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You've Always Been Mine	By : Mamacita Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Draco/Ron Views: 7415 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Come On In, the Water’s Fine!

Klein Bonaire
18 Aug 1994

The gentle tropical evening lingered on. The sky had turned a soft lavender around the eastern edge and glowed a vivid apricot in the west.

To the occupants of the hammock on an otherwise deserted stretch of beach, who lay flat on their backs looking straight up, it was a sublime celestial aqua.

Ron and Draco were enjoying their brief interlude with no chatter of courtesans or bonded and no mums, no water fights, no children running around shrieking, no nothing. Just the two of them, alone. Finally.

Ron lazily ran his hand over Draco’s ribs, eliciting a shiver that had nothing to do with cold. “This is nice,” he said. “I thought we’d never get a minute to ourselves.” He slung one leg over the side of the hammock and touched a toe to the warm sand, setting the hammock to swinging gently.

“Yeah,” Draco replied softly. “I don’t know where everyone’s got to, but at least they’re not here.” He turned slightly toward Ron and flung one sun-kissed arm across Ron’s torso. Ron ran a hand along Draco’s arm.

“Your skin’s so fair—how do you keep from burning in all this sun?” he asked curiously.

Draco shrugged. “Hermione found a sun-blocking spell. You still get a little brown, but it keeps you from burning.” In turn, he traced a line of freckles down Ron’s arm. “She said she meant to use it to keep from getting freckles.” Draco grinned. “You should talk to her about it.” Ron snorted. “No, really. You know, with all this sun you’re getting to be just one big freckle.”

Ron’s eyes swung toward Draco, who braced himself. Sure enough, a moment later Ron gave a hearty shove and the chortling Draco flipped over the edge of the hammock onto the sand. Ron peered down at him through the mesh.

“I thought you liked my freckles,” he said plaintively.

“Oh, I do,” Draco assured him. “Every last one. I like this one—” he poked Ron in the shoulder— “and this one—” in the ribs— “and this one, and this one, and this!” He punctuated each word with pokes to different parts of Ron’s anatomy. Soon the ticklish Ron, breathless with laughter, squirmed a little too vigorously and fell out of the hammock, landing with a smack of bare skin right on top of Draco.

“Oof!” Draco winced. He stared up at Ron, who leaned up on his forearms to relieve Draco of some of his weight.

“Sorry,” Ron said. “But you did bring it on yourself, you know.” He smiled. “And now I think you owe me an apology. A very nice apology,” he added meaningfully.

Draco put one hand behind Ron’s head and drew him closer. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. He touched Ron’s lips, and Ron nipped the end of his finger. Draco’s eyelids flickered. “Sorry,” he whispered again, and he cupped Ron’s face, now just inches from his own. “Sor—” Ron’s mouth came down and swallowed the rest of Draco’s apology. Draco gave in eagerly. He made a little sound in the back of his throat and pulled Ron closer. Ron’s arms gave way and he toppled over, taking Draco with him.

They rolled over and over down the slope of cooling sand, coming to a stop near the water’s edge. Sky, sand, and palm trees—it was all a blur as they rolled, feasting on each other’s hot, hungry lips.

Gasping, Draco finally pulled away long enough to take a deep breath. He sat up and rolled over to sit astride Ron, resting his sand-covered hands on the freckled chest before him. “Hey, you’re all sandy,” he said, grinning.

Ron grimaced. “Tell me about it,” he said, wriggling his hips beneath Draco. “I’ve got sand in places sand should never be.” He started to get up, but Draco pushed firmly on his chest to make him stay. “What—“ Ron began.

“Not so fast, there,” Draco said. “I kind of like it up here.” He looked down at Ron in the waning light; then he looked at the sand on his hands. He placed them on Ron’s chest and began to drag them in light circles over his nipples.

Ron’s eyes widened and he let out a shaky breath, his lips forming a round O. “Wow,” he said faintly. “That’s...wow.”

“That good, huh?” Draco teased. His touch was light and deft. Ron’s breath started to come in shallow, panting gasps, and his hips began to rock. Startled, Draco looked down at the front of Ron’s swim trunks, which no longer seemed sufficient to contain the enthusiastic response that was taking place inside them. The hard length there was echoed by the equally hard bulge encased in Draco’s trunks, and as Ron squirmed their cocks rubbed together, creating nearly unbearable heat and friction.

Suddenly Ron froze, his eyes locked onto Draco’s. Draco sensed a critical moment approaching and began his own rocking motion, grinding his hips into Ron’s harder and faster until Ron’s eyes squeezed tightly shut and he groaned.

“Gods—Draco! It’s—I’m going to—” He shook his head wildly, unable to speak.

And then Draco, too, was straining after that elusive peak and they both shouted out as they rolled over it, the intensity of it making their ears ring. Draco, his head thrown back, gave one final, involuntary twitch. Ron’s eyes flew open and his head snapped up. “Merlin, Draco, stop,” he implored. “If you do that again I’m going to scream.”

Draco looked down at him with a mischievous expression, and Ron shook his head. “No, really,” he said weakly. His head flopped back down and he heaved a sigh. “Wow. That was—that was purely brilliant. So that’s what it’s all about!”

Draco cocked his head and eyed Ron curiously. “Well, some of it anyway. You mean that’s the first time you’ve ever—”

“What? No!” Ron said quickly. “I’ve done it hun—lots of times.” Even in the deepening twilight Draco could see Ron turning red. He folded his arms and stared down at his captive.

“Oh, really?” he drawled. “And might I ask with whom?”

“Well, er,” Ron blustered. “It was—I was—”

“Alone?” Draco asked sweetly. Ron glared at him, his chin jutting out mutinously, and refused to say any more. He tried to heave Draco off, but Draco gripped his arms. “Ron. Ron. Listen to me. I’m glad, okay? If you’ve never done—that—with anyone else, I’m glad I was the first one.” He leaned down and tilted his head on one side to make Ron look him in the eye. “You’re the first person I’ve ever done it with.” At Ron’s questioning look, Draco nodded in confirmation.

They stayed like that for a minute, seeing the truth of it in each other’s eyes. Then Ron said, “Here, let me up.” Draco moved off to one side so Ron could sit up. Ron winced and got to his feet. “Oh. Kind of messy, yeah?” He brushed sand off his legs a bit gingerly.

Draco looked down and surveyed the front of his swim trunks, where the sand clung heavily to a large, damp stain. “Now that’s somewhere sand should definitely never be,” he muttered.

“Well, come on,” Ron said, motioning to the water. “We can fix that easily enough.” Draco took the hand Ron offered and jumped to his feet. “We’d better hurry,” Ron added. He looked around, but they were still alone on the beach. They waded into the warm surf and swam for a bit. Ron turned onto his back and floated, and Draco knelt on the sandy bottom, letting the waves sway him back and forth.

After a few minutes he reached back and yanked the waistband of his trunks away from him. Ron watched in amusement as Draco swished water around behind him. Finally he asked, “What are you doing?”

“I’ve got sand in my arse and I’m trying to get it out.” Draco swished some more and then shrugged. “Oh well. Maybe when I dry off....”

“Come here,” Ron said, and he stood up.

“Why?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Just come over here.” He tugged on Draco’s trunks until they stood side by side. “Now—” With one swift motion he pulled the trunks down, ignoring Draco’s protest. “Look, do you want the sand out or not? Take them all the way off.” Draco did, and Ron took the trunks and flung them far up onto the sand. “There. Now just stand still for a minute.”

He turned Draco away from him and, his hands trembling despite his air of assurance, reached down through the clear water to touch those firm, pale globes he had ached to touch for so long.

“What—what are you going to do?” Draco asked in a strangled voice.

“Just wash the sand out,” Ron said matter-of-factly, but his voice wasn’t exactly steady either. “You—um—weren’t really doing much to wash it out, kneeling in the surf with all that sand swirling around. You need the—the deeper water out here, to do it properly.” He rested one hand on Draco’s hip while his other hand—well, his other hand was boldly going where no hand had gone before.

Ron gently rubbed Draco’s cheeks, the salty water making them slightly slippery. He moved his hand down and Draco, acting on instinct, parted his legs a bit. Ron slid his hand between them, running one finger lightly along the smooth skin of the perineum until he could feel Draco’s balls.

The water was a bit cooler out here than in the sun-warmed shallows, but not enough to inhibit the response of Draco’s body to this inquisitive touch. Draco let out a choked cry as Ron brushed the underside of his cock for just an instant; then the teasing hand returned to those tantalizing smooth cheeks. He ran his fingers up and down between them, ostensibly looking for grains of sand but enjoying the fact that every time he passed a finger over the tight, puckered hole hidden there, Draco gave a little gasp and pushed back slightly against his hand.

At this sign of enthusiasm, Ron grew a bit bolder. He parted Draco’s cheeks with one hand and one blunt fingertip slipped inside and pressed gently, making tiny, teasing forays just barely inside. Ron couldn’t believe how hot Draco was inside; the tropical water around them felt frigid by comparison.

Draco whimpered at each touch. His cock was painfully hard just from the knowledge that it was Ron—finally, Ron—who was touching him like this. He was ready to explode at the slightest provocation. He knew he was whimpering but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Please,” he heard himself say. He was begging, and he didn’t care. He only knew he had to get Ron to do something—something more—or he would die. Right here, right now, he would die.

Ron hesitated. He heard Draco’s “please”, but a sudden wave of doubt assailed him. Did Draco really mean—or did he only want—and if he, Ron, did something, would it be the right thing, would it be what Draco wanted? He stood there, undecided, the irresistible smell of Draco’s heated skin overcoming even the pervasive aroma of seawater.

But alas, the saying is true: “He who hesitates is lost.” Or he loses his chance, or the moment passes, or...well, it all worked out to about the same thing in the end.

Suddenly there were torches on the beach and people running about, calling, “Draco! Ro-o-on!”

Draco could have cried. Just another few seconds and he would finally have had what he wanted: all of Ron, all his, only his. With one of the lightning-fast mood changes of youth, he thought in despair, No, not now—this can’t be happening! We’ll never have another chance like this!

Ron, behind him, couldn’t see Draco’s face, but he didn’t need to. He saw the slump of Draco’s shoulders and knew that he felt the same wretched disappointment Ron did at the untimely interruption. Ron heaved a sigh.

“Come on,” he said, surrendering to the inevitable, and they helped each other back through the waves and shallow surf to where George and Fred—it would be them, Ron thought sourly—stood waiting for them.

Draco’s discarded trunks swung jauntily from George’s finger, and he and Fred wore identical annoying, self-righteous expressions. George opened his mouth to say something, but Ron held out his hand.

“I’ll take those, thank you.” He snatched the trunks. “Not a word,” he added warningly as he handed them back to Draco. Ron folded his arms across the chest, his expression daring the twins to comment, while Draco hastily put his trunks back on—now not only wet but extra-sandy, inside and out.

Fred and George seemed to see the wisdom of heeding the new and rather dangerous look in Ron’s eyes. George said mildly, “The mums are looking for you two. You’d better get inside.”

Ron slung an arm over Draco’s shoulder and the four of them marched silently up the slope to the house. The twins watched Ron and Draco go inside. Then Fred looked at George, and George looked inscrutably back at him.

“What do you think?” George asked.

“I think we should keep an eye on the situation,” Fred offered.

“Right you are. That’s what we’ll do.”

Fred snorted. “Our baby brother. Who’d have thought it?

“Ah, yes. They grow up so quickly,” George said. They strolled up the stairs and into the house.
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You've Always Been Mine