Missing Out on a Holiday Miracle
"Something wrong, Ron?"
Ron swallowed, he could feel the blood rushing to his face and making him flush. Grasping at straws, he struggled to find something to say, something that would cover for his momentary distraction a minute before. "Just a bit cold. The snow must be three feet deep out there."
"That's winter in Scotland for you."
The wet heat of a tongue laving at his right nipple was what distracted him next. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists at his sides. As quickly as the touch started, it disappeared.
"Yeah. Ready to go?"
Harry shrugged into his cloak and started toward the main doors. "Are you sure you're all right, mate?"
Warm breath on his ear followed by the tug of teeth. "Fine." He pointed toward the door. "Just excited 'bout the Cannons game. They're gonna win this time."
Harry grinned. "We'll see. I still think the Riots have a better chance." He headed out first and Ron followed.
Lips and mouth sucking on the side of his neck and moving down, closing around one of his nipples and biting, not hard enough to cause him to gasp, but certainly hard enough to keep his attention from being focused on the game. Harry was talking beside him, but Ron didn't think he had heard half of what he had said over the last hour. For the first time in his life, Ron wished that the team playing the Cannons would just pummel them into the ground so that he could return to his flat and pummel the man that was torturing him into their mattress.
"Fuck." Those lips had moved down to his abdomen, the tongue dipping into his navel as ghostly fingers ran down his spine and stopped at the top of his arse, pressing lightly but not moving. He squirmed in his seat and hoped that he wasn't drawing any unwanted attention to himself. When he got his hands on that git- A lick of a hot, rough tongue along the underside of his cock. "Double fuck."
He heard Harry's laughter next to him, and focused on that, hoping that it could keep his attention.
"I never thought you'd get upset at the Cannons winning."
"They're winning?" His voice came out in a squeak, but he couldn't be arsed enough to care.
Harry nodded. "It's like you aren't even watching the game."
"I'm trying, mate, I'm trying, but it's just so damned-" He gasped. The mouth that had been torturing him swallowed his cock from tip to base, and Ron had to clutch onto the edge of his seat to keep from bucking up. Again, as quickly as the feeling had come, it disappeared. "Cold."
And Harry was looking at him, wide-eyed and worried. "Are you sick? Don't tell me you came down with something, it's too close to the holidays. Maybe you should go visit your mum. She's always been able to fix you up in no time."
An out. "Ah, yes, Mum." He squeezed his eyes closed. Those fingers had returned, ghosting over hardened flesh, and running over his sac and doing things that just shouldn't be done in the middle of a Quidditch match. "Great idea, Harry. I'll go now."
He stood and made his way down the steps to the exit, focusing on not falling as a warm finger pressed against his perineum, and he had to bite his lip, hard, to keep himself from groaning. As soon as he was far enough away from the wards set around the field itself he Apparated away.
The git was grinning at him as he collapsed onto the couch. Grinning.
"I hope that you enjoyed this little game of yours."
Draco swept over and kissed his way up Ron's throat to his ear before drawing the lobe into his mouth and sucking on it. "More than you know." The words were muffled around his ear, and whispered, but he heard them clearly and Draco's breath blew over his ear, tingling his nerves and sending a shiver down his spine.
"You fucking bastard. The Cannons were winning, and I couldn't even pay attention to the game."
Draco shrugged, his fingers busy undoing the fastenings of Ron's coat and then the buttons of his shirt. He latched his lips onto Ron's and drew him into a heated kiss, sucking on his bottom lip and running his tongue over teeth and the roof of Ron's mouth. His nimble fingers pushed coat and shirt off and set to tracing the freckles that covered Ron's shoulders and the top of his chest. Ron knew that Draco didn't need to see those freckles any more, he had memorized their placement sometime ago, and that thought -- that his lover knew his body so well -- did more to arouse him than the actual tracing of freckles. He growled into Draco's mouth.
Draco had a smirk on his face as he drew away and let Ron breathe. "It wasn't like the Cannons were going to win in the end. Don't get your hopes up."
Ron glared and leaned back into the cushions of the couch. "Well, I did." he lied. "I was all ready to see them beat the Riots to pulp and then you-" He glared. There hadn't been a hope in hell that he could have focused on the game, but he wasn't going to let Draco know that. "You had better make good on what you started."
"And if I don't want to?" But it was an empty threat. Draco stood and undid the tie to his robe, letting the silk fall off his shoulders and pool onto the ground. Only the best for Draco, there could be nothing less. Draco wouldn't settle for it.
He was hard, and his silver eyes glinted as he straddled Ron's thighs, his erection pressing against Ron's stomach and leaving a wet trail of precome along his abdomen.
"Where did you learn how to do that? Make me feel you when you're not there?"
Draco ran his fingers over Ron's shoulders and arms, down his sides, and to his hips. "From a book. I'm sure you've heard about them. They're those things that Granger always carried around." His fingers settled to the task of undoing Ron's jeans, and Ron watched them, pale against the dark denim. The rasp of the zip set his teeth on edge, but he was soothed by the warm hands, real this time, slipping into his pants and grasping his cock, Draco's thumb circling the tip and spreading the pearl of precome around. He panted as Draco slid his hand down to the base and back up to tip, and then Draco slithered off his lap and onto the floor settling on his knees. Ron's breath caught at the sight of pale hair and dark jeans and pink lips.
Draco's tongue darted out, barely touching the tip of his cock, and Ron closed his eyes, groaning at the feeling of wet tongue and hot breath and fingers curling into the springy hair surrounding his cock. He licked his lips and, digging his hands into the blond hair, dragged Draco's mouth away from the delicious things it was doing to him, and pulled him up, taking his lips in a harsh kiss that stole both their breath. Ron pushed him down onto the floor, grateful for a moment that it was carpeted before struggling out of his jeans and settling himself over the blond that had been spending most of the day driving him crazy.
Draco licked his lips and smirked. "You love every minute of it."
He settled his lips against the vein that was barely visible along the side of Draco's neck and started sucking and licking and kissing his way down, to Draco's chest and his nipples and then his navel and then his cock drawing his tongue up along the underside and then back down, only pausing for the tiniest of moments to swirl his tongue around the tip, drawing a moan and jerk of hips from Draco. He clamped his hands down on Draco's hips, holding him still, and continued his way down, kissing his balls and then the inside of his thigh finally making his way back up Draco's body and settling between his thighs. He pressed his hips forward grinding them against Draco, and gasped at the feel of their cocks coming into contact and Draco pushed back up against him.
Draco was panting against his ear, and Ron closed his eyes, savoring the feel of Draco underneath him, sliding against each other over a slight coat of perspiration, and he nipped at his shoulder, causing Draco to arch under him.
"What the fuck are you waiting for, Weasley, an engraved invitation?"
Draco's voice was so much rougher than its normal soft silk that Ron groaned, positioning himself against Draco's entrance, not sparing a thought for whether or not Draco had prepared himself before he had got back from the game, and not caring as Draco arched under him hissing and then moaning and then sucking in air between his teeth, and Ron buried his head in the curve of Draco's pale shoulder as he buried his cock in Draco's arse. He pulled away and looking into grey eyes that soon closed, he started thrusting, slowly. Probably too slowly, if he were to listen to the mostly incoherent mutterings coming from Draco. They sounded like harder, faster, more, fuck, and a thousand other mixed obscenities and orders that Draco would always issue, but true to form, Ron didn't listen to any of them and just soaked in the slick feel of skin and the harsh sound of breath and the scent of sweat and sex that was permeating the room, filling his nostrils and eventually, it was that, all those sensations that forced him to go faster to thrust harder to grasp Draco's erection and squeeze and pull in time until they both came grunting and gasping and panting, and he collapsed atop Draco breathing harshly and listening to the sound of Draco's breathing filling his ears. He just couldn't bring himself to move, but eventually he rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling trying to regain his breath and to keep himself from falling asleep on the floor.
"You have to admit that this was a much better way of spending the afternoon than freezing and watching the Cannons lose for the umpteenth time."
Ron barely nodded, and rolled over onto his side so he could press his lips against Draco's shoulder.
Ron woke to the sounds of the WWN interspersed with the sounds of Draco getting ready to go out. Breathing in, he stretched, relishing the feel of the sheets against his bare skin as they slid down off his chest.
Draco came over to the bed and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before pulling away. "Get up and get dressed."
"Good morning to you too."
Ron sat up in bed and simply watched as Draco moved around the room finishing his morning routine. The WWN announcing the beginning of the sports show drew his attention away, and Ron closed his eyes waiting for the score to be announced from yesterday's game.
"And as a special holiday gift for all their undying fans, the Cannons won their first game in over 75 years yesterday with a score of 210 to 200. The game was astonishingly short and only lasted a bit over an hour and fifteen minutes. Hopefully all the true fans of the Cannons were there for this momentous occasion."
Ron snapped out of his stupor at the soft click of the radio being turned off. He looked up at Draco's face, whose eyes were only slightly wider than normal, looking at Ron with what could have been an apologetic look if it was on anyone other than Draco.
"You know, I think that I better get going. Don't want to be late or anything."
Ron just stayed in bed and followed Draco's departure from their bedroom with his eyes. They had really won, and he hadn't been there. Groaning, he sunk further into the bed and debated just staying there for the rest of the day when his eyes alighted on the pile of books that Draco had left on his nightstand.
He could either mope or make use of all of Hermione's lessons about how to do proper research.
Revenge would be sweet.