Archive of Our Own

Harry looked up as Ron pushed back from the table. “Where’re you off to, mate? We only just got our drinks. You can’t possibly need another one,” Harry questioned.

Ron shrugged, feeling the heat of anticipation start to rise along the back of his neck and his cheeks. “You know.”

“No, I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.” Harry cocked his head, with a quizzical look.

“I, umm, I need to take a slash.” Not really, he just needed to go in search along the darkened corridors of the Club for Deviants. Anticipation spurring him on, exploration was his goal.

His prick already alive with memories of what he knew waited for him, Ron turned and started away from the table. He only had to find him.

“Mine,” Ron had whispered against the shell of the other man’s ear.

Ron had placed his hands under the man’s arse, lifting him. A quick and wandless lubrication spell and Ron pushed in, pushing past the tight ring of muscle, until he was all the way inside. His balls pressed against rounded globes of the arse, his mouth devouring the other, wanting the man to know the taste of everyone who had fucked him that night as it now lingered on Ron’s tongue. The spunk of everyone who’d fucked him that night.

From the first push of his cock into the other, Ron had felt an immediate rush. A rush of connection, of understanding instantly aware of the man’s every thought and feeling. His anger, his doubts, his regrets and most of all his compulsion to be used, possibly even abused. Instinctively, Ron knew he was meant for that role. This primal ache inside of the man under him, only he could satisfy. To feel that urgency just from being buried balls deep inside another was like a rush of magic to Ron’s very core.

“Oi, Ron. If you’re looking for the loo, you’re going in the wrong direction.” Harry said. His usual smile twisted in confusion.

“Alright.” Ron sighed internally, but kept his expression calm. He turned back towards Harry and leaned into him. “Look, I just want to explore what’s available in places like this. We came here to… erm… well, you know. We came to get our kink on, right? I’m ready to find some.”

“Ron.” Harry said quietly, reaching out to touch the back of Ron’s hand. “You know, anything that you can get up to here, I’ll be more than willing to get up to with you. I can be as deviant and as kinky as you wish me to be. Whatever and whenever, you know that, right,” his thumb tracing a lazy circle on the inside of Ron’s wrist. Those bright green eyes stared at Ron with such intensity, it nearly broke his heart. But he couldn’t give in. He just couldn’t.

Ron leaned over and gave his best mate a chaste kiss; then removed Harry’s hand from his. “Yes, Harry, I know, and I love you for it. But I’m not about to let what happened to me and Hermione happen to us. You’re my bloody best mate. If I lost you, I wouldn’t be able to stand it. You don’t know what I’m capable of. You’ve no idea what I put Hermione through.”

“But I’m not…”

“Not Hermione. I know,” Ron said softly, “but come on Harry. We both know I don’t do relationships well. I do “fucking” well, and I do “fucking up” even better, but not relationships. I can’t take that chance. Not with you, even for all the kink opportunities known to mankind. ” Not when there were other opportunities waiting for him to explore more deeply.

Walking over, Ron had pushed him up against the brick wall, his hands caressing that smooth arse. Kneeling he started to part the cheeks; then changed his mind. Standing again, he had taken the head in his hands turning him to face him. Cupping one hand around his face and the other caressing the back of his neck, Ron bent forward and kissed him, his need to explore every part of this man ratcheting up his intensity. His mouth covering the other’s he had ravished him with his, his tongue pushing in and exploring every taste and crevice of that delectable mouth.

In turn, the other, groaned low in his throat, beginning his own exploration of Ron’s mouth, both panting when the kiss ended.

Ron ignored the twisting in his gut. The first time with the other had been easy, too easy. He was no saviour, wasn’t even considered a person, by most rights. He’d simply been a hole, nothing but a glory hole. A walking, talking, breathing glory hole that was open to all comers. Ron had been only one of many. He still was.

He turned and wove his way through the mass of tables and chairs crowded around the miniscule dance floor. Few couples were dancing. This wasn’t the sort of place people came to dance, generally having more depraved and deviant fantasies they wished to engage in.

Rounding the corner, he caught a glimpse of Harry slumped down in his seat. Ron’s rejection left him looking sad and broken, like some windup doll that had lost its key, or had the batteries removed. Bloody hell, but he wished Harry wouldn’t do that. Saying no to Harry had always been painful.

Ron was able to share with this other what he never dared to with Hermione or Harry: His anger, his rage, as well Ron’s hunger for his own redemption. This man, he had thought he would hate forever, not only accepted them without question. He even welcomed them.

What he’d told Harry was true. Ron Weasley failed relationships. His long time best friend and one-time lover could not stand to even stay in the same room, whenever he entered. He had hurt her deeply; unintentional of course. Even so, his philandering had caused her unaccountable pain. Him as well, as it turned out.

Still, Harry’s words and Harry’s actions had had one motivating effect. Ron was hard and ready to start his search. How long that search would take him, he did not know. That was part of the fun of these types of places.

All he wanted for this evening was someplace to stick his prick, somewhere warm, wet and tight. He wasn’t feeling very nice or gentlemanly about it either. Something down and dirty was what he coveted right now.

He’d been stunned by the man’s ability to fuck. Christ, he’d never had anyone even close to this. He fucked like it was the “End Times”. Grinding down on Ron’s cock, with more kinetic energy than Ron had thought humanly possible. When that wasn’t enough for the insatiable cock-slut, he had pressed against the brick wall, pushing his arse even harder against Ron. “Come on, Weasley, you wanker. You’ve been gifted with a cock worthy of the gods, for Hades’ sake, use it. I want to feel every one of those ten glorious inches of yours.”

Zeus in his heavens, he needed this always. His arse moving like a piston engine, the other’s fucking grew ever more and more ragged. Ron was never letting go of this. Didn’t matter what it took; who it might hurt. This, this man, he was keeping.

He wandered down the hallways, each switch back turn taking him deeper and deeper into the bowels of the club. He passed several rooms that were set for audio observation; loud and audible—for those who were stimulated more by the sounds people made while engaging in their perversions. Others offered transparent walls for those with a move visual desire, to see their porn, but not hear it. Some rooms offered both. Privacy was not a given, or even an option.

There were the usual activities: blowjobs, a couple of hardcore rimming sessions, a few dominant and submissive bondage roles. Any of which he’d happily and energetically engage in, at other times, but not today.

Instead he wanted more, to lose his mind in the touch of another, and in turn to tear them apart with his own. He no longer wanted to think, wanted to put Harry and his bloody up for anything you want Ron, out of his mind. He didn’t care about bravery, about loyalty, about doing the right thing. He wasn’t looking for a saviour. He craved the opposite, someone whose hot, tight hole he could sink his cock into, and in that simple act, come to know that person from the inside.

“Bend over,” Ron had ordered, giving no quarter. Asking, he knew, would have unfortunate consequences. The other choosing to walk away, refusing any further engagement.

Obeying Ron’s command, he had spread his legs, presenting his arse to Ron. Ron slowly withdrew the plug. As the fluids began to leak out, Ron fell to his knees on the oil slicked and broken pavement. Pressing his mouth against the man’s hole, he licked and sucked, swallowing down every drop of honey of spunk and come and lube from the other’s self-degradation and humiliation.

And in that action, Ron too experienced a desire for atonement of his own past. He had done things, thought things about this man before him, things he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive himself for.

He turned the corner and came to a stop. In front of him was a corner room, both sides of the room open and visible to all. Ron stared. A long padded table was set in the middle of the room. The room was lit from within and without, making the viewing easily accessible. Centered on the table on his hands and knees, was a bloke with plenty of room in front as well as behind him, for others to join him. As if it were a performance show, and the table and bloke on it were the star attraction.

His eyes widened as he looked closer at the man on the table, the star of this particular show, so to speak. Ron sighed and smiled, knowing then and there: Malfoy, Draco sodding, ferret faced, was what he wanted; he was going to have him. Because as sure as there was a God in the Muggle Heavens, Ron’s former nemesis, the bane of his previous existence, was getting the absolute reaming of his life. Ron’s prick swelled even more in anticipation.

Stripping them both naked, he had climbed on top of Ron’s body, impaling himself on Ron’s cock. Other times he would turn onto his hands and knees, and reaching back with his hands he would spread his arse open. “Come on Weasley, fuck me.”

And Ron had.

They shared no spoken words of affection, or tenderness between them. Yet somehow with each contact, Ron had oh so surely found himself becoming more and more intoxicated with this man from his past. The last man he could have ever imagined.

One man was in front, his cock forcing its way into Malfoy’s mouth and thrusting deeply into the Slytherin git’s throat. Malfoy tilted his head back, the cock sliding even deeper. Drool, tears and snot dribbled down the side of his mouth and chin, mixing with the crusty remnants of previous leavings. His expression of sexual ecstasy was still one of the most beautiful visions Ron had ever encountered. He would never tire of it.

Another man knelt behind him, his cock deeply thrusting into Malfoy. As Ron watched the bloke pulled out almost all the way to the tip of his cock—then slammed back in. With each slam, Malfoy moaned around the prick in his mouth and thrust back meeting the other thrust for thrust. His toes curled behind him, his fingers gripping the padding beneath him as if holding on for his life. A pewter metal cock ring hugged the base of his cock. Malfoy, he knew, was in his own personal nirvana, getting fucked and face fucked at the same time, his favourite position of all.

Already hard, but now practically rigid, Ron hungered to get inside that room. Come and lube dribbled out of Malfoy’s arse and down thighs covered with soft blond hair. He was so full, even the trusty butt plugs were not able to keep it all inside Malfoy.

Clearly this was not the Slytherin’s first shag of the evening. Appearances indicated there had most likely been several others before this one. By anybody else’s standard it would be considered enough, though not by the man on the table, who always wanted more. Ron intended to be the next, even though he’d probably hear about it later. He wasn’t above using his status as either war hero, or best mate to the “Saviour”, to get what he desired. Not when this was to be his reward, not when reminiscences of his own were assaulting him.

His first glimpse of him after five years: of anger, of fury, of grief and mourning, and it had all come crashing into Ron like a mallet to the head, or a punch to the gut. Without motive, or even clear thought, he had angrily approached the man speaking softly with George as he placed flowers on his twin’s grave.

Ron had given no warning, just grabbed him by the arm, spinning him around and punching him as soon as they were face to face, wanting him to know who it was that was striking him. “You have no right speaking to him. It’s you who should be in the ground. Not my brother,” he’d cried, punching the blond again and again. No magic, no spells, just hard cold fury. And pain, unbearable pain and grief.

And he had taken it. Every punch, every blow, every assault that Ron laid on him, the man accepted. Still and quiet, grey eyes full of his sorrows and regrets of the past. This had been between him and Malfoy. Seven years of hate and humiliation, four additional years of grief and fury.

As Ron had continued to lash out, the expression of emotions on Malfoy’s face changed. No longer sorrow, but heat. No longer regrets but desire. As the lust bloomed in Malfoy’s eyes, Ron’s own grew until he no longer wanted to maim or hurt; he wanted to touch, to fuck. He wanted to possess.

The man in front, plowing Malfoy’s mouth, made as if to pull out, but Malfoy pulled him back with a sneer. “No. You don’t stop. Did I give you leeway to stop? No! You, fill my mouth with that cock of yours, you need to choke me with it. Shoot your come down my throat so I’ll choke on it, just like you were paid to do.” His voice, a ragged remnant of its usual upper class polish, was like a siren’s call to Ron’s cock. “Now bloody do it!”

What? Ron’s soul twisted inside him. Malfoy was paying these men to use him like this. He wasn’t the one being paid.

The tiny voice inside him whispered: This doesn’t surprise you. You’ve always known this. It’s the only way Malfoy can guarantee getting what he most wants. Used and abused, humiliation and degradation were the most immediate needs of Draco Malfoy.

In front of the door leading into the room stood another man. His arms crossed over his chest, as if guardian of the entryway. Or maybe he only waited his own turn. Ron reached around him, placing his hands on the doorknob, and turned. It remained locked. Though there was a small, flashing red arrow pointing to the right. Ron looked at it suspiciously.

The other man laughed. “First time here for Blondie?” he asked

Ron nodded, still confused. First time? How long had Malfoy been entertaining the troops, as it were, at this location?

Lester, or so the man introduced himself as, pointed to a small plastic device just to the right of the room door. A small sign on it read: “Take a number” and a small tab of paper was sticking out the end. Uncertain, Ron looked over at it.

“Go ahead. It will tell you where you are in terms of getting your chance with ‘blondie’ in there. I’m number ten, so you’d most likely be number twelve.”

He’d moved forward and Malfoy had allowed it, welcomed it. Ron pulled him to him, mouths attacking, hard and biting, teeth clashing, tongues entwined in the eternal battle of possessor and possessed.

Malfoy gave back as good, if not better, than Ron. “Fuck, Weasley, I need you inside of me.” A blink later they were both tumbling onto one of the beds at the Leakey. Clothing was pushed and pulled, shoved aside or torn from their bodies, each seeking the bare skin they both craved.

Later, as they laid together panting and spent; bruised and bleeding he had said to Ron, “Okay, that’s you sharing what drives you-that anger, that need to hit , to hurt. I allowed you to take from me what you hungered for. Now, it’s my turn to teach you, to show you what I ache for, and your turn to understand. Come on, I’ve got somewhere for us to go.”

Hurriedly dressing, Ron turned as Malfoy had reached into his trousers’ pocket. Pulling out a silicone butt plug, he slid it into his arse, still filled with Ron’s semen. Stepping into the shower the man scrubbed at his hair and body, every inch except for his arse.

“I prefer to be exceptionally clean—except for my arse. Your come inside me keeps me loose and wet, and ready, always ready. I’m all about sloppy seconds, don’t you know, thirds and fourths, as well.” Exiting the shower and drying, he turned to look at Ron. “That is, until someone is brave enough to claim all that “honey” for himself. I wonder who’s going to be the winner of this particular prize tonight, if there are any true Gryffindors out there. ”

Grabbing Ron’s hand, he Disapparated them away. They landed near a block of flats tucked between terraced streets in an unknown and unrecognizable industrial city. The lights of a most unsavory pub glowed dimly in front of them.

“Wait here,” Ron was told as Malfoy vanished into the building.

Ron looked at Lester sideways. “What happened to eleven?”

“There was another here,” Lester said with a nod. “He got his number and left. I’m sure he’ll be back before his number is called. No one’s going to miss that. ‘Blondie’, in there, is something worth waiting for,” he said leering at the man on the table.

Once again flooded with memories, Ron closed his eyes, savouring, remembering.

Before he had begun to grow even the slightest bit bored or restless, which for Ron took very little time, Malfoy was back out the door. An unknown bloke followed closely behind him. Soon pressed against the brick wall, Malfoy’s trousers and pants were pushed down around his knees, his smooth white arse a beacon in the pale light of the alley. He glanced quickly in Ron’s direction, confirming Ron’s awareness of the current circumstances.

How could he not be?

Malfoy smiled slowly and languidly. Placing his hands against the brick wall, he had turned to the man behind him. “Are you ready? He reached back and pulled the plug from inside his hole. Even from this distance, Ron could see the mess beginning to drip. Malfoy turned to the man behind him, “Now, please. I need for you to fuck me.”

Three times he did this; three times Malfoy had gone inside the dimly lit pub, only to return moments later to the alley. Always, a different man in tow, and each time requesting the stranger to fuck him. The plug reinserted after every fuck, careful to allow the very minimal of spunk and lube to escape. His arse must be full to the brimming by now.

After the fourth man, Malfoy had turned to Ron, his expression placid. “Weasley, this is who I am, this is what drives me. To be used and degraded. Fucking is my validation. It’s how I know I am, that I matter. Without it I’m afraid I’ll cease to exist. Vanish as if I’d never been. If you think you can handle this, you should prove it to me, right now. If not you, then I’ll keep searching.” This was the most either of them had spoken since the evening had begun.

And in that moment Ron knew this man. That, of course, was patently ridiculous. He had known him for over eleven years, had envied him and hated him long before he knew him. Yet in all those years he had never known him inside, never understood who he truly was. Malfoy had never known him either. This connection felt by them both, they stopped and lost themselves in the other’s eyes. Each of them remained silent, yet seemed to be shouting to the stars. “I know you.”

“What… I mean, which ones are those?” He asked pointing to the three that were in the room with Malfoy now.

“Oh them, they’re numbers six through eight. Eight only just got into the room.”

“You mean he’s already been had by five others?” He had read the signs correctly: the lank and sweaty hair, head bowed longer than usual, the arch of his back not quite as pronounced; all recognisable signs of growing fatigue.

“More or less, yes. He’s given a couple of blow jobs. One bloke gave him a blow job, rather decent one too, for a beginner. Said he was engaged and planned on remaining a ‘virgin’ until his wedding night. Seemed he thought sucking someone’s brains out through their prick didn’t count.” Lester chuckled at the thought. “Blondie in there wasn’t best pleased to be on the receiving end, said that wasn’t what he was here for, but the kid—young man was so intent on it, that he finally relented.”

Ron laughed along. He had once felt that way too, until Hermione had set him straight, as she had cleared out his side of their shared closet, packing his bags to reject him from their home. Even as she had been explaining it to him, all he had been able to think of was the softness of the hair he’d threaded his fingers in, holding the man in place as he’d swallowed down Ron’s cock. He had known then, he’d do whatever he had to, to once again have that mouth on him.

The one person who had given Ron the permission to finally be free: free to release his anger, his fears, his frustrations and most of all his pain at all he had lost during the war until they both lay bruised and exhausted. Malfoy had then taken Ron’s hands, his knuckles torn and bloody, into his own and healed them. Then, and only then, did Malfoy heal his own cuts and abrasions, as if somehow feeling deserving of the damage Ron had released on him.

Ron had feared his mental health if he didn’t get his prick back inside the absolutely insatiable Slytherin. Each time Malfoy had gone inside and retrieved another victim (and they truly were the victims, there for his pleasure and his alone) Ron’s yearning had increased. He had long despaired of ever finding anyone who could match him fuck for fuck, but by Merlin, Malfoy just might be the one.

He looked back up, just as Malfoy arched his back, his mouth opening in what could only be the deep throes of passion.

“Jesus, Malfoy is really getting plowed in there,” he muttered under his breath.

“Malfoy? That’s his name? You know him?” Lester’s interest in Ron rapidly changed from the casual to the more intrigued.

Bollocks, he had never meant to say that out loud.

He gave a short nod. “We went to school together, an exclusive Boarding School, (very exclusive indeed, he thought) “in Scotland,” he finished, before Lester could ask.

“Then, you know,” Lester said with a wink and a nudge.

“Know what?” Ron asked, mystified.

“Well, how good a fuck he is. Surely, the two of you must have bumped uglies before, in ‘your very exclusive boarding school’.”

Regretting that omission, Ron could only shake his head. But, he said nothing.

As they had laid claim to one another, each giving and taking what they’d been searching for; they’d formed a wordless agreement each with the other.

Each and every time they fucked after that Ron remembered his pledge to Draco: to always give him what he most coveted and allowing the other to receive from others whatever Ron was unable to provide. Malfoy never failed to communicate what he yearned for.

“Really? You seem to be just his type. Strictly speaking, anyone who takes a number and waits long enough can have him, but there are two types in particular he really goes for. Gingers, with lots of freckles, which let’s face it,” Lester laughed deep and rumbling, “you seem to have more than your share of. The others are those with rather unruly thick black hair and glasses. “

Malfoy moaned just then, his hand moving to his cock, and Ron started. The bloke in the front pulled out shaking his cock and its spunk in Malfoy’s face. The tip of his tongue escaped his mouth, licking the droplets from his face – what he was able to reach. He raised his head and looked straight at Ron. Startled, Ron drew back, only to realise the glass was not two-way. Malfoy could not see him.

Malfoy’s head dropped back down, waiting for the other man to finish. He may be giving the appearance of passively allowing the man to fuck him. His thrusting back onto the cock, drawing it ever deeper into him, meeting it thrust for thrust clearly showed how much he loved every minute of it. Ron anxiously anticipated his own turn with the insatiable Slytherin.

“And yes, I am going to fuck you. Use you, in the way you’ve been begging for all night. Just know though, the last spunk that’s going in your arse tonight will be mine. Are we clear?”

This time Malfoy had turned all the way around, his eyes glazed with lust, and more: Obedience perhaps? Or maybe it was just relief. “Yes sir.”

Ron glared into the room. To hell with the others waiting, he was getting in there. Again, he reached for the knob and turned. The lock held, but a whispered Auror level ‘Alohomora’ and the lock gave way.

Ron entered, gipping his wand tightly under his shirt. The door clicking locked behind him. Those still remaining in the room were hit immediately with a strong Petrificus Maximus. Not as strong a spell as Petrificus Totalus , it allowed a certain minimum of movement, mostly involuntary. A swish of his wand and a thick curtain was dropped over the transparent window. What happened in the room from then on was only visible to those already in the room.

Three others lined the walls, waiting and watching. All, except one, had their cocks out and were slowly wanking. Careful, Ron knew from his own experience, to make sure they didn’t shoot their load before they got a chance at that delectable arse.

Christ, but Malfoy did have one hell of a super nice arse. Even as used and abused as it currently was. Ron’s cock twitched with renewed and remembered interest of his own use of that delectable arse.

Looking around the room Ron’s eyebrows disappeared into his fringe. Lined up with the others along the wall, the only one not currently wanking was a female with a strap-on. Well, never let it be said that Malfoy was not an equal opportunity fuck toy.

The female smiled in recognition at Ron, and with a nod and the distinctive Scottish accent of Cho Chang said, “Ron Weasley, what a surprise to find you here. I thought you were as straight as they come.” So had he, until he’d reencountered a certain blond after years of no contact.

Unsure as to how to respond, he turned back around, leaned against the wall, waiting his turn. His cock thickening and hardening in his trousers, Ron stood watching the action taking place in front of him.

Then Malfoy moaned; a sound that traveled straight to Ron’s cock. It twitched in response, demanding to be let free from its confines. Two seconds later, Ron had opened his flies, his hand flying over his cock.

Ron decided his turn was now, but this was between him and Malfoy alone. There would be no witnesses to what occurred between them. Draco deserved nothing less. Ron’s heart beat so frenzied and fast, he would be amazed if the subject of all their attention was unable to hear it.

“I will be the last one to possess you at the end of the day,” he continued. “Is that understood?” Ron knew that for this man’s mental wellness, it was important that he be secure in knowing Ron was the one in command. “Is that perfectly clear?” he said again.

Draco released a soft sigh of relief. “Yes sir, I understand. I obey you. Please sir, may I ask you? When is this fucking you’ve promised me going to take place? I think I’ve waited long enough. Please, Sir.” Draco’s voice had shaken with his own desperation for Ron to give him what he so desperately needed.

Ron had almost laughed out loud. Malfoy was technically obeying the laws of the dominant/submissive relationship they had just non-verbally agreed to, but he was still a snarky and demanding git. But then, Draco stretched his hand toward his cock, and Ron had no choice but to slap it away. “Did you not hear me? I said, ‘mine’. Touching without permission is not allowed. Understood?”

Malfoy (Draco—the tiny voice whispered in Ron’s ear) remained on the padded table, hand and knees. Ron could see his exhaustion, his fatigue, yet Draco still waited, not yet ready to stop. His head down, his breathing was shallow, but as Ron watched, Malfoy began slowing it. Steady breathing in and out, his mind and body relaxing. Ron had seen this before. He recognised it for what it was. He should, he had witnessed it enough times. Malfoy was in his own sub space—his blissed out and fucked out space. (But did Draco Malfoy ever reach complete saturation? Was he ever really fucked out?)

His prostate would be battered from the overuse it had undergone this evening, but he’d still want more. Perhaps want was the wrong word. He’d hunger for more; desperate for ever more. Ron was there to make sure that hunger was satisfied.

He said nothing, just took a clean white hankie from his pocket, charming it into a soft flannel. An Aguamenti soon had it damp with warm water and gentle cleansing solution.

Ron moved to the table and crawled up onto it. Draco tensed and then relaxed, arching his back as if preparing for the next assault. “Come on, I’m waiting here,” he snapped. “There’s no call for holding back. I’m well lubed and loose,” Malfoy chuckled. “Hell, I’m loose enough even a Hippogriff’s prick should slide right in.”

Malfoy flinched the moment the flannel touched him as well as Ron’s gentle touch. Ron wondered if he even knew it was him. He thought he might, but with Malfoy one was never sure.

The damp flannel in his hand, Ron silently cleansed the lube, spunk and other less savory bits that had leaked down Malfoy’s thighs and the creases where leg met arse. He moved the flannel to Malfoy’s hole, treating it with careful consideration. Red and puffy and stretched unbelievably wide from all the cocks, both natural and manmade, he had taken inside him tonight. (Ron would have to give him grief about the strap on experience later, much later.)

Malfoy stopped and shook his head. “No, sir, I can be good. I’ll do as you command.” He answered with reverence, as if his saviour, or perhaps it was his demon, had come at last. Ron would be either, happily.

“Good boy,” Ron whispered low and harsh in the other’s ear, just before he bit down, causing him to gasp at the pain, then the intense pleasure that followed. “You’ll come on my prick alone, only when you’ve received my permission.”

Draco’s cock, an angry puce colour, hung between his legs, the cock ring still clamped tight around the base. Instinctively Ron knew, if he released it too soon, Draco would never forgive him, but soon, real soon.

Its purpose completed, Ron vanished the flannel into the closest rubbish bin. Spreading Draco’s cheeks he leaned and with the tip of his tongue began the cleaning of the more intimate and sensitive areas. Just as he had done time and time again.

Draco whimpered as Ron’s tongue circled his arse. No matter how gentle he was, even that small amount of pressure against Draco’s overly used hole would be too much. But bloody hell, the taste and feel of Draco under Ron’s tongue was just like it always was. Irresistible. Flashes of memories of other times and places danced through his mind.

To have Draco spread open before him like a buffet laid out in front of him. Ron was like a starving man. He attacked Draco’s arse, his tongue circling and circling, pressing ever closer, cleaning away the taste and remains of the others.

With each change of taste on his tongue, Ron’s erection had grown and his need to taste the truth of the man as he truly was became his only destination. When only the taste of the other remained, Ron had stood and taken a step back. “Turn around; if I’m going to fuck you, I’d like to see your face.”

Malfoy turned his head, and made a questioning gesture with his eyebrows. “Oh really?” They seemed to say. But Ron could also see the stark need to atone for his sins in Malfoy’s eyes. That need was too important; Ron didn’t buy that response for even one moment.

His tongue flicked in, lapping at inner walls still too loose from the last shagging. Ron placed his mouth over Draco’s hole and sucked, sucking out the come and lube of every other person who had had him that night. As he did, Draco’s hole slowly tightened and shrunk.

Ron understood, when he, at last, pushed his cock into Draco, it would be as if he, and he alone, would have been the one inside Draco that evening. It would be only them.

Malfoy had looked up at him, his expression soft but with an undertone of awareness that his next words could be problematic, but he was going to say them anyway, damn the consequences. “You know don’t you Weasley, just you won’t be enough. I have to have more. Not even you, in all your glory,” he said as his gaze focused down on Ron’s cock, “can give me all I need.”

“You’ve no need to worry. You can do the horizontal tango with all the others you want, as long as I get to watch. Only remember this. When your hole is finally so full of spunk that even the plugs you’re so fond of can’t retain it all. I’ll be the one eating you out, devouring you so thoroughly you’ll feel completely empty inside. Then I will fill you back up again, with nothing and no one but me.”

Draco needed Ron to fuck him deeper, his body language shouting this need to Ron. Ron leaned back onto his haunches, pulling Draco back with him. His chest pressed against Draco’s back, Ron’s cock pressed even deeper in Draco’s rectum. Hands pressed against Ron’s thighs, Draco lifted up then lowered back on to Ron’s cock, circling his hips, grinding ever deeper, speeding up faster and faster. Loosening his grip, Ron let Draco ride him as he pleased. Once Draco reached this point in his desperation, Ron released control over to Draco, letting him search for, chase after and capture his pleasure. These times were all about his love, his Draco. All Ron had to do was just hold on and enjoy the ride, and what a ride it was.

Draco was getting close; his uneven rhythm, the little huffs of breath, the way he pressed back then leaned forward, only to press back again searching for an angle that would take Ron even deeper. All of those small familiar behaviours whispered to Ron: it’s time. Reaching out, he wrapped one hand around Draco’s cock and began stroking him, prepared to release the platinum ring when it was time. His other hand pinched and pulled at Draco’s nipples until they were hard, rigid and deeply tender. A simple flick of his fingernail over them had Malfoy inhaling sharply at the sting of pain; then moaning at the burst of pleasure that followed. Wanting only to give his lover what he knew he most wanted, Ron looked to Draco for guidance.

Shaking his head, Draco turned towards Ron, his eyes pleading, telegraphing silently what he needed from Ron. “No.” Darkness and desperation flooded those cool grey eyes. No, not that. The other, please, the other.

Ron wasn’t sure what event or disaster (in Draco’s perception) had occurred that day for Draco to feel compelled to have so many fuck buddies that night, as well as his desperate plea to be choked, both on the same day. He might tell him later, or the prickly Slytherin could decide to keep his own counsel forever. Malfoy could be just as closed off now, as he’d been their first time. Yet, Ron had learned to read the signals.

Answering his plea, Ron leaned in and kissed him, his tongue sweeping along the inside of Draco’s mouth. He wasn’t sure when he’d come to understand this compulsion of Draco’s. Only that somehow he had, and he would do whatever he could to satisfy it, even as he despaired each time it was asked for.

Lifting his hands from where they lay on Draco’s body, Ron wrapped them both around the slender throat of his lover. Fingers pressed against the tender flesh, his grip tightening, cutting off the pathway of the respiratory system, Draco’s breath slowly and systematically slowing to a stop. Taking his time in the way he knew Draco wanted. Little by little, tighter and tighter Ron choked off the breath entering into Draco’s brain, heart and body.

Over the span of them, he had learned exactly how far he could go, had come to understand what the point of ultimate need and pleasure, and pain would be for Draco. And, more importantly, how much would be too much, how long too long. Draco’s eyes rolled back into his head and his body shuddered, just as it always did.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. That was it; the sign he had grown to know to look for. Instantly, he removed his hands from around Draco’s throat and released the cock ring from Draco’s cock, whispering as he did. “You have permission. You can come now. Come for me, Draco.” Draco orgasm splashed wetly over Ron’s hands.

Even as Ron’s orgasm was pumping into Draco’s arse, Draco blacked out, losing consciousness.

It all happened simultaneously, the choking, the release of the ring, the permission, Draco’s release, Ron’s coming. The timing was always the same. Sometimes there was a slight change in the order, but like the ending of a fireworks display, one always flowed into the next and the next, until in a matter of mere seconds it was all finished. Impossible to know when one ended and the other began. It terrified Ron each time, but for Draco – it meant everything.

Draco returned to consciousness only seconds later and turned, spent and sated, smiling softly at Ron. His mouth and tongue then devouring Ron as if they hadn’t touched; kissed each other in months. Ron transfigured the discarded cock ring into a glass, filling it with cool water from an Aguamenti, handing it off. Draco drank deeply from it.

Returning the glass to Ron, he curled up and rested against Ron’s chest. “You came.” Draco whispered, his words little huffs of breath against Ron’s chest.

“Of course I came. I always come. In more ways than one,” Ron snickered as he kissed Draco’s damp brow. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight? Sorry I was a bit late. I waited as long as I could. I hated leaving him there looking all sad and rejected. I had to come find you. It was important I get to you.”

He could feel Draco’s smile against his chest, along with the slight pressure of Draco’s fingers as they danced across his skin, tracing Ron’s freckles in his own more personalised version of connect the dots was heaven against Ron’s sweat slick skin.

As Draco’s fingers caressed his skin, Ron felt the awakening response in his cock, desiring Draco’s mouth on him. Draco pulled back and gazed down at Ron’s cock swelling and hardening. He gazed back up into Ron’s eyes, and back down again. “Suck me,” Ron ordered.

With a soft sigh of contentment Draco slithered down Ron’s body and lowered his head.