” Ron ordered, his voice hoarse with arousal. Draco nodded, his eyes glazed, and rolled onto his hands and knees. Ron rubbed a palm over Draco’s arse, the lace of the knickers tickling him. His pulse was pounding in his ears.
Draco snarled, “get on with it!” but he didn’t move, arse up and head hanging down.
Ron slid the knickers to mid-thigh, and sunk his fingers into Draco’s wet hole.
Draco gave a hoarse gasp, his hole clenching around Ron’s fingers. Ron huffed out a breath, his cock throbbing in reaction. He kept playing with Draco, fingering him until Draco was whining and pressing back against Ron’s hand, seeking more. Draco’s thighs, constrained by the knickers, were trembling and sweat shone along the length of his arched back.
The sight of Draco with his scarlet knickers half-pulled down, groaning helplessly as Ron stretched him, wriggling and pushing into the feeling, was too much. Ron pulled back and got himself in position while Draco was still whining in complaint at the loss of Ron’s fingers inside him. Ron knelt with his thighs bracketing Draco’s, and he spread Draco’s cheeks and pushed his cock inside.
Draco’s breath hitched as Ron entered him. The overwhelming heat and slick tightness of him, after waiting so long, was incredible. Ron fucked him slowly at first, drugged on the satisfaction of finally being inside him, of fucking Draco while the slutty knickers constrained his movements, of feeling Draco push back against him. He reached round for Draco’s cock, and Draco rutted desperately into Ron’s hand.
But it wasn’t enough, and before long they were fucking hard. Ron’s hips thumped against Draco’s arse with every thrust and Draco’s head was hanging down, his fingernails scraping as his hands curled against the floor. Ron could hear himself panting as he pounded into Draco’s heat. Draco was whimpering now. Ron got one long, sweet slide over his prostate and Draco came with a stuttering cry. The clenching of his hole around Ron’s cock and the helplessness of Draco’s cry, the way he shuddered with his orgasm, put Ron over the edge.
They collapsed together in a sticky, sweaty heap, panting. It took Draco almost a minute before he was slapping at Ron to move, which was a personal record. Ron smiled and heaved himself onto his back. He wasn’t getting off the floor.
Draco yawned and settled himself against Ron. His long body was still warm from exertion, his blond hair sweat-slicked against his flushed face. “Sexual depravity makes for the best birthday presents.”
“Of course,” Ron agreed, sliding a hand down to the small of Draco’s back. “I’m surprised you didn’t go for the birthday spanking. Keep up that Muggle theme.”
“What’s a birthday spanking?”
Ron paused, and had to work very hard to keep the smile out of his voice. “It’s a Muggle tradition. It means that whoever’s having their birthday gets to choose someone and give them a spanking for as long as they like.”
Draco’s body, which had been relaxed against him in post-orgasmic lassitude, went taut. Ron snickered, lifted his hand and smacked Draco hard on the arse.
Draco yelped and pulled out of Ron’s arms to sit up. “Is that really a Muggle tradition?” he said.
“Absolutely,” Ron said with a straight face. “You ask Harry the next time we see him, and he’ll tell you that this is exactly how it works.”As long as I get there first,
he thought, and helped Draco over his lap for a well-deserved birthday spanking.