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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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Mine, All Mine

Hogwarts, Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom
11 Dec 1995

Ron paced back and forth, with an occasional circuit around the giant stand of sinks in the center of the bathroom now and again for the sake of variety. Where was Draco? Ron stopped and checked his watch for what seemed like the fiftieth time: seven minutes past nine. He heaved a sigh and resumed his pacing, muttering to himself.

“Ooo, waiting for someone, are we?” The high-pitched voice made him glance around sharply. Moaning Myrtle hovered behind him, a sly smirk on her pointed face. “A lovers’ tryst in the bathroom,” she went on with a knowing look. “How romantic!” She clasped her hands together and pretended to swoon.

Ron reddened. “Bugger off, why don’t you?” he said rudely.

Myrtle pouted. “But I so seldom get any company in here,” she purred. She eyed him from under her lashes, and Ron snorted.

“Well, keep your comments to yourself. I’ve got enough on my mind without you butting in.”

Myrtle clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, goody! I’ll just stay waaay up here—” she zoomed up to a high window embrasure— “and you won’t even know I’m here!” She giggled her annoying, coy giggle again.

Ron grumbled something that sounded like “That’ll be the day” and began to pace again. He had completed another three circuits of the sinks and was just rounding the far side when he saw Draco standing just inside the bathroom door. Ron stopped and just looked at him for a minute, enjoying the all-too-infrequent sight of Draco informally dressed in jeans, trainers, and a thick sweater. Draco was rarely seen out of uniform at school.

“Hey,” Draco said.

“Hey,” Ron responded. Up in her window Myrtle rolled her eyes at this uninspired dialogue. “So—did you find somewhere we can go?”

Draco nodded. “Yeah, I did.” He looked rather pleased with himself. “I hope you like it,” he said. “I don’t think anyone’s been there in ages—it was pretty filthy. Dobby helped me clean it out and make it useable. I don’t think anyone will intrude on us there—it’s a bit off the beaten path.” He walked over to Ron and took his hand. “Well,” he said a bit shyly, “shall we go?”

“Oh yeah,” Ron said. It came out as a croak. There was another giggle from the window, and his ears reddened. Draco, startled, looked up to see Myrtle floating down toward them.

“Ooh,” she said, her tone more than a little suggestive. “Isn’t this just too sweet for words!” She propped her chin on a bony fist, her head tipped coquettishly on one side. “Just wait until everyone hears.”

Red and white heads both snapped around. Ron’s hand clenched. “Just you mind your own business,” he said hotly. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Myrtle laughed, a sound that did nothing to reassure Ron. But Draco grasped his hand and pulled him toward the door.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Just ignore her.”

They quickly exited the bathroom. Behind them Myrtle shrieked in fury. “Oh, that’s right!” she cried. “Just ignore her! She’s nobody! She’s of no account!” She uttered a few more remarks that were no doubt pithy but fortunately were too muffled for them to hear clearly. Then there was a shriek and a splash as Myrtle disappeared into her U-bend to sulk.

“Where are we headed?” Ron whispered as they made their way through the deserted corridors and up staircases.

Draco chuckled. “You don’t have to whisper,” he said. “We’re not breaking any rules by not going to Hogsmeade, you know.”

Ron looked sheepish. “I guess not. I just feel kind of...guilty, or something.”

Draco glanced at him, then quickly looked away. “You mean you feel guilty about—about us?”

Ron’s hand jerked in his. “What? No!” he exclaimed. “I just meant, you know, sneaking around the school and all...with no one about...it just has that out-past-curfew feel to it, you know?” Still Draco seemed to avoid looking at him, so Ron stopped in the middle of the corridor. The occupants of the portraits hanging nearby looked at them curiously, unaccustomed to seeing students so far away from the hub of classrooms and dormitories.

“Hey.” Ron tugged at Draco’s hand. Draco stopped walking and stood there, fiddling with one of his sweater cuffs. “Draco. Look at me,” Ron said sternly. Draco dragged his reluctant gaze upward, past those lips whose warmth he knew well, past the incipient mustache Ron was so proud of, past the nose with more freckles on it than any other nose in the known universe, to the hazy blue eyes that regarded him with stark honesty. Ron smiled, and the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened.

“You git,” he said gently. “You’re the best thing in my life, Draco. Do you really not know that by now? How could I feel guilty about that?” He rested his hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Maybe I haven’t ever said it in so many words,” Ron continued. “But I’m saying it now. I’m well aware of how lucky I am to have you. Every time we’re together it amazes me all over again that you actually choose to be with me—me, of all people!” He shook his head. “You’ll never know how many times I’ve wondered why you haven’t chucked me by now and gone off with someone...better. But I’m glad you haven’t. Hell no, Draco—I don’t feel guilty about being with you. I—I love you.”

Draco’s eyes had grown wider and wider as he listened to Ron’s impassioned declaration. He waited all of a second after Ron stopped talking to fling his arms around the redhead, hugging him tightly and burying his face in Mrs Weasley’s latest maroon Christmas sweater.

Ron hugged back for all he was worth. He was glad he’d finally told Draco exactly how he felt, especially given what they were about to do. They stood there comfortably, just holding each other, for long moments in the bright, snow-lit corridor, the silence broken only by affected sniffles and quiet comments from some of the portraits.

“So romantic!” sobbed one soft-hearted lady in an Elizabethan ruff.

“Oh, yes, quite so!” her neighbor gushed. “Very touching.” She sniffled and blew her nose daintly, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a lacy square.

A stiff-looking gentleman on the facing wall eyed them askance, appearing rather appalled by the whole affair, but other than aiming a disapproving glare at Ron and Draco he said nothing.

Draco raised his head and met Ron’s descending lips with his own in the most passionate kiss they had so far exchanged, made more so by Ron’s declaration.

It proved too much for the bewigged gentleman in the portrait. “Tcha!” he exploded. “Disgraceful behavior, sirrahs—disgraceful! Why, in my day—”

“Oh hush, Leopold,” said Lace Handkerchief. “Don’t be such a prig.”

“Yes,” Ruffled Collar chimed in. “You were a dried-up old prune in life, and I can’t see that dying has improved you any. Why, you wouldn’t recognize love if it leaped up and bit you in the nose—would he, Mathilde?”

Lace Handkerchief waved a derisive hand in Leopold’s direction with a dismissive “Old poop!” and continued to direct a watery, sentimental smile at Ron and Draco.

Ron said, “Maybe we should get going.” He jerked his head at the listening portraits. “Er—where are we going, anyway?” He peered out a window. “Whew! We’re quite high up.” He looked around. “I don’t think I’ve ever been up here before. Where are we?”

Draco grinned. “We’re almost there. Just a bit further along.” He took Ron’s hand and guided him down the frigid corridor and around a corner, stopping in front of a heavy wooden door. He pulled out his wand and glanced quickly down the hall. They were completely alone.

“Alohomora!” Draco said softly, and the heavy iron handle clanked downward. Draco pushed the door open and gestured Ron inside. “After you,” he said.

Uncertain what to expect, Ron stepped inside. He looked around and let out a low whistle. “Brilliant!” he breathed. Draco followed him in and closed the door, engaging the heavy lock. He looked around at the results of his and Dobby’s labor.

They were at the top of an old, disused residential wing of the castle. They were not in one of the many towers. Instead the room bore some resemblance to the Great Hall, only smaller. It was rectangular, with an arched stone ceiling. There were several windows on both of the long sides of the room that let in abundant light, reflecting off the snow outside. There was a giant stone fireplace at each end of the room; Draco was pleased to see that Dobby had lit fires in both of them so that instead of being damp and cold, the room was warm and welcoming.

Tapestries and bookshelves—empty, for the most part—lined the walls. A small table was drawn up before the fire at the near end of the room, with a game of wizard’s chess set up all ready to play. A pair of deep, squashy armchairs, half-turned toward the fire, flanked the table. At the far end of the room was a long wooden refectory table with benches on both sides. Ron could imagine it covered with books and parchments as scholars of years past labored over their work.

But what drew his eye—what he found it nearly impossible to look away from—was the bed. An enormous bed, covered with piles of quilts and comforters and pillows and hung round with heavy velvet curtains of warm ivory. It stood majestically against one wall, halfway between the two fireplaces. Ron felt his face grow warm with anticipation just looking at it.

Draco came up beside him and slipped his hand into Ron’s. “What do you think?” he asked hesitantly. “Too much?” Ron just looked at him. Draco shuffled his feet a bit. “I told Dobby it was a bit overdone, but he insisted that we—that we’d enjoy it,” he said uncomfortably.

Ron took a deep breath. “No, it’s fine,” he managed. He even said it without croaking, much to his surprise. He walked over to the bed and looked at Draco. “It’s better than fine,” he said. “It’s just—it makes me want to—well, I don’t want you to think I only want you for one reason, but looking at this bed it’s pretty hard to not want to just throw you down on it and ravish you.”

Draco snorted. “Ravish me?” he teased, joining Ron next to the bed. “Well, ravish away, mate—that’s what it’s here for. After all, I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t y—” Draco broke off with a gasp and a somewhat winded laugh when Ron suddenly swept him up and flung him onto the bed and then dove on top of him, straddling the slender blond.

They stared at each other for a long, breathless moment. Draco grinned. “Well, that’s one way to break the ice,” he said. He had no chance to say more; Ron’s head descended and those warm lips pressed against his own. Draco’s eyes fell shut. He could feel Ron’s heart beating against his chest. His own pulse was crashing like thunder in his ears; he was amazed that Ron seemed not to hear it. Draco reveled in the kiss, a melange of hot breath and wet tongues and whispered endearments.

When they broke apart—even the most desperate lover must come up for air eventually—they just looked at each other in wonder, realizing that this was it, this was actually...it. The moment they had waited for so long was finally here.

And neither of them was quite sure how to proceed.

Oh, they’d heard a lot of locker-room jokes and some whispering among their friends, and everyone knew what was what in theory. But really, what was a chap supposed to do when his best friend was straddling him and kissing the very breath out of him? How did one start? Who was supposed to do what?

“Er...should we—” Draco began, but Ron shook his head.

“Hang on. Let’s just take this slow. We’ve got all day, right? So let’s just...take it one step at a time.” Oh, Hermione would have been proud; perhaps he did have “organizational skills” after all...of a sort.

Ron moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He glanced back at Draco, who knelt uncertainly behind him. “Think I’ll, er, take off my shoes,” Ron said. “Might as well get comfortable, yeah? It’s plenty warm in here.”

Draco slid over beside him and nodded. “Okay—sure. Comfortable, that’s a start.” He took off his shoes and put them under the bed beside Ron’s. They looked at each other and, grinning, proceeded to remove their socks as well.

At that point things became mired in uncertainty once again.

Finally Ron thought, Ah, Merlin, might as well just do it. He peeled his sweater off in one fluid motion and undid the top button on his jeans. Draco sat motionless beside him, watching Ron with a rather dazed look. When Ron stood and unzipped his jeans and pushed them down, his underwear got bunched up with his jeans and descended as well. He hadn’t meant for that to happen—not quite yet, anyway—but, his face flaming, he brazened it out and kicked the whole bundle off his feet. After a moment of silence, during which Ron’s lips stood a fair chance of being chewed down to nothing, he summoned the courage to meet Draco’s eyes.

Which were fastened with a look of awe on that part of Ron’s anatomy which was ready and oh-so-willing to be an active participant in today’s events. Suddenly Ron didn’t feel quite as nervous as he had before.

Draco finally looked up. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Ron quirked his head.

“You okay?” he asked, a bit worried. Oh gods, I knew something would go wrong. And we’re way up here, who-knows-where—no one knows where we are—what if I need to get help?

Draco smiled suddenly. “You should see your face,” he chuckled. “Don’t look so worried. I’m fine. It’s just—” He looked down at Ron again. “You’re just so—well—I sort of knew, I mean—but I’ve never actually seen—”

Ron, vastly relieved at the reason for Draco’s momentary speechlessness, and flattered as well, let out his breath. “Oh. Right. Well...feel free to look all you want. Although now that I think about it, don’t you think some of that—” he gestured toward Draco’s clothes— “should come off? I’d—” he cleared his suddenly dry throat— “I’d really like to see you, too.”

Draco slid off the bed. “Oh—ah, sure, right.” He grasped the lower edge of his sweater and started to lift it, but Ron stopped him.

“Let me,” he said. He slipped his hands under the sweater and ran them up Draco’s smooth skin, taking the sweater with them. Draco raised his arms and Ron pulled the sweater off over his head. He stared at Draco’s chest, the nipples two little pale pink islands in an expanse of skin that was paler still. Even as he looked at them, the nipples crinkled slightly. He leaned in and breathed on one, and Draco let out a strangled gasp. When Ron’s lips fastened over it, Draco jerked once and gripped Ron’s arm tightly. Ron circled the tiny nub with his tongue a few times, then reluctantly let it go.

“More,” he said softly, and Draco’s eyes, which had been squeezed tightly shut, opened. Ron slid one hand down along Draco’s warm stomach and unzipped his jeans. His eyes never leaving Draco’s, he pulled the jeans down to the point where Draco, bracing himself with a hand on Ron’s shoulder, could step out of them. He stood there clad only in a pair of blue and white striped boxers. Ron looked down and grinned.

“What?” Draco asked, sounding a bit defensive.

“Oh, I just had a sudden memory of dragon underpants,” Ron said. Draco stared at him, mystified, and Ron shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll tell you later.” He slipped his fingers into the waistband of the boxers and slowly, slowly dragged them down. First a fluffy bit of fine blond hair appeared, then the tip of Draco’s cock, which had risen to the occasion some time ago, came into view, obviously just as eager as Ron’s to get things started. Ron knelt to push the boxers down the rest of the way and found himself eye to eye, as it were, with Draco’s own very respectable, if somewhat smaller endowment. The delicious smell that was distinctly Draco—Ron would have known it even blindfolded, amid a crowd of thousands—wafted up to tease his nostrils. Draco stepped out of his boxers and waited, still not certain who should do what, and to whom, and when.

Ron, unable to resist sampling the tempting morsel before him, raised his hand and closed it around the base of Draco’s cock. Draco shivered and seemed to stop breathing. Ron drew his hand slowly down to the head, running his thumb over it lightly, and then slid back to the base. He watched as a pearly drop of pre-cum emerged from the slit and hung there, daring him to taste it.

He bent forward and did so, circling the head lightly with his tongue as he copied the motion of his thumb a moment ago. With his other hand he reached behind Draco’s cock to encircle the warm, lightly fuzzed balls. Draco’s hand shot up to Ron’s shoulder and he started to breathe again, panting in short, shallow gasps.

“Why don’t we get up on the bed?” Ron suggested. “My legs are like rubber—I feel like I might fall over at any moment.” Truthfully, he was afraid that Draco’s knees might buckle, so intensely affected did he seem by what was, so far, a relatively minor bit of sex-play. They crawled up onto the middle of the big bed, where Draco lay down among the quilts.

Ron lay beside him, propped up on one elbow. He surveyed the length of Draco’s body and shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such pale skin,” he remarked. Draco would have replied, but Ron swept a hand along his side and murmured, “So beautiful.” He was obviously on an exploratory mission and was not about to be sidetracked.

He brushed his hand across Draco’s nipples again and they crinkled at his touch. Ron moved his hand in broad, smooth strokes across Draco’s torso and drew his fingers lightly across Draco’s abdomen, making him quake with shivers. Ron watched as Draco lay there with his eyes closed, his body reacting instantly to every sensation.

Ron leaned over, his hand on Draco’s stomach, and kissed the pale mouth, feasting on it in a leisurely way. His lips trailed across Draco’s cheek to his ear, and the tip of Ron’s tongue darted just inside and traced the delicate outer curve. Draco moaned, and while he was thus distracted, Ron moved his hand a bit further down. He left a row of kisses along Draco’s collarbone and gently sucked at his neck where it joined the shoulder. His hand now rested at the top of Draco’s nest of blond curls, and Draco’s cock was leaking moisture onto the back of Ron’s hand.

Suddenly Ron sat up and straddled Draco’s thighs once again. He bent and dragged his tongue slowly down the center of Draco’s chest to his belly, where he gently swirled it around the indentation of his navel, and then flicked it at the crisp curls, deliberately avoiding Draco’s cock. He glanced up; Draco’s eyes were closed and there was a dreamy expression on his face.

Then Ron moved down and began to kiss up the inside of one leg, stopping when his nose nudged against Draco’s balls; Draco whimpered and thrust his hips up, desperately wanting more, but instead Ron started on the other leg, kissing his way up that one. He tickled the crease at the top of Draco’s inner thigh with his tongue and drew the tip lightly across Draco’s balls, then did the same on the other side. All of the contact so far was light, almost teasing.

Draco was nearly wild with need. He kept waiting for Ron to touch him harder, to take his balls into his mouth, or his cock—anything, really, just touch me more, harder, oh please, oh gods, I need—I need! he thought desperately. Ron’s teasing was devastating, but so good, so much better than when it was his own hands on himself. This was nothing like the times he’d satisfied himself. Draco’s chest heaved; his head thrashed from side to side. He was enticingly close to coming, and Ron had hardly even touched him yet. He wished...and suddenly he was speaking the words aloud, the desperate lunging of his hips marking a frantic beat.

“Oh gods, oh please, Ron, touch me, harder, more, please, please!” Was that really him begging like a wanton? He didn’t care. He needed Ron’s hands on him. Or his mouth. Or both. Something—he just needed so badly to come.

Ron reached for one of Draco’s hands, which was clutching the quilt in a death-grip, and held it. He looked at the angelic face above him and said in a husky voice, “Draco, come on—come for me now, yeah?”

Draco, nearly weeping with gratitude and wanting, stammered, “Yes—yes—please, Ron!”

Ron dipped his head and drew his tongue in one long, slow, steady swipe from Draco’s balls to the smooth base of his cock, then up to the head. Then he lunged onto Draco’s cock with his mouth, taking it all the way in until it started down the back of his throat. He had never done this before, but he knew what to do. His throat closed over the head as he swallowed deliberately, massaging Draco’s sensitive glans with the strong action of his tongue and throat.

And then...there it was. There....

With a choked cry Draco’s hips bucked once more and he came, spurting rope after rope of heat down Ron’s throat. Ron continued to swallow, and Draco shuddered and whimpered as he was systematically milked of every last drop.

Finally Ron stopped and gently slid Draco’s cock out of his mouth. Draco’s hips gave one final jerk as Ron’s lips closed over the head, and the cock exited his mouth with a pop.

Then they were still.

Ron moved up beside Draco, who appeared to have fallen asleep. Ron pillowed his head on one arm and lay watching him; the skin of Draco’s eyelids was nearly translucent, it was so pale. Ron glanced down the length of Draco’s body. His cock was easily the most vivid part of him at the moment, still a bright pink from Ron’s ministrations although now it lay quietly amid its curly nest.

After a few minutes Draco started, then opened his eyes and met Ron’s squarely. “That was...really something,” he said.

“So you liked it?” Ron asked. “I wasn’t really sure what to...you know....”

Draco smiled. “It was brilliant,” he said. “You were brilliant. But—” he rolled over and looked at Ron intently— “but you didn’t...you know....”

Ron’s brow furrowed, then cleared. “Oh. Well, not yet, but I will. Or I suppose I will. I dunno—whatever you want, Draco.”

Draco sat up. “Let’s agree on something right now, Ron—right here at the beginning. Everything is equal between us, okay? Nobody gets more, or better, or...whatever. We both share equally. Right?” He looked rather fierce about it, and Ron couldn’t help chuckling a little.

“What—are we going to keep score or something?” he queried mildly. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said as Draco opened his mouth to object. “I know what you meant. It’ll all work out.” He reached for Draco’s hand and twined their fingers together. “But I’m glad you feel that way. ’Cos, you know, being a spoiled only child and all, naturally I assumed you’d expect to always be first—” he chortled as an indignant Draco smacked him with a pillow— “and best—” Ron rolled away, laughing, as Draco went after him, and the rest of his words were muffled beneath a feather pillow.

They finally came to a stop, perilously close to the edge of the bed. Draco, sitting firmly atop Ron, took the pillow away. Ron lay there spitting feathers out of his mouth, a goofy grin on his face. “What?” Draco asked him.

Ron shook his head. “Nothing. I just—gods, I love you,” he said. “I never expected to feel this way. I mean, I’ve always felt something...more than friendship for you, but I wasn’t sure just what it was. I’ve always been attracted to you, but it’s not just that, either.”

“I know,” Draco said seriously. “I always thought you had to be—well, older to feel this way. You know, past the uncertainty of youth and sort of...settled, I guess.” He stared at Ron. “I know we’re only fifteen and we probably shouldn’t be using words like ‘forever’, but, Ron....” He raised his hands helplessly.

“Yeah, I know. Pretty serious stuff, huh?” Ron said. Draco nodded. Then he got a funny look on his face. “What?” Ron asked.

“Oh, nothing really. I just remembered that—well, you know, you haven’t had your turn yet. And technically we’re—we’re both still—” He looked at Ron, willing him to understand.

“Still what?”

Okay, so as much as Draco loved him, Ron didn’t exactly qualify for membership in Mensa.

“Virgins.”

“Oh. Yeah. So...?” The penny dropped. Ron’s eyes opened wide. “Oh. And you want to—” Suddenly he was hard again, almost painfully so. Draco was right here telling him that what he wanted was the very same thing Ron wanted, had wanted for some time now. He sat up, no longer feeling drowsy, and flipped Draco over so Ron was on top of him.

“Ah, I think we should do something about that,” Ron said, and he gave his lover a wicked grin. “We can’t have virgins running around all over the place, now can we?”
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You've Always Been Mine