Title What You Do In The Dark Doesn’t Count
Author iamisaac
Pairing Ron/Draco
Rating NC17
Kink chosen Claustrophilia
Warnings I am as lacking in deviance as I ever have been. Sorry.
Summary Ron is working for the Order, and is meeting his new and as yet unknown contact in a particularly strange place.
Author's notes: Many thanks to Tallulah for the beta job. If you're put off by the pairing or the lack of deviancy, give it a go anyway. It's one of my better efforts, I think.




“It’s awfully dark in here.” Ron, Apparating into pitch blackness and aware of the small area he was in, reached out a hand tentatively. He found his fingers touching those of another person. “Is that you?”

A sardonic voice spoke out in the darkness.

“Are you coming on to me, Weasley?”

Ron snatched his hand away in almost indecent haste.

“Malfoy?” he demanded in disbelief.

“As if you didn’t know,” Draco drawled lazily.

“What in bloody buggering hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

Ron could picture the look on Draco’s face perfectly, despite the pitch darkness. A half-sneer; one eyebrow raised slightly. Smug. Arrogant.

“You’re not… Oh shit, you’re not… No you can’t be, that’d be stupid.”

“Don’t mind me, Weasley, just talk to yourself.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ron said shortly.

“If you’re wondering whether I’m your contact, Weasley, the answer is affirmative.”

“What?”

“Yes. I am. Clear enough now?”

“You are joking.” Ron stared, as though his eyes would be able to penetrate the obscurity and catch the joke on Draco’s face. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Have I?”

“YES!” Ron bellowed.

There was silence between them until Ron spoke again.

“Look,” he said, trying to be reasonable (trying not to strangle Malfoy now, and just let the future take care of itself). “Look, that can’t be right. I was just told that I was meeting a contact here, and that he – or possibly she – would need handling with delicacy. Or something. They can’t possibly have sent me to meet you.”

“Oh!” The sarcasm was clear. “I must be someone else, then.”

“For fuck’s sake, Malfoy, they said you needed tactful handling.”

“Oh, they told you it called for tact, then? I see your point: why on earth did they choose you? Is there really such a paucity of talent in the Order of the Phoenix?” Draco paused. “That means lack, Weasley,” he added kindly.

“Shut up.”

Even before he’d known he would be meeting a Malfoy, Ron had asked Kingsley the exact same question – “Why me?” – but he wasn’t telling Draco that.

“So what now?” inquired Draco.

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean that you’re supposed to be persuading me that I’d be better off with your lot, telling all I know. How are you going to do that?”

“Did they know it was you?” Ron demanded abruptly.

“What do you think?”

“Well, why the bloody hell did they choose me?” Ron hadn’t intended to say it, but the words were out of his mouth before he could grab them back.

“Maybe they thought you could offer me something I want.”

Ron scoffed.

“Yeah, that’s likely, isn’t it? You don’t even like me.”

“’Like’ doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Draco said suggestively.

“What?”

“You heard.”

Ron wasn’t denying he’d heard, just wondering whether he’d heard right, or at least whether he’d understood Draco right. It sounded like Malfoy was – well, that he was suggesting that he fancied him. Of course Draco hadn’t meant that, of course not… and of course Ron didn’t wish he had. It was just the enclosed space, the dark, the warm feeling of Draco’s breath against his cheek – just those things that were making Ron horny. Ron didn’t fancy guys, and even if he did (which he didn’t), Malfoy would clearly be the last person in the world (well, maybe excepting Snape, but thank God he was dead… and he wasn’t supposed to think that because apparently Snape had been a good guy all along, but still…) he would fancy.

“Lost for words, Weasley? There really is a first time for everything.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Tact, Weasley, tact – remember? Anyway, as I recall, you were coming on to me when you first got here.”

“I was not!” said Ron indignantly. “I didn’t even know where you were, let alone who you were.”

“Of course not,” Draco mocked. “But you do now, don’t you? And…” Ron felt Draco’s hands trailing over his body in a purposeful way, and obviously he’d just been about to object, but it was more difficult than you’d think when someone was touching you like that… “Mmm, you’re standing very – erect, shall we say? – for someone without the slightest interest in me.”

Ron woke up with a start.

“Geddoff me, Malfoy!” he said, batting Draco’s hands away.

“You fight like a girl, did you know, Weasley? Do you fuck like one, too?”

And Ron was not turned on by that suggestion, he was not.

“None of your business,” he said shortly. “And anyone would think you hadn’t been beaten up by Ginny at Hogwarts when you make sexist comments like that.”

“Oh, has Granger taken up feminism as well as salvation for house-elves?” Draco asked innocently.

“I have my own ideas, thank you. Anyway, she’s married to Harry. Shut up.”

“She discovered you preferred men, then?”

“Malfoy, I’m so going to kill you!”

Ron took a pace in the direction of Draco’s voice in order to punch him properly, tripped over the other man’s feet and ended up in an undignified heap in his arms.

“Ron Weasley” – Draco’s voice was laced with amusement – “you really do want me badly, don’t you?”

“I…”

Ron, disconcerted by the unusual use of his first name by Draco, could do no more than begin a spluttering denial before his objections were cut off by a firm, thoroughly masculine mouth closing on his. Instinctively, he returned the kiss, pressing closer as a warm tongue snaked between his lips. Draco’s hands had moved down to rest possessively on Ron’s arse, whilst one of Ron’s hands had somehow tangled itself in Draco’s hair, the other slipping round his waist. The kiss grew longer and more passionate; Ron heard a groan that he realised had come from himself as his erection nudged against Draco’s. Characteristically it was Draco who broke the kiss, though his hands stayed firmly where they were.

“Mmm, not bad. In fact, very good.” Draco’s voice was that of a connoisseur savouring a fine wine. “You must be in practise. Who’s the lucky man?”

“Oh, shut up,” said Ron again; but this time for a different reason.

This time it was Ron who leaned forwards into Draco’s embrace, kissing him with an urgency that a small voice in the back of his head told him that he was going to regret some time. Draco, this time, seemed willing enough to be silent, his hands pulling Ron even closer so that there was barely a centimetre of air between any part of their bodies.

Ron was tugging at Draco’s robes (and it was really weird to be doing this in the dark and when there probably wasn’t even enough room to lie down, so how they’d be able to have sex Ron didn’t know, but somehow the whole thing was making him harder than he’d ever been, which was wrong but frankly he didn’t care), desperate to get his hands on his body.

“You’re quite something,” said Draco; and for once his tone held no trace of sarcasm, just a breathless, eager excitement.

And it might well be the first time in his life that Ron felt that, too – felt that for once he knew what he was doing, knew what he wanted and how to get it, knew what Draco would like and intended to give it to him. It was a flash of a thought, almost gone before Ron had processed it. And his fingers didn’t fumble on the buttons of Draco’s robes, but were quick and neat as he slid them from Draco’s shoulders into a puddle at his feet. His pants followed, and there was room for Ron to kneel in front of him, and – and – for once Ron wasn’t worrying about how things looked or what people would think, and just sank to his knees to take Draco’s cock into his mouth.

It felt right.

It wasn’t a conscious thought, but despite the fact Ron had never done this before (never even wanted to) there was something incredible (something right) about the feeling of Draco in his mouth. The heaviness; the taste that was salt and sour and sex; Draco’s hard, perfect cock. And now it was Draco who was groaning, Draco whose fingers threaded in Ron’s hair, Draco who seemed to have forgotten that Ron was a much despised Weasley, and who moaned “Ron, Ron – God, yes – Ron!” as Ron’s mouth moved up and down his shaft. It was Draco, too, who was begging “Ron, fuck me,” as if there was no one and nothing he desired more than Ronald Bilius Weasley.

And somehow, just this once, Ron felt confident, knew what to do as he murmured a spell that slicked Draco’s hole, and (his mouth still greedily sucking on Draco’s cock) pressed one finger – two – three – inside him.

“Turn round for me, Draco.”

Ron’s voice was hoarse as he pulled himself to standing, pushing his own pants to the ground as he hitched up his robes. Draco turned obediently; Ron heard the slap of his hands against the wall. It didn’t matter that Ron had never done this before, he knew by instinct (what instinct? What did he care?) what to do as he pressed his cock against Draco’s opening, the fingers of his right hand closing around Draco’s erection. Then he was inside, and Draco was screaming, but not with pain. Pleasure, desire, need, they all fought in his voice.

And Ron was thrusting in and out, his hands on the wall above Draco to begin with, then moving lower, so that he pushed against his lover’s back (his lover? But how else could he describe Draco now?) with desperate need. Draco was crying out, begging; and if Ron hadn’t been so distracted he would have seen this as a perfect opportunity to best Malfoy, to humiliate him for the rest of his life – but Ron felt the same, felt like Draco was everything, all he’d ever wanted, and he heard himself groaning “Draco, Draco – yes, oh fuck…” as he took him over and over, his nails digging into Draco’s shoulder blades, his mouth sucking at his partner’s neck.

He felt Draco come, felt him twitch in his grip and then experienced the sensation of semen not his own spilling over his hand in spurts as Draco gasped and moaned and gasped again. It was all Ron needed to set him off, but the feeling was incredible – nothing like wanking, nowhere similar to having it off with a girl, but something new, something – something – something… something he’d been waiting a lifetime for and had never known he’d missed.

He rested his damp forehead on Draco’s shoulder as he tried to recover his breath. Draco himself was making little sounds, like a puppy or kitten needing reassurance, but Ron had not the breath, not the brain to respond. As his breathing and mind became clearer, he suddenly realised what he’d done.

Malfoy.

Him and Draco Malfoy. Okay, he had not been able to see Malfoy, and yes – that had made a difference, no matter how stupid that sounded. But all the same, he’d had sex with Malfoy, and… and – that was something that was beyond anything Ron could ever even begin to deal with. He’d wanted to, too. It wasn’t something he could excuse on any grounds. He’d wanted Malfoy, and frankly, if Malfoy wanted him again… Ron groaned, realising that he would do it over and over, that Malfoy hit a place in his armour that no one had ever touched before.

“You’ve got talent, Weasley.” The Draco Malfoy Ron had known in the past was back in entirety. Ron didn’t like him any better than he ever had.

“Fuck off,” he said shortly.

“I did.” Draco’s voice was filled with amusement.

Ron bit his lip to bleeding point.

“So,” he said grimly, “are you going to join the Order?” It was time to get it back on official terms. Ron refused let Draco mess with his mind. More than he already had, that was.

Draco laughed.

“Will you persuade me often?”

Ron’s teeth bit together so hard that he wondered whether a visit to the wizardontist would be his next move.

“I might.”

Draco leaned towards him, somehow instinctively knowing where he was despite the dark. He kissed him.

“Then I just might agree, Weasley. I just might agree…”

And Ron wasn’t sure which of them had won, this time.