Author: eeyore9990
Title: Everything Changes
Pairing: Ron/Surprise
Rating: NC-17, Post-Hogwarts
Kinks chosen/warnings: Watersports (urophilia), prostitution
Summary: “Everything was exactly the way it should be, and not at all the way it was supposed to be.”
Words: 1840
Betas: alisanne and jadzia7667. *loves*
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

---

Winning the war was supposed to change everything.

The Weasleys, with their total involvement in the Order of the Phoenix, were supposed to become powerful, sought after, and wealthy. Everything they’d never been. Ron was supposed to be a hero, well loved, and wealthy. Rich enough to buy and sell Gringotts. Unfortunately, what was ‘supposed to be’ never quite worked out that way in real life.

After the war, Harry left. And when Harry left, the spotlight on Ron shifted away. His family was much the way they’d been before the war: barely making ends meet, happy, and large. Well, everyone else was happy. Bill and Fleur had three children now, Charlie and Amanda were happily running the new dragon keep in Australia, Fred and George were scandalizing all of the wizarding world with their very open relationship with Lee Jordan, Ginny was engaged to Dean Thomas, and Percy was dead.

Everything was exactly the way it should be, and not at all the way it was supposed to be.

Which was why Ron found himself slouching against the alley wall in this remote section of wizarding London, a fag burning down, hanging half-out of his mouth, loose jeans riding low on his hips, blue eyes scanning in a curious mixture of boredom and anxiety. The johns were slow tonight and thinning significantly, which didn’t bode well for Ron actually making any hard cash.

He pulled the fag from his mouth and exhaled harshly, nearly spitting the smoke out. He turned toward the entrance to the alley, pulling the black string tie from his hair. He’d been told by the regulars that johns liked long hair. Some of them because they wanted to close their eyes and pretend the slags were women, to suit their own version of their imagined perversion. Some of them just enjoyed the way it fell down muscular backs, or how it felt wrapped around their cocks, or, occasionally, teasing at full breasts and tickling between sensitive, feminine thighs.

Ron crushed the fag beneath his foot as he thought, again, of how much money he and Bill working in tandem could have made. Hell, they’d probably never have had to pound the streets, just advertise to a select clientele. Ron shook his head and rubbed a hand down his face, wondering again how things had gotten so bad.

A tall, thin figure stepped into the alley, and Ron could feel a prickle of awareness as the man’s stare swept over him once, then again. Ron casually leaned his shoulder against the wall, arms crossing over his broad chest as he waited for the man to approach. Appearing too eager would turn off a client faster than a dripping green cock. The man tilted his head and crooked a finger, the action clearly an order.

Ron raised one eyebrow and thought for a moment about staying where he was. Then, he thought about all of the bills piling up on his scarred, stained breakfast table in his tiny flat, and decided that pride wasn’t worth turning this customer down. He pushed away from the wall, hands dropping down to thrust lazily into his pockets, and strolled slowly over to the customer. He stopped when he was close enough to catch the whiff of magic that said glamour, and simply waited.

“How much?” The man’s voice was husky, but cultured, and Ron immediately doubled the amount he’d been told to charge.

“Ten Galleons for a blowjob, twenty for me topping, fifty for me bottoming, and anything extra is to be negotiated before we start. Payment up front.” He kept his voice casual, but firm. He didn’t want to scare off a client, but he didn’t want the man to think he was a cheap fool, either.

“Do you have rooms we can retire to for the negotiations, or shall we do this…” the man’s lip curled in a familiar way, “here?”

“Negotiations and payment here, but I’ve got hired rooms we can… retire to… for the festivities.” Ron’s voice turned droll on the last word, his lips curving into a self-deprecating smile.

The man pulled a cloth bag out of his old-fashioned robes. People hardly wore them anymore, giving Ron yet another clue about this man. Pureblood, and still proud of it. Something about the man niggled at Ron’s brain, but he wasn’t picky enough to make a scene over it. If he knew the man, and he probably did, then he’d actually rather not know who he was.

“The order of events will be as follows: I will relieve my bladder onto you, and you will then top me. Is that simple enough?”

“Excuse me, what? You want to piss on me?”

“Crudely put, but yes. That is exactly what I desire.”

Ron opened his mouth to tell the man to go straight to hell, but something clicked between his wallet and his brain. “One hundred Galleons. For the pissing thing. Twenty for me topping you. If it takes longer than an hour, twenty per hour until you’re done. A whole evening is a hundred Galleons.” He held his breath and waited. This one little bit of unusual nastiness could pay all his bills, and see him into a larger flat.

“Two hundred and twenty Galleons, then? Agreed.”

And just like that, Ron knew how eager this man was.


~*~

Ron swallowed roughly as he looked at his client. The man, though shorter than him, filled the small flat with his presence. He had paid Ron his Galleons, a cheque from Gringotts that had rolled itself up and disappeared into thin air, only to return a moment later with a Paid to Account #398472 stamped across it. Ron fingered the scrap of paper where it lay in his pocket, and thought for a moment about treating himself to a night in an actual restaurant after this.

“Where would you like to…?”

“The shower is generally the best place for the first activity.”

Ron nodded and turned toward the small hallway, ducking into the bathroom and flickering a glance behind him to make sure his client was following. He turned and locked gazes with the man, bringing his hands up slowly to lift his shirt over his head. He put as much molten sex into that action as he could, until his client made an impatient sound and said, “I would like to be able to relieve myself when the time comes. Please refrain from attempting to arouse me until after I have done so.”

Ron blinked and nodded. “Sorry, wasn’t thinking.”

“Obviously.”

Ron turned to remove the rest of his clothing quickly, but also to hide the fact that he was rolling his eyes.

Ron knelt on the floor of the tiny, cramped shower stall, and nodded. His client let out a ragged moan and started pissing, the hot stream hitting Ron just below his navel before the man corrected his aim and the blast hit Ron on the head of his cock. He closed his eyes against a grimace, the sharp smell rising up to nearly choke him.

“Weasley.” The man’s voice was strained with excitement. “Look at me, Weasley. I want to see your face.”

Ron looked up, startled that the man had used his name. As he did so, the other man let his glamour drop, allowing Ron to see that he was… Draco Malfoy. Ron felt a flood of anger blast through him and, before he could even think, he had Draco pinned to the wall, growling angrily in his pointy little face. “Malfoy.”

Draco moaned and undulated against Ron, his own urine transferring from Ron’s body to Draco’s, soaking into his pale skin, the bitter scent rising between them. “Fuck, Weasel. Time to earn my twenty Galleons.”

Ron snorted, then bared his teeth and dropped his head down, biting Draco’s neck hard enough to bruise, but not so hard that he broke the skin. He bent and lifted Draco’s legs, wrapping them high on his waist. When he growled the lubrication charm, Draco grabbed his wrist and said, “No… I’m ready. Prepared myself ahead of time. Just… fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

At those words, Ron, who had only been about half hard, felt his cock become fully erect. He used the lube on his fingers to quickly slick his prick. He bit back a groan and grabbed Draco’s arse cheeks, spreading them with his fingers. Unable to breech his arse from this position, he swore softly and reached down, lining up his cock, then thrust hard into Draco’s arse.

Draco shrieked and went stiff; Ron thought for a brief moment that he’d hurt him and one part of him rejoiced at that while the other part was concerned for the other man. But Draco keened softly and drummed his heels along Ron’s back, needy sounds, half-words really, falling from his lips.

“More, ah, please, yes, nghgn, hard, now, more!”

Ron shuddered and pulled out, nearly unseating Draco, and shoved back in again, harder than before. Draco’s words became pure gibberish as he reached down and started roughly fisting his own cock, the purpled tip leaking the tiniest bit of come. Ron stared at it, licking his lips, that small spot of liquid calling to him.

He continued to pound forcefully into Draco, who continued to scream and thrash, until he couldn’t stand it any longer. He wrapped his hand around Draco’s, his thumb swiping at and collecting that small drop and smoothing it in and around the sensitive skin at the tip.

Draco’s mouth opened wide, his eyes clenched tightly closed, and he screamed so hard his voice left him; all that came from his lips was a nearly silent, high-pitched sort of whinging breath.

Ron watched the transformation of Draco, the flushed cheeks, the red lips, the teeth marks in the neck, the disarrayed hair, and tightened his grip. As if merely waiting for that, come began to spurt over his hand, and Draco’s arse clenched down hard around his own cock, making him loose his grip to find purchase against the wall.

He gritted his teeth and slammed forward twice more, the pulsating muscles surrounding his cock finally driving him over the edge as well.

Ron collapsed against Draco, who, boneless, began sliding down the wall, pulling Ron off-balance. They ended up in a heap on the tile floor, and Ron let out an exhausted chuckle.

“I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me, Ferret,” he said, voice carrying equal parts amusement and affection.

“Mmm, saw it in Wizard on Wizard a few months back. Haven’t known how to bring it up to you.”

“Well, happy birthday, git.” He fumbled in the pocket of his trousers, which were in a heap next to their heads, and withdrew the cheque. “Here, it’s yours anyway. I hope you enjoyed it, because I can’t see wanting to do that again.”

A long silence stretched out before Draco broke it with a soft, “Not even if it’s you pissing on me?”

The End.