FIC: The Man in Front, Ron/Draco, NC-17, for [profile] elizassecret

Jul. 25th, 2011 09:25 pm
mindabbles: (draco two faces)
[personal profile] mindabbles
Title: The Man in Front
Author: [personal profile] mindabbles
Pairing/Characters: Ron/Draco, Harry
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Harry never lets them work together. Maybe this is why.
Word Count: 2,800
Notes: A most happy, very belated to my dear [profile] elizassecret. Everyone should be so lucky as to have one. Thank you so much to [personal profile] woldy for the quick and brilliant beta. They would still be trapped in a tunnel if it weren't for her. ♥ to you both.



The man in front of him might be a complete arse most of the time, but the way those broad shoulders fill out the Auror robes and that messy black hair makes him look freshly-shagged, makes him awfully easy on the eyes.

Of course, Draco would never admit that to present company – especially now, when he himself is anything but nice to look at. He glances down at his gnarled, long-fingered hands where they grip the cart as it hurtles deep below the earth. Barely able to see over the side, he feels clumsy and ill-at-ease with these long arms and short legs, and he will not even begin to think about the nose. The cart takes a turn on two wheels and Draco nearly loses his footing, although with feet that size he can't imagine how.

"Need a hand?"

Draco glares up into the bright green eyes.

"Goblins designed all this. I'll manage," he snaps.

"Suit yourself."

Those broad shoulders shrug and the square jaw tenses. He is not supposed to be getting turned on by this fiasco. Draco opens his mouth to retort when he's suddenly soaked to the skin.

A yelped, "Fuck," and then a splutter comes from the other side of the cart as they lurch to a stop.

It's not at all like when Polyjuice wears off on its own or a transfiguration spell is ended, with moving and shifting of skin and bones. He is instantly just himself again – drenched in cold water, hair hanging lankly in his face, but himself.

There's a barked, "fuck, fuck," and more spluttering from across the cart.

"Your eloquence never ceases to be a breath of fresh air," Draco says, rolling his eyes.

Ron Weasley – tall and slim, water dripping from his hair and down his face, Auror robes clinging to the delectable physique at which Draco would never have guessed until recently – glares at him.

"They know we're here, Malfoy, but they probably think we're burglars. Shut the hell up and let me think or so help me, I'll gag you."

"Promises, promises," Draco says.

Weasley opens his mouth to issue another empty threat, but he's cut off by a deafening clang.

"Circe," is what Weasley does say, and Draco can't disagree. A little divine intervention wouldn't go amiss.

Iron gates with two-inch thick bars have descended and block both the way forward and the way back.

His first thought is that they will both die down here and the world will never know, but that's defeatist thinking that he's tried so hard to rid himself of over the past few years.

"That's new," Weasley says, blinking. "Reckon that's to replace the dragon."

His second thought is, like hell he'll die down here. He'll kill Weasley and eat him first.

"You reckon? I knew this was somehow your fault." Draco stares at Weasley. He's just standing there like he has sawdust between his ears. "Well?"

"Well what?" Weasley asks.

What is apparent is that they've buggered the job, and after promising Potter that nothing would go wrong. In fact, if memory serves, "Easy peasy, in and out, what could go wrong, mate?" is what Weasley had said to Potter, with a stupidly adorable grin on his face.

"Well, get us out of this," Draco says, his voice echoing off the walls. "You're the Auror."

"And you're a nightmare," Weasley says. His face is set with the obstinate expression that makes Draco want to shove him.

"That's not what you said this morning." Draco leans back against the edge of the cart and crosses his arms.

"Shut up so I can think," Ron says, scowling at the bars as if he can make them cower with the weight of his stare.

"I cannot begin to imagine the depth of silence necessary for that to happen." Draco leans back against the side of the cart and watches, waiting for the smoke to come out of Weasley's ears. His red hair catches what very little light there is, coppery and bright. "Why do you think that Potter put us together on this when he so rarely teams us up?" Draco asks absently. Weasley has bent over at the waist to reach out and run his hands along the metal bars of their cage. His wet robes cling to the curve of his arse.

"To punish me?" Weasley huffs, glaring at Draco over his shoulder. He tries Alohamora on the heavy iron bars.

"You've given up altogether, then? First year spells?" Draco asks. He rolls his wand in his fingers and tries to picture the index of "Escape Your Enemies and Liberate Your Loved Ones: When Alohamora Is Not Enough," a book he had read more than once during his sixth year.

"You could help," Weasley mutters, scowling like a petulant child.

Draco puts away his wand along with any thoughts of getting them out of here prematurely. Weasley is delicious when he's annoyed.

"My job is to find and neutralize the cursed box. Your job is to get us in and out of the vault without detection so that I can do my job. I should know better than to ever trust anyone who uses the phrase easy peasy."

"I should know better than to use it. You never make anything easy."

"Lucky for me you like a challenge."

"Not by half," Weasley grumbles.

"Oh, come off it," Draco says, waving his hand dismissively. "Granger?"

Weasley's mouth hangs open, amused surprise all over his face. As much as Draco has come to appreciate his rugged features, this is not a good look for him. "I can't believe you just compared yourself to Hermione."

Draco shrugs. "She's clever enough, even I can admit that. And she'll tell you when you're behaving like an idiot. That's where any similarity ends," says Draco. He smacks Weasley lightly on the arm, curling his fingers around his bicep for a fraction of a second.

Ron shakes his head, an indulgent half smile spreading on his lips, and warmth unfurls in Draco's chest. He smiles back at Weasley despite himself, pursing his lips to hold back a grin.

Ron leans close and draws a finger from Draco's cheekbone to his chin. "How long do you reckon we're going to be down here?"

"Seeing as you're incapable of freeing us despite your alleged Auror training, forever," Draco says, but Weasley doesn't pull back. His hand has moved to cup Draco's jaw. "Why, Weasley? What are you thinking?"

Despite evidence to the contrary, Ron does make it easy, a fact Draco enjoys proving again and again.

"You're the one who can do Legilimency. You tell me." Weasley says, his already deep voice going lower and gravely. This is the voice that did Draco in when this all first started.

Weasley looks directly at Draco and Draco whispers the spell, falling into Weasley's thoughts. Images rush over him, feelings and sounds, both things he remembers and things he would never have forgotten if they'd done them yet.

"Good lord," Draco says, pulling himself from Weasley's mind, his head spinning and his heart pounding.

Weasley blinks at him, his eyes unfocused as he readjusts to Draco leaving his mind. His cheeks are flushed.

"There," Weasley says. He clenches his fists at his sides and lifts his chin as if challenging Draco to mock him for what he's just seen. Draco wants to bite the tendon that sticks out on Weasley's neck in his defiant pose. He wants to feel every inch of his freckled skin. He wants to watch Weasley's broad hands slide over his cock.

He falls on Weasley, mouth on his neck. Weasley grunts in surprise and wraps his arms around Draco, pulling Draco's body against his. Weasley is just a shade taller and he slides his hands down Draco's back, cupping his arse to pull him up and bring their hips in line. Draco gasps as he feels the press of Weasley's hard cock against him.

"You're already hard," he says, laughing into Weasley's neck. If past experience bears out, he's been hard since the gates came down around them. Draco spends one second wondering if Weasley tripped something up on purpose. Never, he decides. Weasley's sense of honour would never allow him to misuse his position to play out one of his sexual fantasies. Lucky for him Draco's sense of propriety would never allow him to squander the opportunity.

Weasley works his hand between them. He covers Draco's groin with his palm. "So're you." He rubs Draco's cock through his clothes, slowly moving down so that the heel of his palm presses against the head of Draco's cock. "And shut up," Weasley says when Draco opens his mouth to retort. He kisses Draco, dry lips followed by the warm, wet slide of his tongue teasing Draco's to open to him.

"God, Weasley," Draco hears himself gasp. "Yes." It doesn't sound like him – it sounds desperate and needy and completely swept away, and this is what he gets from Weasley every single time.

He pulls the belt on Weasley's robes and works his fingers into his shirt to feel the warm skin over his flat stomach. Objectively, Weasley is still far too skinny and gangly, but Draco loves the way his muscles tremble at Draco's touch. Weasley grabs Draco's wrist and moves his hand to his chest.

"There," he moans and Draco pinches his nipple.

Draco puts his arm around Weasley's waist, holding him up as his knees buckle.

"You're so easy," he murmurs against Ron's lips, pinching the other nipple. Ron thrusts against his thigh.

"Just – just," Ron stammers, pulling open Draco's robes.

Draco steps back enough to open his trousers. Their hands reach at the same time, bumping into each other. Draco moves his hands back to Ron's chest, a thumb flicking over each nipple as Ron slips his hands into Draco's pants and pulls his cock free. Draco looks down to watch Ron's big hand wrap around his cock, engulfing him in warm sensation.

"This?" Draco asks. He reaches for Ron and pulls Ron's gorgeous cock from his pants. He angles his hips to press their cocks together, lacing his fingers over Ron's.

"Yeah," Ron breathes. He slides his hand along both of their lengths and Draco moves so he feels it everywhere – Ron's hand squeezing the sides and fingers curling around to press into the underside while the friction of their cocks against each other make him dizzy.

Ron pulls back, his hand stroking them in tandem, squeezing the heads of their cocks tight together. Draco presses his mouth to Ron's, kissing him deeply. He wants all of him, to feel him everywhere.

"Harder," Draco moans, tightening his grip over Ron's hand. He's going to come soon. He can feel the tightness in his belly, white noise in his ears. "Yes," he gasps as he feels the slickness of Ron's precome ease the slide of their cocks.

"Not yet," Ron grinds out, slowing his hand.

"What are you—"

Draco presses his forehead to Ron's, panting. He opens his eyes. He can see their cocks, dark and hard and slick, between Ron's fingers.

He moves his hand slowly, deliberately, and whispers, "Can I fuck you?"

Draco rolls his hips, slowing his breathing, and enjoying the delicious slide, feeling his orgasm ebb and build again. "Merlin, yes," he says.

Ron kisses him. It's slow and gentle, different from their usual desperation. Something shifts in the purpose of the kiss and Draco wonders if the cart they're in is tipping, losing balance.

"Oh for the love of—" Someone yelps from somewhere behind Ron's shoulder.

Harry Potter appears behind Ron in another cart, his wand drawn for action as always, looking alarmed. Draco doesn't wonder that they didn't hear him. Ron's worked his other hand down the back of Draco's pants, his wide finger slipping into Draco's cleft.

"Harry, what—" Ron begins, jumping back from Draco as Harry squawks in protest. Draco can appreciate that while Ron's reaction makes sense, from Harry's perspective that was the wrong direction. Draco closes his eyes and waits for the moment to pass.

"Really? Here?" Harry shouts. He's looking at them and trying to look away at the same time. The result is an odd jerking of his head and he looks quite deranged. Draco presses closer to Ron to hide their bare fronts. "Did you...you didn't—" Harry waves his hand at them. "You didn't...as me and a Goblin? No. Right?"

"No!" Ron exclaims, his ears going red. He jumps back from Draco as if to make clear how this wounds his integrity.

"Fucking hell, would you close your robes?" Harry barks. "You see why I never let you work together? Thank Merlin Griphook sent word you'd been gone too long and so much for keeping this bloody investigation quiet. Bugger. You'd think you could behave as adults. I had to explain to the other Goblins why I'd come down twenty minutes ago and here I was again. Griphook had to shove this down the back of my robes," Harry's voice went up several decibels as he brandished a huge, ancient-looking key, "and let me down here to free you idiots. Have you ever had a Goblin stick his hands down your robes? Do you have—"

"Potter, breathe," Draco says. His erection hasn't flagged even with Potter standing there babbling like an idiot and Ron still half undressed, ready to argue and trying to come up with something to defend them. He'll have to give some thought to the fact that Ron apparently wants to find a way to justify their actions to Potter, but not now. "Ron, take me home."

"Right," Ron says without hesitation.

He wraps an arm around Draco. Draco could melt into him, let himself fall, and his strong grip would hold them both up. Draco leans against him and looks into his face. For a moment it seems that Ron is going to kiss him, Potter there or not. He hopes he does.

"Hold on just a damned minute," Potter shouts. "What about the vault? The box?"

"Look," Ron says. He nods meaningfully in Draco's direction. "Can't you pop on down and get the box? You've the key, mate. You're meant to return it to Griphook anyway. Bring the box by my flat in say, an hou—no, two hours, and Draco will take care of it. By tomorrow, it'll be finished, no one the wiser, or no one save a couple of Goblins."

Harry glares, but there's not much he can say. He's already here and he certainly can pop down to the vault just as quickly as Draco and Ron could, and it's against the secret best mate code that they seem to have to deny the other the best shag of his life, so there you are.

And this is it. This is why, despite himself, despite the lack of table manners and the snoring and the terrible clothes, despite all the Weasley-ness, Draco finds himself head over heels for the oaf. Ron always, always, comes through in the end.

Harry scowls and says, through gritted teeth, "You get out of my sight now. You come to my flat to get the box in two hours, and you take a bath first."

Ron smiles. "Thanks, mate."

Harry inserts the key into an elaborately carved keyhole that Draco would swear was not there a moment ago. The bars shimmer and fade, seeming to disappear into the very rock of the tunnel walls.

For Draco's part, he'll thank Potter tomorrow when he delivers his report about the box. He won't look him in the eye, but it will be as close as he's willing to come to ingratiating himself to Potter – and they'll both be thinking about how Potter could hardly tear his eyes away from where Ron's and Draco's cocks pressed together. But for now, Draco presses his lips to Ron's ear and whispers, "I need you to fuck me."

Draco doesn't have time to breathe before Ron pulls him into the cart that Potter has just vacated and they careen up the track at breakneck speed.

The cart rocks and seems as if it will fly from the rails at every turn. Draco wraps himself around Ron, and Ron kisses him. If anyone had told Draco a year ago that a kiss from this redheaded berk would make his insides turn upside down, he would have hexed them for even formulating such a thought. You never know what life will throw at you, Draco thinks as he kisses Ron back. You never know.
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