Is This Desire?

***Ron***








***Ron***

"Ron, Ron, wake up!"

"That wasn't a foul," Ron bellowed as he wearily opened his eyes
to a black haired blur that he reckoned was Harry. "Huh? Wha time's it?" Ron asked groggily.

"Uhm, I think it's 3:00," Harry replied, still beaming as he
looked down at Ron. "I have to tell you something."

"What?" Ron grumbled, trying to roll over, but found that
impossible, as the small wizard was perched on top of his legs. He had finally
fallen asleep after hours of waiting for Harry to get back from an
"urgent" Quidditch meeting. They hadn't even gone to Hogsmeade like Harry had promised. "Can't this wait? I
was having this bloody brilliant dream. Malfoy and I were playing Quidditch
over a volcano, and I knocked him off his broom with the tail of my broom. Then
I went--"

"Ron! I have to tell you, I just got back from being with Cho."

Ron looup aup at Harry, realizing he was no longer tired. He didn't even
know Harry was still interested in Cho, let alone
spending an entire night with her. "How was it?"

"It was amazing. It was everything I ever thought it would be."
Harry was getting a very uncharacteristic misty tone to his voice. The boy was
glowing, and Ron wasn't sure it suited him.

"Oh," Ron replied trying to sound interested. There was something
about him being with Cho that made Ron feel very
uncomfortable. The fact that Harry was still sitting on Ron's abdomen wasn't
helping things much. It wasn't like he had a crush on Harry. Or, maybe he'd
never given any thought to it.

"I wish I could explain it," Harry said, reddening a bit. Ron
wondered what was bringing that odd look into Harry's eyes. Those green spheres
piercing into his own, making Ron feel ... bizarre. It was like Harry was searching
for something that Ron knew wasn't even there.

"You, you could show me," Ron looked up seriously at Harry. Six
years of feelings were swishing inside him, getting jumbled and confused.

To Ron's great surprise, Harry didn't look at him with disgust. He barely
even registered the comment. "I can't show you.&;
;

Ron looked back at his best friend, the pale black haired boy with the
glasses. If you looked at him just right, sometimes you wouldn't even notice
the scar. Harry just kept focusing on Ron, giving Ron the feeling of his mind
being read. Harry placed his hand on Ron's thigh, and for a split second Ron
thought Haras gas going to show him. But, Harry was just trying to gain some
leverage as he removed himself from Ron.

"I'm not gay, Ron."

At that moment Ron felt as though a bucket of boiling hot water had been
thrown all over his face. His skin burned in embarrassment. Ron had never
considered himself being gay. In fact, he knew he wasn't. Did it always have to
be about that? Couldn't he just like someone for the sake of liking him? Why
did this rejection and humiliation always have to happen to him?! "I'm not
gay either," Ron managed to say as Harry hopped on to the cold wooden
floor

"I know, Ron. I know. Goodnight."

"Night," Ron grumbled miserably back.

Ron knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep with so much swimming around in
his mind. He waited until he could no longer hear the restless tosses from
Harry's bed, and quietly pushed down the sheets from his bed. He stumbled out
of his four-poster and grabbed for his robe. He haphazardly threw the black
material over his cold body, slipped on a pair of shoes, and walkedquiequietly
as he could across the creaking boards of the dorm.

As he slipped out the door, Ron took a deep breath and tried to tiptoe down
the clunky oak stairs. As he walked into the common room he noticed the fire
was still going, and from the glow if it he could just make out a bushy-haired
witch.

"Hermione?" ask asked,
she nearly leapt out of her seat at the sound of him.

"Ron! You scared me. What are you doing? Where are you going?"

Somewhere deep inside himself he wanted to tell her everything. Everything about Malfoy, about Harry. But he couldn't. She
wouldn't understand.

"Just going for a walk," Ron said, shrugging his shoulders.
"Why are you still up?"

"Well, actually, I was," Hermione was beginning to turn a bit
pink. "I was thinking about you."

`Oh, god. Why is she thinking about me?' Ron
thought. He couldn't take one more emotion. Was his life a fucking soap opera?
Why couldn't she have told him this last year, you know, when he wasn't lusting
after MalfRon Ron felt like either breaking into tears, or throwing something
against the wall. His emotions were being put on one of those sickening Muggle
amusement rides, and they weren't happy about it.

Hermione apparently noticed the sudden paling of her friend, and walked over
to him. "Ron, what's wrong? You've been so distant lately. Are you
okay?"
cou couldn't do it, he didn't want to have this
conversation right now. And before he realized what he was doing he had run out
the door and down a long flight of stairs. He didn't even look back; Hermione
would forgive him in the morning because right now his body was telling him to
keep running. Ron leapt down a second flight of stairs, sometimes taking two or
three at a time. As the loud stomps were echoing through the quiet corridors,
Ron felt sure Filch would catch him at the next bend, but amazingly he never
came. Even as Ron swung out through the heavy oak doors to the cold October
night, there was no Filch.

As Ron stepped onto the green turf of the Hogwarts grounds he began to slow
a bit. It was a lot darker than he anticipated and he had forgotten his wand,
so the "lumos!" possibility was
non-existent. He could barely see the end of his nose, let alone three feet in
front of him. Ron began to wonder if he was being overly dramatic when he heard
something he was sure was a laugh. And not just a laugh,
really, a cackle. A Malfoy cackle.

Ron stopped dead in his tracks, and whipped his head around to find the
source. And sure enough there he was, silver hair illuminated in the moonlight,
eyes flashing, face... well, pointed. Malfoy looked different, though. His
usual sneer looked more deadly tonight that it had in months. Ron definitely
wanted no part in whatever Malfoy was doing at this time of the night, and
hoped the Slytherin wouldn't see him as he walked by.

Ron held his breath as Malfoy kept walking closer. Why did the evil git need to walk so slowly? And where were his goons? Ron
couldn't figure out why Malfoy would be out at this hour, especially without Crabbe and Goyle. Ron could feel
his heart thumping through his robes.

"Oh, Weasley?" Malfoy drawled. Fuck, Ron
was found out. And from the tone of Malfoy's voice, Ron could tell he was
feeling particularly vengeful tonight. He'd probably want to pay him back for
the stair incident.

"What is it, Malfoy?" Ron said, trying to make sure his voice
didn't quiver.

"Trying to hide?" Malfoy crooned, his fabulous smirk creeping onto
his lips

"Why would I want to hide from you?" Ron asked quickly, narrowing
his eyes at his evil arch-nemesis. Forget the fact that Ron had tried to kiss
the pointy-faced bastard. Malfoy was still Ron's sworn enemy, and by
sixteen-year-old law this type of confrontation was more than necessary.

"Learn when to keep your mouth shut, Weasel. Especially
around me, now." Malfoy suddenly got a tone of seriousness about
him, and stood up as tall as he could. However, the top of Malfoy's head just
barely Ron's eye level (and Ron had notoriously bad posture). Ron just rolled
his eyes in response.

"What's that supposed to mean, Malfoy? Did daddy buy you some new thugs
that actually have brains? I mean, God knows there's no way you could get
friends on your own."

It seemed Ron had hit a nerve, because Malfoy turned on like a switch.
Immediately the shorter boy leapt on top of Ron, pinning him down with his bony
knees, and grabbing Ron by the collar. Ron's anger swelled at this point. He
wasn't going to get pushed around by a Slytherin, and a Malfoy at that. Before
Malfoy could even grasp what was happening, Ron had violently flipped them so
he was now pinning Malfoy to the ground by his wrists, sinking whatever nubs he
had for nails into Malfoy's skin. He was really going to enjoy punching this
bastard.

"Get off of me, you oaf," Malfoy growled as he tried desperately
to throw Ron off of him, pushing the wide sleeves of his robes to his elbows.

"No way, you've had this coming." Ron glanced quickly at his hands,
trying to decide how best to pin the smaller boy's wrists while still getting a
decent hit, when he noticed it. There on Malfoy's left arm was... the Dark
Mark.

Ron panicked, he gasped and let go of Malfoy's wrists, giving the Slytherin
a perfect opportunity to throw the shocked Gryffindor off of him. Ron flopped
onto the damp grass.

"Don't fuck with me, Weasel." Draco hoisted himself off the ground
and began to brush himself off over Ron. Ron lay motionless as bits of grass
smacked him in the face. It seemed that either Malfoy hadn't noticed that Ron
had seen his Dark Mark, or simply hadn't cared.

"I, I saw it," Ron said as the disheveled Slytherin flicked a
blade of grass of his impeccable skin. Draco stiffened, eyes growing
momentarily wide, and then went back to brushing himself off. Acting as though nothing had happened.

"What are you talking about?" Malfoy asked simply.

"I saw it. On, on your arm," Ron said as he leaned up. Malfoy gave
a final, and rather harsh tug at his robes and glared
down at Ron.

"You didn't see anything. God help me, Weasel. You're standing on thin
ice."

Ron finally stood up. He'd had enough of Malfoy. He was going to punch in
that perfect pointy nose of his. So what if Ron still had a major thing for the
boy? Malfoy had it coming.

Before Malfoy knew what was happening, Ron had drawn back his fist and
launched it forward like some kind of wild sledgehammer, just praying his fist
landed somewhere, and that it hurt Ron watched as though it were in slow
motion. Malfoy's eyes widened in horror as Ron's fist collided with his pointy
nose. Malfoy, almost comically, flew backwards into the damp grass, his
once-impeccable robes now covered again in bits of grass and dirt.

He stared up at Ron, as a trickle of crimson blood dribbled from his
nostril. "You made me bleed," he said blandly as the blood spilled
onto his lower lip. Malfoy darted his tongue out, almost teasingly, and licked
thbstabstance from his lips. "I don't like blood." And
the now paler than usual Slytherin collapsed back onto the grass.

`Oh God,' Ron thought. `I've killed him.' Ron looked down at the unconscious
boy in front of him. What the hell was he going to do now? He could shave his
head, maybe move to Africa, or maybe India.
However, thoughts of fleeing the country and joining a Tibetan monastery were
momentarily pushed out of his mind as he saw the Slytherin's
blonde eyelashes twitch. "Malfoy?" Ron said
quietly. The boy didn't move. "Malfoy?" Ron
asked a bit louder as he kicked him lightly. This seemed to make all the fereference. Malfoy's hand shot up to grab Ron's ankle, and Ron tumbled on top
of the Slytherin.

Immediately Ron began to blush, and prayed profusely that he wouldn't get a hard-on.
Unfortunately his body didn't seem to agree with his mind. Ron tried to lift
himself off of the smaller boy, but quickly came to realize he was stuck.
Malfoy was holding fiercely onto Ron's cloak, starring into his face as though
he had never even seen him before. "Wait, don't leave."

***Draco***

Before he could even wrap his mind around the thought, he had spoken.
"Don't leave?" What did he mean, don't leave? Weasley was of no
importance to him; and yet, he still said it.

Weasley glared down at him. He quizzically quirked an
eyebrow. And Draco had the distinct impression the Gryffindor was
wondering if this was some sort of set-up. It wasn't meant to be, although now
it certainly could be disguised as one.

Draco was still gripping hard onto the Gryffindor's tattered robes. He
carelessly began to fidget with a thread that had come loose in the hem. Draco
tried in vain to act as though it was a perfectlrmalrmal thing to have your
arch nemesis perched on top of you, his definite hard-on poking into your
abdomen.

The moment hadn't lasted more than a few seconds, but to Draco it had been
an awakening. He felt the pain still searing in his left arm as he looked again
into the dull blue eyes of the boy before him. He couldn't resist any longer.
Every part of his brain was screaming not to do it, but he couldn't hold back.
He pulled harshly at the redhead's thick tangles, and dragged him to meet his
lips. No resistance, only passion as their lips met in a ghostly whisper.

But Draco wasn't a fucking faerie. He was going to do this the right way,
like a Malfoy (if Malfoys did this type of thing...). He pressed deeply into
the kiss; hardly even registering the passion had been there for ong.ong. He
explored the hot inner workings of Weasley's mouth. His tongue played over the
boy's teeth, smooth. And the Gryffindor began to relax on top of him, but never
in control. Draco was always in control.

Draco's arms wrapped around the thin red head, clutching
onto his robes. He separated momentarily from the redhead's penetrating
kiss, and with a sudden burst of passion rolled over on top of him. Weasley
looked blank faced, shocked as though he was only just realizwhatwhat was
happening. Draco could still feel the boy's bulge poking into him. He smirked
down as he slowly shifted the lower half of his body over the other boy's
stiffness, making Weasley close his eyes and swallow hard.

"Like that Weasley?" Draco said smugly. The Gryffindor didn't need
to respond. He looked up into Draco's eyes and blushed. It was possibly the
most wonderful thing Draco had seen. And the boy underneath him was driving him
insane. Draco smirked again, and came down on the other boy's throat. Between
the two of them he was trying to undo the Gryffindor's robes, his fingers
clumsily fumbling with the fastenings. But before Draco had made any progress
in undressing the entirely-too-sexy redhead, a hand had gripped hard on his
wrist. It startled Draco as Weasley pulled his arm to his swollen pink lips.

Weasley, still red but looking more focused, began to quickly roll back the
sleeve of Draco's robes. Before D cou could pull his arm away, Weasley had
pressed his scorchingly hot mouth to the newly
acquired, and still rather inflamed, Dark Mark. It was an amazing feeling, some
light-headed sensation between anguish and passion. Weasley's magnetic blue
eyes peered into his own gray ones as he kissed, sucked, and licked at the
scar. Draco lightly shut his eyes, the intensity of this moment too consuming.

And before he could truly enjoy it, he had whipped his arm from Weasley's
grip. What the fuck was he doing? Weasley couldn't know about the Death Eaters.
He'd been a member no longer than two hours, and already his enemy knew. Why
not just go tell fucking Dumbledore? His father was going to be furious.

"Don't fucking do that," Draco spat
maliciously. "Don't you fucking do that, faggot.
I'M NOT LIKE YOU!" Draco leapt off the boy's warm body and ran.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear Weasley fall onto backback and
grumble, "I hate my life."

.....