Title: Lover Among Clients
Author: llaeyro
Characters/Pairings: Draco/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: Edging/orgasm denial, rimming
Other Warnings/Content: Prostitute Draco, top Draco, references to bottom Draco, bottom Ron, infidelity (Ron/Hermione), kink negotiation, referenced fights and angry sex, a bit of pinching, a lot of bondage, aftercare.
Word Count: ~1800
Summary/Description: Draco took Weasley as a client out of curiosity, but he can no longer deny that things have... developed.
Author's Notes: These prompts were the worst, because they were the best! They gave me all the gorgeous long ideas that I didn't have time to write =( Thanks to Miss Guini for shaking her pompoms at me and B for looking this over ♥




When he first turned up at my door, I wasn’t exactly thrilled. I only let him in because I figured there would be more satisfaction in turning him down if I let him get his hopes up first. I suppose my reluctance was understandable, if you know the history between us — between our families — but that wasn’t really the issue. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d dealt with a client with a score to settle, and that’s all Weasley was.

No, the issue was that thin strip of platinum. My line of work carries enough risks without getting involved with the Minister for Magic’s husband. At the same time, I was very aware that he was in a position to make my life difficult, if he wanted to. I thought it best to hear him out.

So, I have a bit of a reputation. Besides the obvious. The clients who come to me, they tend to want something that the others won’t let them take. I honestly don’t mind a little rough handling, and I get to hike my prices right up due to the lack of competition, so it has always worked out well for me. He went on about how he knew it was a terrible idea, given our past. That he’d tried to ignore his need, tried to placate it, all to no avail. That I was the only one who could and would, potentially, provide what he needed. I wasn’t sure what to think. I started listing my hard limits, which pretty much sit happily under the umbrella of ‘shit that would probably land me in St Mungo’s’.

And that’s when he took a deep breath, looked me in the eye and told me that he wanted to bottom. That he needed me to top him.

And wasn’t that a tempting invitation.

I let him stew for a few days. Well, I did need to adapt the list — I hadn’t designed it for a bottom — but even then, I waited. When I did owl it to him, it was back within the hour, filled out in its entirety. It was an interesting read. It was quite clear that he wasn’t exactly sure what it was he wanted, or needed. It was also clear that, given the avenues he was willing to explore, I could have quite a bit of fun figuring it out. I told myself that it was the appeal of being paid to top, for a change. I knew that, really, I wanted to be the one to make Weasley fall apart. I wanted to be the revelation he was looking for.

The revelation was my own. Being with him was easier than I expected. When I cupped his jaw and kissed him, he was so pliant. He gave himself up to me so easily, parted his lips as soon as my tongue begged entrance. I just fucked him, that first time. No toys, no restraints. Just my hands and my cock, making him moan. Learning his body.

It didn’t stay that easy. Of course it didn’t, not with him. I fuck by instinct. I pick up on little tells without realising I’m doing it so that I can be the lay that the client needs me to be, but Weasley wasn’t so simple. He’s one of the easiest to read people I’ve ever met, but he still didn’t know what he wanted. He only knew that he wasn’t getting it. Not from me, or from his wife. Every appointment he’d tell me what he wanted, and every time I would have to ignore my instincts to follow his instructions. We were both left ultimately dissatisfied. Over time he got restless, and it led to arguments. Sometimes he got himself so wound up that he would leave before anything had happened, and I’d lose my wage for the night. But if we argued and he stayed, the sex was on another level. And that’s saying something, from a man who fucks for a living.

One time, when tempers had run high before we’d even started, I decided enough was enough. I took control. My cheekbone stung from where his fist had caught me as I pinned him to the wall by his throat. I waited as we panted harshly into each other’s faces, watching for his anger to subside enough to show me that little flash of trepidation in his eyes.

I asked him if he still wanted to play, fingers flexing lightly against his throat. He didn’t say anything, but he coloured slightly as he rolled his hips, pressing his erection into my thigh.

I ordered him onto his knees, and as soon as I let go he dropped. I grabbed him by the hair and dragged him towards the bed, recognising the small grunt as arousal rather than pain. I know just how to make his cock twitch. He never stays obedient for long — he thinks too much — so I spelled him naked and told him to kneel on the bed. I manhandled him into position, spreading his knees nice and wide, pushing his shoulders to the bed, pulling his arms behind him. With my wand I wrapped a rope over his thighs and under his shins, spiraling around and around, leaving no movement in his knees. I had his wrists pinned to the small of his back, but I realised that would prevent me from turning him over. If I untied him later, I feared I wouldn’t get him secured again — not with what I had planned. I would teach him the value of patience. The ropes around his thighs shifted to accommodate and snaked around his wrists. Wrists secure, shoulders less strained, flippable. Perfect.

It really was a lovely sight. His cock hung heavily between his legs, arse spread, vulnerable and helpless. I ignored the obligatory protests, giving his arse a firm slap before curling my fingers loosely around his hard cock. I stroked him slowly, steadily, until his hips started to rock. When he gave in, found a steady rhythm, I stopped. He whined, cursed, pulled fruitlessly at his bonds. I laughed.

And repeat. Slowly bringing him closer each time, until he continued to buck and thrust involuntarily even after I had moved away. I took my mouth to him next. It wasn’t something I usually did with clients, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. I wanted to see what it would do to him, and I wasn’t disappointed. From his reaction, I correctly surmised that it was a new experience for him. I ran my tongue from his balls up to his hole and he was already swearing and panting, sounding rather stunned and almost disbelieving. Merlin, the noises he made when I circled my tongue around his hole and pressed inside. I’d never heard him so desperate.

I took hold of his cock again while I tongue fucked him, squeezing his balls uncomfortably to draw him away from the edge. That’s when he started trying to free himself in earnest, but his wandless magic was no match for my bonds.

I flipped him over, having to keep a hand on him to stop him from tipping to the side. I sucked his cock while he muttered sweet endearments. I slicked my fingers with conjured lube and slid inside him. I stretched him too quickly, moving to two and three fingers before he was really ready, but still he praised me. Still, he gasped and whined as again and again I skillfully missed his prostate, no matter how much he writhed. He tried to lie to me, that time. He tried to hide it, pretend he wasn’t close, but I knew him too well by then. Sharp fingernails bit into his stomach, where I steadied him and again he cried out angrily.

I let his cock fall from my mouth, landing wetly against his stomach. I had three fingers inside him, moving slowly and I just watched him for a while. He was so flushed, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes glassy, seemingly unable to stop trying to fuck himself faster on my fingers.

I hit his prostate, watched his face contort with the sudden deluge of pleasure, heard the war in his words as he said ‘stop’ and ‘don’t’ — neither of us really knowing which way round the words should be. I wondered if he would use his safe word, as again I left him teetering on the edge, pinching his nipple hard to distract him. He didn’t. Even when I fucked him with the dildo, slowly, licking lazily at his cock, he didn’t. He did sob so beautifully, though, as a hopeful stream of pre-come leaked onto his belly.

And that’s when he let go. He gave up the cursing, the name calling, the false flattery and just begged me. Salazar, he begged me as if his life depended on it. He begged for my cock, begged me to fuck him, to let him come.

I did. I fucked him, aiming straight for his prostate. He came in a few thrusts, but still I fucked him, setting the ropes to untie so gradually that he didn’t notice. When I was close I took his cock in hand, making him buck wildly and come again with a tremendous moan, even as his orgasm barely dribbled from his over-sensitised cock.

I’d never turned a client into such a mess before. It surprised me how much I liked it. How much I liked that it was him. It felt only right to deal with him afterward. I freshened us up with a few spells, massaged his strained and constricted joints as he shuddered and twitched, mumbling nonsensically. He slept, and I let him. I wasn’t there when he awoke.

He’s hardly left me alone, since. He turns up unannounced, waits if I’m with another client, owls me to ask after my day. It doesn’t annoy me as much as it probably should. I definitely shouldn’t be thinking of him when I’m with other men, or wondering what it would be like if I turned the tables and had him fuck me. After all, eighty percent of his appeal is that he lets me take what the others don’t. He lets me have the power, for a change.

Yet now, he tells me the divorce is finalised. He gives me the details, reassures me of his financial stability, as if it is of some consequence. I can only assume that he wants to assure me that he can continue to pay for my services. There is that little part of me that wonders if he has a different arrangement in mind.

I’m still telling myself that it’s only a little part that hopes he does, but I know it’s a lie.

There’s no one quite like Ronald.