my_thestral ◾ ◾ Fic: Art of denial (Part 10)

Author's note: I just need some more time to make this one chapter complete... :P
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Word count: 2865 (this part)
Rating: Hard R? You tell me (not if you're under legal age, of course)
Disclaimer: No such thing as my characters yet - if I ever develop any originals, you'll be the first to know - thus I can't sell them, ergo not making any profit.

“There is a visitor at the door for you, Master,” a rather alarmed house-elf informed the party gathered in the breakfast parlour of the Malfoy Manor.

“How bizarre,” Lucius Malfoy raised his eyebrow and looked at his house-elf darkly as if this was somehow his fault. “Who visits at this ungodly hour? It is not even 9 in the morning, how very inappropriate! But perhaps if it’s urgent... Well, do not be disturbed,” he motioned to his wife and son when he got up. “I shall deal with this promptly.”

And he entirely missed it when the jittery house-elf squealed after him: “But, Master... it is not for you! He demands to see Master Draco,” he added miserably and Draco got up abruptly sensing a disaster. He wouldn’t dare, would he...?

“Draco!” The fury in his father’s voice was unmistakable. He stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed and literally spitting through his teeth: “Why is there a Weasley in my house, demanding to see you!?”

The way he had said it one would think they have suddenly found themselves in the vicinity of a particularly nasty smelling pile of Hippogriff waste and the young blond closed his eyes for one deadly moment, wishing he was anywhere but here – and exhaled slowly. Well, nothing for it now...Bloody Weasel...

“Well, Father, since you absolutely refuse to discus my employment at the Ministry and any details in connection to my work,” he stressed the word with almost perverse pleasure, “I was unable to inform you that I have been recently paired to Ron Weasley as a part of the Auror-Healer trial programme. Well, not so recent, now that I think of it,” he shrugged. “Would be four months now, actually and I think the trial stage of the programme might be a thing of the past – I believe myself quite cemented to my old arch-enemy. Just one of life’s little ironies, don’t you think?” he looked at the enraged man with a smirk and saw his eyes positively shoot arrows.

“And you... did you know about this... disgrace?!” Lucius barked at his wife next, desperately trying to get a grip on his boiling feelings.

“Well, of course, darling,” Narcissa said as calmly as the sea before the storm. “I made it my business to know. And I believe I might also have a clue as to why the young man is here today.” She looked at her husband with unfathomable ice-blue eyes and then turned to Draco: “I’m fairly certain this has to do with the wedding invitation. One has been sent to him and his spouse with the first owl this morning.” “At your explicit wish”, was wisely kept to herself.

But Lucius all but exploded anyway.

“What on Salazaar’s bloody Earth is this madness?! Have you gone utterly insane, the pair of you!? There will be no Weasleys on my only son’s wedding! They are blood-traitors, a filthy lot, every last one of them, where is your sense of propriety?!” Lucius was about as flushed as his son ever saw him and there was malice in his voice that clearly testified of the generations-long hatred between the two pureblood families.

But Narcissa would not be intimidated. She got up from behind the table abruptly, almost as tall as her husband, and majestic in her cold disdain:

“I should very much like to know where is yours!” she shot at him and there was a rare flare of the Black temper at the bottom of her crystal eyes. “There will not be a whole nest of Weasleys sitting at your table – you know very well as I do, that they would decline the invitation even if one was issued. But this one Weasley will be there, so help me God - if he accepts. Which he might not, hearing you rage about his family most indecently at the top of your voice! How very crude and inappropriate, Lucius!

Need I remind you that the Weasleys, in spite of what you may think of them, are highly respected, present in all layers of our society, from banks to Ministry departments to commerce and sports – and on top of that they are purebloods and as such in every way entitled of having one of their family present at the bonding of two other pureblood families! It is our custom and it is proper! The young man Draco has chosen to invite as his guest is his partner at the Ministry and your son’s life might depend on him, so don’t you dare speak derogatively of him, ever again! Need I remind you he is Harry Potter’s best friend and you’ve been trying to redeem yourself in the eyes of a Saviour for years!”

“Besides,” she added on a softer note, when she saw a flabbergasted look in his eyes – indeed, Lucius Malfoy was very rarely at the receiving end of his wife’s scolding – “This is your son’s wedding and he’s fit to do as he pleases. Or do you want to extinguish the joy of his marriage before it even began? Think, Lucius!” she hissed almost inaudibly. “This was hard enough and Draco is very unwilling! Do not ruin this for our family!” she warned him and saw his anger deflate.

She cast a cautious look in the direction of her son, but Draco was no longer there. Once he saw his mother get up adamantly to take on this battle for him, he knew he was no longer needed. His father would yield, no doubt about it, no one ever stood a chance against Narcissa Malfoy if she put her mind to it. But Ron... Ron was an entirely different game.

Sticking to the old Malfoyian lore that the best defence is, in fact, offence, he launched into the reception room without as much as a hint of remorse showing and hissed towards the visibly seething redhead:

“Have you gone utterly mad?! How dare you bring your business into my father’s house?!”

“Mad?! Oh, so now I’m the one who’s mad!? What the fuck is this thing, Malfoy, this… invitation!?”

Ron was practically howling, a clear indication that he was more than just a little beside himself. And once the hard envelope hit him straight in the face Draco’s resolve to stay cool shook dangerously. Because he only had to look into those brilliant blue eyes to see that under the rage and the unforgivably booming voice there was genuine hurt that made him think he has once again ominously approached one of the invisible boundaries of their fragile relationship. And that... he could not have that, not at this point in his life.

“Keep it down!” he hissed once more and stepped closer, just to maintain some semblance of control, but from up close Ron’s eyes were flashing with fire and looking dangerous and so very blue Draco had no strength to hold him back. “Please,” he whispered helplessly and did the only sane thing that came to his mind. He grabbed his upper arm and apparated them into his private quarters, away from the prying eyes, away from the scandal about to erupt, away from his life crumbling to pieces because he couldn’t do this alone.

The second Ron came to his senses he pounced at him, but it was not the lover’s game they’ve become accustomed to, this was the brutal force behind the Auror Ronald Weasley, with eyes suddenly as dark as the midnight sky and his outstretched arm holding him by the neck, cutting him short of breath.

“Why the fuck are you so dead set on hurting me?!” he growled and Draco count his lucky stars that the privacy charms were a standard equipment of all the Malfoy quarters. Barely able to breathe and high from adrenaline rush he stared into that darkened mesmerising face, dizzy and tense at the same time, and the truth flew out uncalled for:

“I can’t do this without you.”

And just like that he was allowed to breathe. Ron’s fist slackened as he looked at him with a frown, as if he didn’t know what to think of this statement – but it didn’t let go, ready to do his master’s bidding and squeeze the life out of the blond menace some more, should his explanation not make sense.

“You can’t do this to me,” said Ron in a quieter voice. “You can’t make me go through your wedding. I’ll be a mess… I’ll just embarrass you. And I won’t just sit there with my wife in tow, getting ignored by the rest of the wedding party,” he said stubbornly, finally trying to come up with a legitimate reason why the very thought of being present at Draco Malfoy’s wedding made him feel raw. “I can’t, Draco,” he said even more quietly.

“And I’m telling you I can’t do this without you,” Draco erupted in an equally quiet though heated voice. “And I won’t. The very thought… At least the Mud…. Granger is someone you care about and I… I hardly know this woman. I’m so fucking lost… And I need you there. I need to see you, when I walk down that blasted aisle, I need to watch you when I say “I do”, I need… you. There. With me. Leave the wife back home, if you like. I don’t care. But be there for me. I was there for your stag night, wasn’t I? Ignored, embarrassed and humiliated, a fucking mess… everything you expect to be. And I’m calling in a favour. I want you there, Ron Weasley. I want… you.”

His mouth was suddenly, mercifully closed by a set of heavenly soft lips as Ron Weasley shut him up the only way he knew how. And Draco realized that sometime between the crushing grip around his neck and the soft glow of those beloved blue eyes he had turned into a right mess, so needy and so incredibly turned on he couldn’t think of anything other than that infernal mouth drinking the very life from him and pouring liquid fire down his veins.

“I’ll be there…” whispered Ron into the mess of grinding flesh, small helpless moans and liquid tongues licking and devouring all sanity between them. “I’ll be there for you… I’ll bloody damn myself… for you. What does it matter…? How’s that any different… from what we do… like this… you push me into hellfire, Draco Malfoy… and I’ll burn for you, if I have to. I’ll be there. So you have someone to say those words to.”

And those words incorporated so well why Draco wanted him there that there really wasn’t much more to say... not that he could... even if he wanted to... There was nothing left of his brain when Ron lifted him up as if he weighed nothing and Draco wrapped his legs around his waist in a desperate attempt to bring them closer. He needed to... he needed him... he needed to grind against that hot hard place that made him fall apart if he only allowed himself to think about it for too long, he needed the friction, he needed his undoing harsh words of domination and blunt brutal desire, he needed Ron Weasley to need him... and nothing else mattered.

It didn’t matter that this was his home, his territory, that there was a very pissed off Father and an alert, astute Mother just rooms away waiting his return, perhaps an explanation; it didn’t matter they broke their rule of “Thursdays only”, that the two worlds collided so unimaginably... It didn’t matter. Nothing did. Nothing but a warm mountain of a man, pressed tightly against him, undoing him with the hot sloppy kisses and rough hasty touches, whispered endearments mixed with curses and oh, those fucking gut-melting sounds he made as he ground against Draco...

And then he was suddenly lifted and transported across the room in one powerful surge and when he landed on a soft mattress, the redhead growled breathless, between two painfully crude and blood-drawing kisses: “I’m going to fuck you on your childhood bed.”

It was hardly a question, merely a statement of how it was going to be, but Draco’s long embarrassing “yessss… god, oh, yesss”, came anyway. To have him here, where he fantasised about him so many times, never letting anyone between these very sheets because it would just be wrong and too much like cheating… to have himself sprawled and stretched from board to board, tense and aching for release; to have him on top, the weight of his muscled body sinking his own lithe frame into the soft fresh linen, to have him spread this motherfucking heavenly scent of manhood and sex all over his body and his bed and his room until it was all he’d ever be able to smell in here; to have him, to simply have him… here…

Draco forgot all about caution.

“Ron… take me apart,” he whispered and when the soft hot mouth found its way into the crook of his neck, he got his wish granted on the spot.

“I’ll take you apart…” growled Ron softly, dangerously, the way he knew that could make him come on its own. “I’ll take you apart piece by piece… your innocence… your dreams… your childhood memories… your most private moments… this place will never be the same once I’m done with you, you beautiful blond bastard… cause I need it all to stand strong for you… need to take you with me… every bit of you… lock it in my heart… so I don’t forget why I’m there that bloody… motherfucking… Sunday… when you'll have me bleed for you in front of all those people… just to make you someone else’s… Just cause you asked me to… Cause that’s how wrapped around your little finger you have me… I love you, Draco… please… let me say it while I still can… I love you.”

And the sound that came out of Draco Malfoy’s mouth was not of this world. Guttural, broken scream-gone-sob and a stream of unconnected words he would never be able to repeat, because they meant nothing, because the only thing real and god-honest and true was this man made of his every dream, moving deeply inside him, hurting him, hurting his very core; branding him, marking him for himself so no one else could ever have him; making Draco raw and open and screaming in a symphony of ecstasy and heart-wrenching pain he felt at the realization that he’ll never be allowed to have him…

Every brutal thrust dragged out his forbidden desires, one by one, by their fucking hair, so it hurt like madness; exposing him to every neglected feeling he tried so hard to stifle and only ever ended up stuttering out for him to hear, to let him know how much he needed this, needed him, wanted him, loved him. Vulnerable, vulnerable and bleeding out his very core Draco thought he could never survive this so shredded and taken apart… until he was given something new… better… stronger... to hold him together. Hope.

“I’ll have you… one day I’ll fucking have you,” he heard him swear in his ear as he was pounding into him so hard that the blond was sure not only the bed, but the whole fucking Manor shook to the ground. “That’s a promise, Draco Malfoy… by Merlin and Christ and everything I hold dear, one day I’ll have you… I’ll come for you… and claim you… on this very bed… we’ll make new dreams… new memories… our own… favourite… private moments… I’ll make you mine… on this bed… and you’ll let me. One day…”

“Today,” Draco whispered only half conscious from hurt and pleasure and a heady feeling that he was allowed to be himself, speak what he felt, expose his fucking bleeding heart for this man to see, because he wasn’t worth more than what he felt for him right now. “I’ll be yours… today… and every other day… there is no other day for me… but every day with you… everything else is just in between… until it’s you again. There is no me… without you… Ron… I’ll marry you on Sunday… I’ll look at you and say those words and marry you, like I should… it won’t matter where I stand and who the fuck is there to witness that blasted travesty in white… it’ll only be us… I’ll marry you, before god and before everything that’s sacred… I can’t marry anyone else… only… ever.. you… Ron!!”

With a howl that could wake the dead and shatter all their chains Ron drove inside him one last time and Draco literally exploded into darkness. He couldn’t remember anything, not one fucking thing of his bliss when he finally came to his senses and Ron was gone. He was left alone in his lovely ravaged childhood bed smelling of him, only ever of him and he leaned back on the sheets soaked in come and juices he had no name for... and smiled. He never felt more destroyed and complete in his entire life.

And when Sunday came, Ron was there.

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my_thestral

◾ Fic: Art of denial (Part 10)

Fic: Art of denial (Part 10)

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