Title: Breaking Point
Author: fangqueen
Characters/Pairings: Ron/Draco, Ron/Hermione (background)
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Everything old is new again!: Adultery, Nipple piercings, Facials
Other Warnings/Content: EWE, Angst, Stripper!Draco, Gay gentlemen’s club, Exotic dancing, Sexual Awakenings, Frottage, Masturbation, Voyeurism, Pining, Enemies to Lovers
Word Count: 6110
Summary: This was the problem. Because being here was one thing. Getting a lap dance or two was another. Even having a hasty, quiet wank in the shower when he got home. But the things he’d do to Malfoy, if given the chance...

A/N: This my first submission to Daily Deviant (other than Kinky Kristmas, of course xP), and I’m super excited about it! This story fought me tooth and nail the whole way, and so I hope it finally came out right and that you all enjoy it~

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“You know, I didn’t actually know you swung that way.”

A light shiver fled down his spine, igniting gooseflesh along his arms. Of course, he knew that soft drawl anywhere. He just hadn’t been expecting to hear it so suddenly, to feel the hot ghost of breath against his ear. Ignoring it for the moment, he continued to stare straight ahead. Maybe if he didn’t respond, then this likely unpleasant conversation he’d been deftly avoiding for some time would simply go away. Considering the person who was speaking to him, he should’ve known better.

“Although, I suspect that’s exactly the point. I imagine you don’t really want anyone knowing, do you?”

If that wasn’t the most obvious statement of the century. It wasn’t so much a “want” as a requirement, lest he wished to be emasculated by the woman he’d left at home. She was open and accepting, of course--a right saint, that one, not like him--but still, he didn’t much think she’d appreciate knowing that he was essentially cheating on her in order to figure out his mess of a brain and body. Well, he hadn’t gone all the way with that yet, but the intent was certainly there.

“Honestly, if I had known, I probably would’ve made a move on you years ago.”

He actually turned to look at him then, twisting his upper half to see Malfoy leaning on his forearms over the back of the armchair Ron was seated on, his shit-eating grin sparkling down at him in the dim lighting. There was no way that was even partially true. He’d been even more closeted in their school days than Ron was now, and that was saying something. Also, they’d been too busy trying to rip each other’s throats out as classmates to even think about snogging. Truth be told, Ron had, anyway, but that was beside the point, and he didn’t see any reason to believe that the former Slytherin fancied him at all, or ever had. He was just trying to get his goat, as usual. And yet:

“I don’t really know if I do, either,” Ron admitted quietly, the few drinks having made him bold. Or less inclined to check himself before speaking, at least. There was no point in beating about the bush, anyway; Malfoy had seen him around enough times to probably already have a good idea of what he was doing there. “I guess I’m trying to figure that out.”

The blonde made an amused little sound in his throat, then allowed his gaze to drift back to the muscular figure gyrating on the small stage in front of them. “As good a way as any, I suppose.”

Ron wasn’t sure why Malfoy was trying to talk to him now in the first place. He’d been coming to this plush (and discreet) gentlemen's club quite regularly for the past couple months, and they’d never spoken. Granted, it had been shocking to see the man there. The slap in the face that was glancing up from his first lap dance to discover a wide-eyed Draco Malfoy staring right back at him from across the room had almost been enough of a push to get him to engage with him, or at the very least ask him why in the hell he was working in a place like this. But he took one cursory glance at the gnarly scar on his left arm, and he knew why. Plenty of ex-Death Eaters had taken up worse after the war--after their reputations were ruined, and even those who had managed to escape a prison sentence weren’t able to find proper employment, or lead any semblance of a normal life. It was a shame for what had once been the Dark Mark to continue to mar such near flawless skin, and he was positive the vain little drama queen had sobbed buckets over it, but they’d not yet found a way to avoid that side-effect during the removal process. Seemed that, even with the Dark Lord long dead and gone, his hold on their souls just didn’t want to let go. It suited Malfoy’s new look, though, he supposed. In addition, he’d acquired a tiny gemstone in his left nostril and a colorful tattoo of a Chinese Fireball that snaked its way from the small of his back all the way up and around his right shoulder and onto his chest. His hair was also styled a lot more brashly than when they were younger, and that first night, he’d been wearing a mesh leotard of sorts.

“I reckon this one isn’t quite your type.”

The sound of his voice, once again, made Ron start. It was a statement, not a question. It was also correct; while he’d been enjoying watching nonetheless, the man on the stage definitely didn’t meet his requirements. Funny how Malfoy had managed to pick up on that, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d always felt like a forcibly opened book around the eerily perceptive snake.

When he received no answer to his assumption, he added, “I noticed you haven’t asked me for a dance yet…”

Oh Merlin. Ron knew he was pouting even before he dragged his gaze back up to his face. Just as expected, the blonde had his lower lip pushed out and was batting his stormy eyes like a wounded teen, instead of the mid-twenties Sex God he clearly was. What a brat. And a Class A tease, to boot. This club probably made millions off of that face alone.

Tempting as it was, however, after only a second’s hesitation, he answered with a firm “No,” and returned his attention to the stage. The body builder was leaving (to thunderous applause), and there was a lapse in the songs while they waited for the next act to arrive.

“Oh, come on--”

“No.”

“You really don’t want to?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Come off it, Weasley! You know I can see when you look at me, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. Just like you didn’t in school, either. I’m not that daft.”

“Can you please just leave me the fuck alone?”

“No! I want to know why you’re coming in here every bloody weekend just to eye-bang me, if you’re not going to do anything about it!”

“Because I don’t want to!”

“And why the hell not?!”

There was no readily available answer for that, because suddenly Ron’s mouth had gone completely dry. Malfoy had stalked quickly around the chair to stand in front of him, revealing his outfit for the evening. Or lack thereof. He sported a pair of impossibly tiny, gold shorts that left absolutely nothing to the imagination--and nothing else. Christ, just to know he’d been walking around the place in only that...It came with his line of work, of course, but Ron wouldn’t have ever had the gall. Must be an only child thing. No masses of siblings to worry about seeing his bits, so he’d never had to be concerned over showing off his body. And he certainly had one, so...From this new angle, he could now also make out another addition to his modifications: silver barbells poked through each pert, pink nipple, shining in the shifting red and violet lights above them. He must’ve just gotten those done, as Ron didn’t remember seeing them the last time he was there. The redhead licked his own lips, a supplement for the contact he was actually craving in that moment. He felt the half chub he’d been sporting most of the night swell significantly. Fuck, he wanted to suck on those till Malfoy screamed...

This was the problem. It was why he’d been avoiding him the whole time he’d been coming in here, and yet, conversely, why he hadn’t found it in himself to pick a different joint after he’d discovered Malfoy worked there. Ron might not have ever actually liked the guy--in fact, he still pretty well hated him, and referred to him as “Ferret” as often as he could. But for all that fuss, he was exactly Ron’s type. And the fucker had to know that, too, or else he wouldn’t have answered Ron’s obvious reaction with such a cocky smirk, hands on his hips. It was also the very reason why he hadn’t asked him for a dance yet, as the blonde had so presumptuously pointed out. Because being here was one thing. Getting a lap dance or two was another. Even having a hasty, quiet wank in the shower when he got home. But the things he’d do to Malfoy, if given the chance...He might not have been attracted to Hermione anymore. He might not have wanted to be married to her, and the fact that she’d started talking about kids recently might’ve scared the shit out of him...But the things he’d do to this man right here, if he could, would force him into a dark hole of infidelity he didn’t know that he was quite prepared for yet.

One of the bouncers must’ve gotten antsy over their shouting, because Malfoy’s attention suddenly snapped to something over Ron’s head, and then he was waving his hand as if to say it was okay. A trio of men that had been sitting in one of the circle of couches near them shuffled uncomfortably and chose to relocate. Ron instantly felt guilty. Of course, this kind of semi-aggressive banter was customary between them; it was how they’d been acting towards each other for all the years they’d been acquainted. But he often forgot that others around them didn’t necessarily understand that.

Then Malfoy was staring down at Ron’s left hand, clamped onto the arm of the chair. There was a beat before he realized what he was looking at, just as the redhead, instinctively, rolled those fingers and felt the familiar heaviness of the metal encircling one of them. A twang of panic shot through his chest. Normally, he wasn’t quite stupid (or brazen) enough to wear his wedding band while he was here. Rather, it would always sit like a lead weight in his trouser pocket until he left. But tonight seemed one of the rare ones where he’d forgotten. It hadn’t happened often, only a time or two around the beginning of it all. He cursed himself internally, feeling a guilty flush creep up his neck. Was he lucky enough to get away with it, without Malfoy saying anything? No, far be it from him to let a thing like that slide...

Malfoy licked his lips, considering his next words, before asking quietly, “Your wife know about all this?”

No, of course Hermione didn’t know about it. He was doing this in secret for a reason: because the day he handed her divorce papers, he wanted to know that whatever explanation he gave her for why he was doing it was actually real. Truth of the matter was: while he’d been glancing at other men every now and then for longer than he could fathom at this point, he’d never gone through with anything. Never even planned to. But when his marriage started to fall apart...Well, honestly, it was falling apart rather spectacularly even before the wedding. After the initial spark that had brought them together, Ron just couldn’t...bring himself to be attracted to her anymore. She was a lovely girl and all, but she just wasn’t for him...What was for him was exactly what he’d been trying to figure out. But it seemed more and more lately that, whatever it may turn out to be, it didn’t have all that much to do with women...He’d been with her because he’d felt like it was what he was supposed to do. His family loved her; Harry and all his other friends loved her. Hell, his mother probably wished she could trade them, have her be her child instead. She was an angel in their eyes, and they’d all commented for years on how wonderfully perfect they were for each other. How could he rebel openly against all of that and still hope to maintain the relationships he cared about? What’s more, when they weren’t fighting, she actually made him very happy...just not in the way he was looking for. But how could he explain that to her? He didn’t know, and while he acknowledged that what he was doing now wasn’t necessarily the answer, he hadn’t known what other choice he had...Every day with her felt like drowning. He felt like scum when he was with her, when he was wishing they’d just remained friends, and he knew this wasn’t making him any more respectable, but...Even an hour of being here, being who he really was, even if the men here only gave a shit about his money, not him: that was something. That gave him a reason to keep going.

“Didn’t think so,” Malfoy concluded in the absence of a reply, his expression shifting as he took in the other’s own physical response to the question. “None of my business, anyway--”

“No, it really isn’t.” Ron tried to spit venom back, but all that came out was a choked-off version of his own voice that he barely even recognized. The other man’s eyes darkened at that, a crease appearing between his brows.

“As I said: none of my business. Anyway, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

With a huff, he turned to go, his demeanor so strikingly different from his teasing of earlier. For how persistent he’d been all this time, it was strange to see him appear to give up so suddenly. He didn’t know what made him do it. After all, his goal during that whole exchange had been to get Malfoy to leave him alone. And yet, when Ron swivelled in his seat to watch him begin to walk away, he felt a tugging in his chest that he couldn’t ignore.

“Wait, Malfoy, I--” His hand shot out to grab the blonde’s wrist, stopping him in his tracks--before Malfoy gently, and quickly, shook himself free of his hold. Ron didn’t protest; he knew he’d made a mistake, touching one of the employees, and he was lucky that it was fast enough that none of their goons had noticed. Having cut himself off, and now feeling absurd at his reaction, he fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, hoping Malfoy would forget it and continue on his way, until he finally said quietly:

“We can head to one of the rooms in the back. If you’d like.”

Ron looked at him, thinking he’d see that infamous smirk yet again. But no, Malfoy was simply staring back, a kind of uncertainty in his eyes. He was going to regret this, he was positive of that. Yet, he’d be lying if he denied that they’d been building up to this point for all these weeks. Not trusting his voice, he nodded, then stood to follow a now softly smiling Malfoy towards the corridor off to the right hand side, against the far wall, that led to the private dance rooms. It was whirlwind of colors and sounds between the two points. They passed several more stages like the one Ron had been camped at, men showering dancers with coins and shouted praises--then many smaller parties, concealed from prying eyes, in that back hallway. A couple very intimidating-looking bouncers observed them as they walked, and Ron tried his best to keep his head down.

It wasn’t until they were actually inside the room--one of only a few empty ones, at the end of the line--that it really hit him, what he was doing. He could still hear the deep bassline of the music that was almost constantly playing, but it was much quieter than the cacophony out in the main area, so much so that once the beaded curtain of a door clacked shut behind him, it felt like they were inside an echo chamber. This was similar to the other such rooms he’d been taken to before. It wasn’t often that he paid for a private dance, but an occasion or two had led him to try it out. The place was only about the size of a work office, the floor covered in a black shag carpet, with a small stage and pole in one corner and an armchair much like the one he’d been sitting in originally at the opposite. The one difference between those times before and now was that Malfoy was in there with him, which Ron was becoming painfully aware of as the blonde scrutinized him, standing there like a statue in the middle.

Then came a light brush to his bicep, guiding him towards the chair, and Malfoy was saying in that honeysuckle voice of his: “It’s okay, have a seat, I’ll take care of you. Let me know if you have any requests.” Ron had only heard him direct that tone at other patrons, while he was working the room--and while the former was totally not eavesdropping on him at all. The calm, sultry ooze of it melted over him like warm butter, and he had to shake his head clear as he took up his position. This was Malfoy, after all. Hot or no, he couldn’t allow him to effect him like that. This was about getting him to leave him alone, to be able to say they’d had that one dance, just to see how it was, and then that would be it. While Ron got comfortable, his counterpart climbed aboard the stage, twirling absentmindedly around the pole for a few moments. He didn’t start moving until it changed to the next song, and then Ron promptly forgot all about his insecurities and assurances about this being a one-time-only matter.

No one could say that Malfoy wasn’t a professional; he certainly knew what he was doing. From the way he undulated his body to the rhythm, to the way his nimble hands and lean thighs gripped the pole, he was a living masterpiece. Hard as that was for Ron to admit, he’d secretly always known it; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t spent quite a bit of his time at this club stealing glances every now and then at the man’s performances. Malfoy had developed a surprising amount of strength over the years, now able to hoist himself onto this dance equipment with perceived ease, something the lanky boy Ron recalled from their youth probably couldn’t have managed. It was rather intriguing to watch him, muscles flexing, lips parting in a confident grin every time he caught the other’s lingering gaze. The redhead found his eyes tracing the arch of his back as he spun and twisted, from the wispy, white-blonde hairs at his nape down to the curve just above his arse.

Ron casually adjusted himself in his trousers. During his time at this club, he’d begun to realize something about himself that he hadn’t known previously: he really liked to watch. There was something fascinating about seeing these men here dance they way they did, knowing very well what they were doing to their captive audience, knowing the power they held over them. Power to give them money, sweet words, and, in some pitiful cases, to make them believe they actually cared about them. Malfoy, it seemed, was no exception. He had many frequent clients, admirers, as far as Ron had seen. Now he was figuring out why firsthand. Pale, luminescent skin and bright hair had him looking like an angel, while his body was moving like the Devil himself, full of sinful promises that any sane man knew he’d never keep--and wished with every fibre of his being that he’d make an exception, just this one time. And he’d been right earlier; it had been that way in school, too. Ron had always been watching him. Of course, he hadn’t been as vocal about it as Harry back then, but that was probably because his compulsion ran a little dirtier than his friend’s...

As that song came to a close, Malfoy dropped into a split on the polished stage floor like the dainty little acrobat he appeared to be. Other employees tried that sort of thing all the time, so it wasn’t exactly new, but it looked far better on him. Ron could tell he knew it, too, just like he always seemed to know him, as he smirked again and rose to cross towards the chair. He suddenly found himself with a lapful of Malfoy--and the stark awareness of the erection he’d been cultivating the entire time.

“Mmm, enjoying yourself, Weasley?” The tune changed yet again, and Malfoy flipped expertly around, taking care to press his ass into Ron’s crotch as he began to dance once more without any further adieu. Well, this was what the men paid to come back here for, wasn’t it? No one would shell out the extra coin if it didn’t mean they’d get a little bump-and-grind action, especially with the comfort of doing it in private. Even if the bouncers tended to make their rounds through these rooms as well.

Ron resisted the urge to roll his hips in return, instead focusing on the contours of Malfoy’s back and arms up close, the way he tossed his head as he now applied his well-learned dance techniques to the finite space of his client’s seat. He arched like he had on the pole, the top of his head almost brushing Ron’s face. The smell of his shampoo--a heady mixture of tea tree and lavender--filled his nostrils and flowed down to jolt his groin even more to life. His tattoo was a trail of reds, oranges, and yellows, and Ron (not for the first time) imagined himself licking a stripe along the ink as he ground into the man from behind. This was dangerous territory, having him this close, so close he could touch him, if he wasn’t so damn afraid of getting caught. This is what he’d feared the whole time, why he’d been avoiding this. And yet, he’d always known it would be inevitable.

Malfoy turned around, those new barbells of his now prominently displayed, making Ron’s mouth water. He leaned backwards as far as he could go, and the redhead felt the first shaky breath of pure arousal flow from between his lips as his eyes scanned over his toned chest, down to his navel, then to his lightly thrusting pelvis. Dear god, he was a sight like this. Of course he was, there shouldn’t have been any surprises about that, but never in his wildest imagination...The blonde rose back up and held onto the chair back behind Ron’s head, now rolling his body directly in front of his face, his pert nipples barely centimeters away, and forcing the man’s own head to move with him. He wanted to touch him then, like bolt of lightning through his veins. He kept his hands firmly gripping the arms of his seat, but it didn’t stop his mind from racing, thinking of how silky smooth that porcelain skin would feel under his fingertips...

“You’re looking a bit uncomfortable there.”

Ron startled, tearing his gaze away from the lines separating Malfoy’s pecks up to his own eyes, which were glancing rather pointedly at the obvious stiffness concealed in Ron’s trousers. He chuckled, although not without a hint of nerves. “Well, you’re…” He licked his lips, trying to find the right words and will away the hoarseness of his voice. “You’re quite good.”

That did it. He should’ve known better than to compliment a Malfoy, for Godric’s sake. Now the blonde looked positively delighted as he teased, “Oh? Like what you see, do you?” Then he was sliding back to his feet, stretching audaciously just to prove a point, and Ron’d be damned if he didn’t allow himself an eyeful. “You’re so easy, I always knew it,” he was muttering, and before his counterpart could throw a comment in return, he added, “You know, you normally only get a couple songs’ worth back here, you have to pay extra if you want more time, but...I’m willing to make an exception for you. And, uh...feel free to relieve yourself, if you’d like to.”

He made a quiet sound of surprise, a wave of shame washing over him. Sure, this was a tantalizing display that Malfoy was putting on, but it didn’t give him an excuse to be popping boners all over the place, nor would it be appropriate (in his opinion) for him to “relieve” himself. This was a strip club, not a brothel. Still, if the way the former Slytherin was looking him over was any clue, it didn’t exactly seem he’d mind…

“I’m sure it’d be better than a frantic wank in the bathroom when you head home, don’t you think?”


Another perceptive remark, and it hit him like a blow to the abdomen. True though it was, he still wasn’t so sure...“I didn’t think that was allowed here. What if one of the bouncers comes by?”

The grin on Malfoy’s face turned impish as he assured him, “Oh, don’t worry about that. Just be discreet.” With a wink, he added, “Although you still can’t touch me. Gotta follow at least some of the rules around here...”

Cerulean eyes observed as Malfoy slithered back to the center of the stage, and he couldn’t help but wonder why. Why did he want something like this from him? Yet, even as he questioned it, he found his hands travelling to his crotch, tenderly squeezing himself through the rough fabric of his jeans. The show continued, with Malfoy climbing to the top of the pole to wrap his legs around it, eventually flipping upside down before snaking to the bottom. This was weird, and yet...he couldn’t stop himself now that he’d started. He realized it now, as he touched himself, how the blonde’s hands stroked the pole as if it were a cock, how it slipped between his cheeks when he bent over in front of it, and Ron found himself thrusting against his palm at the imagery. And it was better, even just this little bit. But it wouldn’t be quite enough, just like this, and he knew it--

“Although, you might want to hurry up, if you’re going to do it proper. They’ll probably be coming ‘round to check on us soon.”

Ron still hesitated, even at that clear invitation. This was fucking insane, the fact that he was actually considering getting off in one of these seedy little private dance rooms, while his paid entertainment merely watched. He couldn’t think of anything more skeevy and disgusting, and yet...Now he was incredibly horny, and there was a piece of his brain telling him that this was what he’d been looking for, wasn’t it? Time to stop hiding his desires in the dark and see if they were really founded in anything more than just fantasy...Apparently he somehow decided that was sound enough reason to go ahead with it, and he deftly popped the button and unzipped his fly in order to remove himself from the confines of his pants.

At the shuffling noises from Ron’s general direction, Malfoy paused his current turn on the pole to look at him then, and his gray eyes widened drastically. His mouth fell open a little, his gaze shooting immediately downwards to take in the sight of Ron holding his throbbing cock, rubbing his thumb through the moisture collected at the tip. “Holy shit, Weasley,” he whispered huskily. The obvious praise in his tone made Ron’s chest and abdomen clench forcefully in arousal. “You really like watching me, don’t you?” Yes, he did. More so than he had any of the other blokes who’d coaxed him back here thus far. And they’d never let him play with himself while they did it. It seemed almost like Malfoy hadn’t actually expected him to do it, but now that he had...there was a light in his eyes that the Gryffindor had never seen before.

Throwing the occasional hasty glance at the beaded doorway, Ron’s hand sped up and down his length as that lithe figure twirled and danced about the stage. Malfoy quickly abandoned his initial ministrations to join him, once again, on the armchair. His long legs bracketed him in, forcing him to shift his position so that he didn’t bump the blonde as he continued to pump himself. But it was almost like Malfoy wanted him to, like he was pushing the clearly-constructed boundaries of their arrangement, pushing closer to him with each successive movement. It gave Ron a little thrill every time the head “accidentally” rubbed against the inside of his leg, and at the small gasp of feigned surprise that the other would give him in return. Every swipe of Malfoy’s tongue across his lips, every tweak of his nipples or sensual caress over his thighs as he swayed to the music had the redhead practically quaking in a matter of minutes. He knew this wasn’t going to last very long--not that he had long to begin with, if he didn’t want to get thrown out of the place, but it was like the second he’d taken hold of himself, years of pent up want and need had surged over him like a tidal wave.

The beat changed again, and the warmth of Malfoy’s body left him for yet another time. At first, he’d wanted to whine, but he bit his tongue when he realized he might be getting something better instead. Positioning himself at the front edge of the stage, his back to Ron, the beautiful young man bent forward. His thumbs hooked into the waistband of those little gold shorts and began to tug them down with excruciating slowness. For a moment there, Ron thought he might get to see him fully nude. Although, he was pretty sure this club didn’t do that sort of thing. Alas, once they were removed and tossed aside, he discovered a black g-string had been hiding underneath. However, he forgot his disappointment altogether when Malfoy slipped a hand between his spread legs. For several long moments, it was as if his ears had shut out all sound other than their combined heavy breathing as Malfoy fondled his balls for Ron’s viewing pleasure, even traced a finger along his crack, to which they both simultaneously gave a pitiful whimper. Around the thin string separating his cheeks, Ron could almost make out the edges of his hole. He would’ve given anything to be able to shove himself inside of it.

When Malfoy straightened up and turned back around, he was suddenly presented with the gut-twisting sight of what was, quite obviously, the dancer’s own erection. The garment he now wore was so tight that it forced his shaft up against his pelvis, and so small that the reddened head was peeking out at the top. Malfoy was biting his bottom lip, panting quietly and slightly flushed. It did indescribable things to the man fisting himself on the couch to know that his partner--despite the fact that he was here because it was his job, and he was getting paid to do it--appeared to be just as turned on by their interactions as he was. Ron moaned loudly for the first time since they’d started. He could feel himself gradually mounting towards orgasm, and he picked up the pace of his strokes. Malfoy seemed to take the hint from that, as he slid off the stage and onto his knees in front of him.

“Fuck, you’re so big...” He rested his head just below Ron’s furiously pumping hand, his jaw slack and his tongue lolling out past his rosy lips. “You gonna come for me? Please, I want it so bad.”

The lines were straight out of one of those Muggle pornos Harry had told him about a few years back, but they did the trick. With barely a gasp of “Y-yeah…fuck…”, he was coming hard and fast, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the low groan that shook his entire form. His seed flew out and across Malfoy’s face before he could stop it. He was going to apologize, but then the blonde was licking his lips and moaning like a proper whore as he swallowed down the bit that had landed on them, and if that wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen...

While Ron regained his bearings, Malfoy crept over to the far side of the pedestal, where there was a hidden box of tissues, and wiped his face clean. The redhead’s hand flew instinctively to where he normally kept his wand, before recalling that they always made him turn it in at the door. Probably didn’t let their employees have them either, by the look of things; he felt like a pervert, thinking about just where they might keep them in those tiny outfits of theirs. Well, more of a pervert than he already was, anyway. He hastily zipped himself back up, adjusting the jacket he still wore around him in an attempt to appear even slightly more demure than he was at the moment.

Malfoy returned to stand in front of him, bending down to collect his itty-bitty shorts, and Ron felt that was his cue. Trying to ignore the shameful blush flooding into his cheeks, he stood and began trying to fish a handful of coins out of his pocket with a murmur of “How much do I owe you?”...but then Malfoy was suddenly reaching out and swatting at his arm, saying in a hurry:

“No no, don’t worry about that. This one’s on me.”

Ron blinked at him, confused. Then he noticed the still prominent bulge, even with his golden briefs back on, not to mention the pink blotches across his skin and the way he now refused to meet his eye. But...this, what they’d just done, it wasn’t like that...was it? Then again, Malfoy had been pretty insistent about luring him back here, and about him pleasuring himself in the first place.

Fuck it, he thought as he reached out and cupped one side of the man’s face, running the edge of his palm along a spot where his own come had just been. It was still a little damp, leftovers from how quickly he’d tried to clean up, and it made Ron want again with a primal force. “Did that count as touching?” he joked, and Malfoy laughed anxiously along with him as he leaned in--

At the tinkling of beads behind him, Malfoy jumped back as if burned, and Ron followed suit. The bouncer who’d poked his head in peered between them suspiciously, but appeared placated when Malfoy told him they were just finishing up and quickly moved on. The close call was almost too much, and both men were eager to head out now that the moment had been ruined. Before he could reach the hall, however, Ron felt Malfoy grip his wrist, and he turned to see the blonde giving him a heavy-lidded once over as he said quietly:

“You’ll come and see me again, though, won’t you?”

“Of course,” he answered rather quickly, because something was telling him he’d honestly enjoy nothing more than that.

“Great.” There was that smirk again, although it didn’t have the same mocking look to it as it had previously. “Or, I mean...I’d be happy to see you when I get off work, if you’d rather. I think...perhaps we could have some more fun that way, don’t you think so?”

Oh, there was too much innuendo in that line for Ron to miss it. And he heard himself giving an enthusiastically-affirmative response before he could even think twice about it.

The freezing night air outside the club served to pull his head out of the clouds, and the reality of what had just happened began to sink in. He knew he needed to get home, before the depression set in as well. That wasn’t unusual at all; that was something he’d been experiencing since the first time he’d come here. But there was a rather large and near tangible difference as he looked down and toyed with the golden band around his ring finger. He thought of Hermione, waiting home again the next evening, like she probably had tonight, and that time he most likely wouldn’t be coming back till early morning...He was sick. He was the absolute lowest of the low. And, come hell or high water, he was going to see through their plans for tomorrow night.