House of the Rising Sun

He watched through the one-way window as a young man crossed the threshold of the Rising Sun to stand before the receptionist. The young man nervously crossed his arms across his broad chest, and then forced them back to his sides only to cross them over his chest again.

In the almost three years he had been working at the Rising Sun, he had never seen anyone look so nervous. Well, actually he imagined that he himself had probably looked almost as bewildered and uncomfortable the night he had come here seeking employment, but never had he seen a client so ill-at-ease.

Curious, he continued to watch the tall, muscular man. Dressed in plain black robes and with a ridiculous looking hat clinging to his head, the man could have been anyone. There was absolutely nothing to identify him. But he seemed somehow familiar.

With a wave of his wand, he changed the angle that the window showed, now able to peer over the receptionist's shoulder to get a better look at the fidgeting young man. Whoever he was, he was now bent over the desk, filling out the necessary forms. When he finished writing and straightened, his face was flushed red. And suddenly, he knew why the man had seemed so familiar.

"Pretty, isn't he?" came an oddly feminine male voice from behind him.

"If you like the type, I suppose."

"Come now, Draco, what's not to like? He's tall, well-defined. I bet he has a nice arse hiding under those robes."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Angel, you think every bloke who walks through those doors is 'pretty'."

Beside him, he could feel Angel shudder in revulsion. "Not every bloke, honey."

His lips curving into a smirk, Draco forced himself to turn away from the viewing window. With Angel around, it wouldn't do to seem too interested in the Sun's newest client.

"With my luck, he's looking for a girl," Angel lamented.

"There's always Polyjuice, Angel. Or a trans-gender potion. You could be a girl."

Angel slapped him rather ineffectually on the arm. "Oh, don't tease! You know there are rules against doing that sort of thing without the client knowing about it."

"Perhaps he signed the waivers," he replied soothingly, although he was sure that no waivers had been signed. He just couldn't see Ron Weasley bedding a transgender. But then, until tonight he couldn't have imagined Ron Weasley even walking into the House of the Rising Sun, much less actually buying time with one of the girls.

Draco crossed the lounge to stretch out on one of the sofas. Though he wouldn't say as much to anyone, he was hoping tonight would be a slow night. He really didn't feel very sexy. His intermittent melancholia was back with a vengeance, and he wanted nothing more than to drink himself to sleep.

If anyone had the right to be depressed, Draco felt, it would be him. He was certain that out of his entire graduating class at Hogwarts, he was the only one reduced to selling his body to pay the bills. Even that hopeless Longbottom had secur job job with a research firm, working with herbs and such. Hell, even Crabbe had managed to do well for himself, even if it was through an arranged marriage to a girl who refused to get within ten feet of him.

"How the mighty fall," Draco muttered to himself.

Angel let out a melodramatic sigh. "Not this again," he said. "Haven't you managed to save up enough money yet for your daring escape?"

"Not quite," Draco sighed.

"If you would quit giving it away..."

"If I didn't give it away, how many more people would end up in my same situation?" Draco retorted hotly, sitting up to glare at his friend.

"Draco, Draco, I didn't mean to censor you."

Draco laughed. "Censure," he corrected. "You really shouldn't try to use big words, Angel."

Angel punched him lightly on the. "I. "I can't help it if I'm not as smart as you, you know."

He instantly regretted his words as the laughter left Draco's eyes. The blond settled back into the sofa cushions with a sigh, looking deeply troubled.

The lounge door opened, then, and the receptionist entered the room, stepping carefully so as not to turn her ankle in the stiletto heels she wore.

"'lo, Charla," Angel greeted.

"Hello, Angel. Draco, your presence is requested in the Greene room," Charla said cheerily, holding out a glass of thick, noxious smelling liquid.

Draco groaned. "I don't think my stomach can handle Polyjuice tonight," he protested.

"You're the best role-play artist we have, Draco," Charla replied sternly.

Draco sighed and took the glass from her hand. "Who do I have to be this time?"

"Your favourite," Charla sneered nastily.

Blond eyebrows raised in silent query.

"Harry Potter."

Draco's grey eyes went wide. "Oh Merlin, not again. Not tonight. Charla, no. I can't. I won't." He was surprised to hear how weak his own voice sounded. He sounded...defeated.

Angel sat down next to Draco and slipped a comforting arm around his shoulders. "You can do this, Draco. You know it brings you a higher commission. It puts you that much closer, honey."

"Get me a scotch, would you?" Draco asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Angel moved to comply, and Draco downed the Polyjuice, chasing it with the scotch. Looking decidedly green, and clutching at his stomach, Draco remained stoically silent as his body transformed into Potter's.

He could feel himself shrinking, growing both shorter and thinner. He could feel his long, sleek, blond hair receding into a shaggy mop. His vision grew blurry, and his clothes now hung on him - just the way Potter's Muggle clothes had always hung on him back at school. Draco knew he should be used to all these changes by now, as often as he had played the role. Somehow, though, he never felt comfortable in Harry's skin.

Silently, he reached out and took the horribly ugly trademark glasses that Charla held out to him and slipped them onto his nose. Turning toward the full-length mirror, he almost gasped at what he saw before him. Always before he had been cast as the adult version of Harry, albeit with school-boy robes and the thick-framed spectacles. The image the mirror reflected now, however, was of a teenaged boy, perhaps 16 or 17 years old. Draco felt his blood run cold, knowing suddenly what fate lay before him.

"Your client's name is..."

"Ron Weasley," Draco interrupted in Harry's voice. "I know. I saw him."

Charla's professionally tamed eyebrows rose in a smooth arch. "You know him?"

"Went to school with him. He hates me," Draco said morosely, looking at Charla with Harry's innocent, expressive green eyes.

"Well, he apparently has no such hatred for Harry Potter. Go on, now. And remember that Reg will be quite put out with you if you fuck up," she warned.

Draco gave her a hard look and then shuffled out of the room in his too-big clothing and headed for the Greene room.

***

Ron Weasley looked up nervously as the door to the suite he occupied quietly opened to admit Harry Potter.

"Not really Harry," he reminded himself. He rose shakily from his chair, his hands twisting nervously in the fabric of his robes. "I...I never..." he stammered.

"Hush, Ron," Draco said soothingly, slipping easily into character. "I know. It's all new to me, too, you know."

Weasley goggled at not-Harry for a moment before understanding struck him. He relaxed visibly. Clearly, he was glad to be able to get down to business without preamble.

Pretending innocence, Draco walked hesitantly across the room to stand before Ron Weasley. Turning deep green eyes up to look into Ron's bright blue ones, he smiled at the redhead in just the way he remembered seeing Harry smile at his then-fianc Isabella Zabini during his final year at Hogwarts.

Ron's breath caught in his throat at the way those deep green eyes gazed into his. Draco trailed feather-light touches up a the the line of Ron's jaw, up the sensitive shell of his ear, and threaded it through Ron's hair to rest at last at the base of his skill, cradling his head tenderly. Stretching up on his toes as he brought Ron's head down, Draco brushed his lips against Ron's in a chaste, fleeting kiss.

A desperate moan escaped from between Ron's slightly parted lips, and then he was bringing his own hands up to tangle in the other man's unruly mass of raven locks. Letting his eyelids fall shut, he darted his tongue out to lick tentatively at the boy's slightly chapped lips. He moaned again at the unexpected sensation of another tongue sliding against his own.

They stood that way - clinging to one another as their tongues dueled, caressed, and teased - until they were forced to part to catch their breath. For his part, Draco was grateful that Weasley wasn't completely hopeless at kissing. He was, in fact, rather good at it. That would make Draco's job much easier. He truly hated trying to have if off with people who were sexually incompetent.

Reaching up to straighten his glasses, Draco forced a slight tremble of his hand. Ron caught the hand and pressed it briefly to his slightly swollen lips before gently tugging the glasses from Draco's face. Draco watched with a strange mixture of amusement and pity swirling inside of him as Ron laid the glasses aside almost reverently. He wondered almost absently if Potter knew that his best friend was in love with him. A moment later, Ron was kissing him again, and he pushed the thought away to concentrate on the task at hand.

Easing his mouth away from Ron's, Draco let his tongue and teeth move over cinnamon-flecked skin, nibbling and sucking at the smooth column of Ron's slender throat. His breath coming in sharp little pants, Ron carefully disentangled himself from his lover's embrace. The vivid green eyes that looked up at him held confusion, frustration, and perhaps a little fear. Ron smiled gently in reassurance as he took Harry's hand in his own and led him over to a loveseat near the massive marble fireplace.

Ron settled himself in the centre of the loveseat and pulled the dark-haired boy down onto his lap. With a shy smile, Draco ducked his head to resume his explorations of Ron's throat. A nip at his ear, and Ron was digging his nails into Draco's back just hard enough to convey his desire without causing any actual pain.

Draco was surprised to feel a spark of genuine arousal. Typically he relied on aphrodisiac potions to ensure that he was able to please his clients. Occasionally a pretty girl or a handsome man would come along who actually interested him sexually, but never had he experienced anything quite so heady and surreal as this. The knowledge that his school-days enemy was moaning and writhing at his touch - the knowledge that he had such power over the other man - left him fully hard and aching in a way that no mere touch could ever have done.

Pulling back, Draco looked into Ron's eyes, licking his own chapped lips in the innocent but alluring way that Potter always had. Ron lifted his hands to lightly trace the contours of his lover's forehead, cheekbones, and jaw, an awed expression on his face. Now that he thought about it, Draco had to admit that Angel had a point - Ron Weasley really was rather pretty. Especially with his lips swollen from kissing and adoration filling his eyes.

Looking away from the heat in Ron's eyes in a gesture of shyness, Draco bit at his lip and toyed with the top closure on the other man's robes. He glanced up, feigning timidity, and gave Ron a tiny, fearful smile.

"May I?" he whispered, tugging at the robes.

Ron swallowed visibly and nodded his head, his hands sliding down Draco's sides to rest at his hips. Draco unfastened the top closure with shaking hands and then leaned down to lightly kiss the tiny bit of newly exposed skin. He repeated the movements with the second closure, and then the third and fourth. Flicking his gaze up to make sure Ron was watching him, Draco folded back the fabric of the robes and darted the tip of his tongue over one rosy nipple. Ron gasped in pleasure and surprise, his grip tightening on Draco's hips. Draco closed his mouth around Ron's nipple, grazing his teeth over the sensitive flesh and sucking gently as his tongue danced over the heated flesh.

"Oh, Gods," Ron moaned, dragging his nails down Draco's back. He maneuvered the smaller man to lean back against the arm of the loveseat and began to unbutton Draco's oversized shirt. One button, two...his hands trembled so that Draco feared he'd never get the shirt off. Lovingly, he covered Ron's hands with his own to still them and gave him an understanding look. He finished unbuttoning the shirt himself and tossed it to the floor.

The worshipful way that Ron's eyes roamed over Harry's body made Draco feel a sudden, unexpected, and unwelcome flash of jealousy. Batting the strange emotion aside, Draco leaned back, letting the redhead devour him with his eyes. And then Ron's mouth was following the path his eyes had marked, biting and licking and sucking every inch of exposed skin. The tables had been turned, and Draco found himself panting and gasping under Ron's passionate advances. The balance of power had shifted, but somehow, he didn't mind so much as he might have imagined.

Ron's eager hands fumbled at his belt and managed to actually unlatch it. The button and zip on his trousers opened easily, as well, and then Ron was dragging the trousers down the thin legs beneath as Draco struggled to kick off his shoes.

After carefully stripping away Draco's trousers and socks, Ron paused to run his hands over the toned muscles of Draco's calves and thighs. He dragged his nails along the inside of those thighs, bringing a sharp gasp of pleasure from the other man. Hesitantly, he rubbed the palm of his hand over Draco's silk-covered erection, watching in apparent amazement as the green eyes closed in pleasure.

Draco forced his eyes open, wondering how things had gotten so turned around. He smiled coyly at the other man. "You've a few too many clothes on, Ron," he said.

Flushing slightly, Ron quickly removed his own shoes and socks and then stood to let his robes fall to the floor at his feet. Clad only in black y-fronts, he sat once again on the loveseat and reached to pull not-really-Harry into his lap.

Draco had other plans. After a lingering kiss, he sank to his knees before Ron and looked up with mock adoration shining in his eyes. He often thought it strange how easily he could portray such emotions.

Aware of Ron's eyes on him, Draco leaned down and ran the flat of his tongue over the pale, sensitive skin of Ron's inner thigh. He was rewarded by an animalistic groan and the sensation of those wonderful nails digging into his skin. Encouraged, he repeated the gesture on the other thigh and won another moan. Smiling up into blue eyes, Draco slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of Ron's underpants and skillfully slid them down his long, muscular legs. Ron was watching him avidly, his face flushed with arousal and his body quivering with anticipation.

Cautiously, as if he were uncertain, Draco grasped the thick shaft of Ron's leaking erection, giving it a cursory stroke. Ron's hips jerked slightly, and Draco smiled calmly up at him. His eyes never leaving Ron's face, Draco leaned down and licked the tip of Ron's cock as if it were an ice lolly, moaning his own pleasure. Ron's fingers slid up to tangle in the mass of ebony locks, encouraging but not forcing him to continue. He swirled his tongue over the head of Ron's erection before slowly taking it into his mouth, bit by bit. Ron cried out and tugged at his lover's hair, trying desperately to keep his hips still as he watched that perfect red mouth swallowing him.

Licking and sucking, pushing Ron towards completion, Draco let one hand wander to his own erection. The slow, hard strokes were stilled suddenly when Ron's fingers tightened in Draco's hair, forcing his mouth away.

"Stop...stop..." Ron breathed. "Can't. Want you..."

Draco stood and pulled Ron to his feet, leading him through a door into the suite's bedroom. Dropping all pretense of innocence, Draco pushed off his silk boxers and climbed onto the massive four-poster bed that was so reminiscent of the ones in the Hogwarts dormitories. Ron followed quickly, stretching his long, lean body out on top of Draco's.

Resting on his knees and elbows, one leg between Draco's and with their faces only centimetres apart, Ron smiled down at the man beneath him. His fingers brushed the hair back from Draco's face and traced a pattern on his forehead. Draco realised with a start that he was touching Harry's scar.

"Don't," Draco whimpered, brushing Ron's hand from his face.

"Sorry," Ron whispered in reply. "I know you hate it."

For one confused moment, Draco thought Ron was talking to him. Then comprehension dawned, and he knew that he was referring to Harry hating the scar. He fought down the sudden rage that boiled inside him and forced a small smile.

"It's all right," Draco said quietly.

Ron shifted his weight onto his hands and brought his other leg to join the first between Draco's. Experimentally, he rocked his body against the smaller one beneath it, rubbing their erections together. The two men moaned in unison and Draco arched up into the contact. Ron pressed their bodies together more firmly, and they rocked against one another, friction feeding the fire burning within them both.

Breathing shallowly and unevenly, Ron leaned down to rest his forehead against Draco's as they continued to slide their sweat-slick bodies together.

"Want you," Draco panted, surprised at the neediness in his own voice. "Need you. Inside me. Now."

Pushing himself up onto his knees, Ron looked suddenly uncertain. Rolling halfway onto his side, Draco opened the drawer of the bedside table and retrieved the tube of lubricant he knew would be there. With business-like efficiency, he squeezed some of the cold liquid out into his palm and coated Ron's pulsing erection in a few swift strokes.

Lying back against the pillows, Draco made eye contact with Ron, and then slowly, deliberately, let his lids flutter down to hide his verdant eyes in a gesture of surrender. He raised his hips in silent supplication, offering himself up simply and completely.

With a strangled cry, Ron grasped his lover's narrow hips and carefully guided himself between the wide-spread thighs. He pressed forward, and gasped in pleasure as he pushed past the first tight ring of muscle and into the inviting heat of Draco's body. Beneath him, Draco clenched his teeth to hold back a cry of pain; he might be experienced, but the sixteen year old body he bitebited was 100% virgin - and mostly unprepared, as well.

Ron stilled his forward motion, a look of concern etched on his flushed face.

"Go on," Draco whispered hoarsely.

"Are you certain?"

Draco nodded and willed his muscles to relax.

Carefully, Ron slid slowly forward until he was fully buried in his lover's body. A shudder ran through him as he rested there, struggling to remain in control. After giving his - Harry's - body time to adjust, Draco wriggled his hips a little, drawing a surprised and pleased gasp from Ron.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Ron bit down on his lip and began to move in long, slow thrusts, drawing almost completely out of Draco's body before sliding in again. As he grew confident that he wasn't hurting the smaller man, Ron's thrusts began to come harder and faster. Draco slid a hand down to grasp his own aching erection, stroking it in time to Ron's thrusts.

Green eyes opened in surprise when a hand batted his away from his erection and began to stroke him instead. Grinding his teeth in arousal, Ron stroked and thrust harder and faster, spiraling towards climax. Draco clenched his muscles around Ron's cock, and the redhead tensed, his entire body going rigid and still as he thrust deeply and spilled his seed inside of Draco with a strangled cry. Draco let himself go, following Ron over the edge, a wonderful heat burning beneath his skin.

Ron pulled out of Draco's body without warning, causing Draco to cry out at the sudden loss. Forcing his jelly-like muscles to cooperate, Ron flung himself off the bed and dashed for a partly open door he desperately hoped led to the bathroom. Draco winced as he heard the unmistakable sound of the man being violently sick.

Retrieving his wand from the sitting room, Draco cleaned up the mess they had made of both the bed and the borrowed body he inhabited. He stepped into his boxers before going to check on Ron.

In the bathroom, Ron leaned heavily against the marble countertop, staring with obvious hatred at his own reflection. Draco came up behind him, peering around him at their reflections. Potter, he noted, looked very good debauched.

"All right, Ron?" he asked, truly concerned.

The red-haired man shook his head. "No," he replied hoarsely. "Not at all 'all right'." Tears spilled out of his bright blue eyes to cascade down his cheeks unchecked.

Draco hopped up to sit on the counter, swinging his legs slightly. "Do you want to talk about it?" he offered.

Ron shook his head again. "I shouldn't have come here," he said, wiping away tears with the back of his hand. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Scooting back to rest his bare skin against the cool glass of the mirror, Draco sighed. He didn't want to play counselor to anyone, much less Ron Weasley. How could he council anyone, anyway, when he couldn't even straighten out the mess he called his life?

"You were thinking that even the illusion of happiness would be better than the reality of misery. You were thinking that - just for a little while - you could make yourself believe that you were really seeing - and doing - what you wanted to see and do. But you weren't counting on reality crashing back down around you. No one ever does."

"You must think I'm pretty pathetic."

Draco considered for a moment. "No, actually I don't."

Ron looked up at him, clearly surprised.

With a self-deprecating laugh, Draco continued. "I'm a whore, Ron. I haven't the right to judge anyone. If I was going to call someone 'pathetic', it would be me."

To Draco's astonishment, Ron gave him a wry smile. "Well, at least for awhile we got to be pathetic together, right? Surely that's better than being pathetic alone."

Draco felt his lips curve in a smile - his own smile this time, rather than Harry's. It felt out of place on this face. "Perhaps you're right."

Ron turned his attention back to his reflection in the mirror, apparently lost in thought. After a long moment, he spoke again. "Do you think..."

"No," Draco cut him off firmly.

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" Ron protested.

"You want to know who I am, without the Polyjuice. The answer is 'no'. It isn't a good idea."

In a flash of anger, Ron brought his fist up and smashed it against the mirror. It bounced harmlessly away, and Draco was thankful - not for the first time - that anything potentially hazardous was treated with Unbreakable charms.

Feeling unexplainably concerned for the other man's well being, Draco relented with a sigh. "I'll make you a deal - if you still want to know in three months, send an owl to Angel, here at Rising Sun. He'll know who to contact. All right?"

Ron considered for a moment, and then obviously decided it was the best he was going to get. "All right," he agreed quietly.

"Am I dismissed, then?"

"Yeah. Go on. I just...I just need a minute."

Draco slithered off the counter and moved to stand beside Ron. With a gentle smile, he caressed Ron's cheek with the knuckles of one hand.

"He's the one who's missing out," he said softly. Then, quick as a dream, he was gone.

***

Three months later, Ron sent an owl to Angel at House of the Rising Sun. She in turn sent an owl to Draco, who had long since escaped the hell that his life had been. With Angel's help, Draco set up a meeting between himself and Ron at a public place that would count as neutral territory.

On the day of the meeting, Draco found himself considering and discarding every item of clothing he owned.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked his reflection in the mirror. "This is Ron Weasley, for fuck's sake. He doesn't care what you look like. He can't even stand the sight of you."

Scowling, Draco tugged on well worn jeans and his favourite silk shirt. He was still scowling when he took a seat in the mostly deserted restaurant to wait impatiently for Weasley to show up. He wished the man would hurry up so they could get this nonsense done with and he could get on with his new life.

Ron strode into the restaurant right on time, his russet hair windblown and his cheeks slightly pink from the chilly wind. Looking much less nervous than he had at the Rising Sun, Ron strode forward to speak quietly to the hostess. The pretty young girl led Ron around to the corner booth Draco occupied and then walked away to leave the two men alone.

"I don't understand," Ron admitted as he stared down at Draco, who felt decidedly uncomfortable under Ron's stare.

"Sit down," Draco offered. "What don't you understand?"

Ron sank down onto the bench opposite Draco, his brows furrowed in confusion. "You...you?" he asked.

Draco smirked slightly at the inarticulate question. "Yes, I'm the one who was with you at the Rising Sun that night."

"Why?" Ron gasped.

Draco lowered his eyes to the table and concentrated on folding his paper napkin into origami. "It's what I do - what I did. The Sun was the only place I could find work."

"Wait...wait. Start at the beginning, would you? I mean - you're Draco Malfoy. Why the hell would you need to work at all?"

"Because my father was stupid enough to get caught," Draco replied coldly.

"But that shouldn't have mattered...."

"It did," Draco cut him off. "Look, my inheritance was set up such that I couldn't touch any of the liquid assets until I turned 21. Since the Ministry took all of the non-liquid assets - everything other than my trust fund, really - that meant I had nothing at all until my 21st birthday six weeks ago. With Mother dead and Father in Azkaban, I was on my own. I tried to find a way to take care of myself. I thought being near the top of our class at Hogwarts would count for something, but everyone I went to turned me away - either because I was the son of a known Death Eater, or because I had never pledged my allegiance to the same stupid cause that landed Father in prison. Angel found me sick and half-starved, wandering around Knockturn Alley in the cold and talking to people who weren't there. She...he... Angel took care of me until I was well again, and then she took me to meet Reg. Reg was more than happy to put me to work at the Rising Sun. He didn't give a damn who I was or who my father had been. I was young and pretty and desperate - that's all that mattered to him. So he put me to work, and I stayed there until I came into my inheritance and could get away." Draco paused to catch his breath, surprised at how easily the story had tumbled from his lips. His hands continued to fold and unfold the paper napkin, fidgeting restlessly on the table.

A warm hand closed over his, and Draco ged ued up into blue eyes filled with compassion. "You should have asked for help," Ron said gently.

Draco snorted. "Who would I have asked, Weasley? You? The last thing I wanted was pity."

"You could have gone to Dumbledore," Ron suggested, but at the venomous look the other man shot him, he changed his tack. "Or Snape."

"I thought about going to Snape, but I wasn't certain I could trust him. I had no way of knowing where he stood or how he would react to my situation. The other so-called friends of my father wanted nothing to do with me."

"He would have helped you, Draco. There are a good many people who would have."

"Yes, well. What's done is done."

"Yes, it is," Ron agreed quietly.

Draco looked down at his and Ron's joined hands, lying on the table between them. He watched in silence as Ron ran his thumb lightly over the smooth skin covering the back of his own pale hand. Slowly and deliberately, he pulled his hand away from Ron's.

Sighing, Ron sat back in his seat.

"I don't know what you expected to find, coming here."

"I don't know, either," Ron admitted. "What I do know is that you picked a real rat-hole for a meeting place. Were you trying to scare me away?"

Draco found his lips curving upward involuntarily in response to the warmth and humour in Ron's voice. "Yes, actually. I didn't think this meeting was a good idea."

Ignoring the latter part of Draco's remark, Ron rose from his seat. He offered Draco his hand. "What do you say we find someplace decent for dinner?" he asked.

"I know a place not far from here," Draco heard himself saying as he took the offered hand. "Very select clientele, relaxed dress code, great music...."

"Sounds perfect," Ron assured him.

"Cuisine isn't anything special," Draco warned as they stepped out into the wintry night.

"Is it edible?" Ron asked, his stomacowliowling rather audibly.

"I think it's quite good, actually," Draco replied. "Simple, but good."

"I'm still having trouble imagining you equating 'simple' with 'good'," Ron teased, falling into step beside Draco as they made their way down the street.

"Yes, well, it isn't my fault I never mastered gourmet cooking," Draco said with a grin as he led Ron up the steps of a brownstone building.

Ron blinked in confusion.

"My flat," Draco explained, unlocking the door with a key. "If that's all right?"

Ron nodded and followed Draco into the small, tidy flat. He glancrounround the front room, taking in the comfortable-looking but not at all elegant furnishings and the complete lack of anything to personalize the space.

"Make yourself comfortable," Draco invited as he shut the door behind them. "I'll find us something to eat..."

Draco's words were cut off as Ron pressed him against the door, his mouth gently laying claim to Draco's in a warm, moist, open mouthed kiss. Draco whimpered, disgusted with himself for letting the helpless noise escape, and let himself be kissed. When Ron pulled away without even attempting to deepen the kiss, Draco felt unexpectedly disappointed. He opened his eyes and looked up at Ron, who was gazing at him with a strange expression on his face.

"Giving you a chance to tell me to fuck off," Ron explained with a small grin.

Draco didn't bother to respond verbally, but chose instead to knot his fingers inte sie silky strands of Ron's hair and pull him in for a long, slow, searing kiss. The slide of his tongue against Ron's felt different from the way it had when he had been in Harry's body. Different, and better.

Ron threw himself into the kiss with a fervor that would have scared Draco had he been anyone else. Forcing his knee between Draco's legs, he rubbed his thigh against the other man's erection, drawing moans from the both of them. Draco brought his leg up to wrap around Ron's thigh. Suddenly Ron's strong hands cupped his firm buttocks and lifted him slightly. He wrapped his legs around Ron's hips and let his head fall back against the door with a dull thud. His face pressed against the warm skin of Draco's throat, Ron chuckled, the sound reverberating along the nerves in Draco's body.

"Not funny," Draco panted. "Bedroom. Now."

Carefully, Ron lowered Draco back onto his own feet again. All traces of his former hesitation gone, Ron deftly unbuttoned Draco's shirt, sliding the slippery fabric off of his thin shoulders.

And then silence. Silence and stillness.

Draco opened his eyes to see Ron looking at him with concern and sympathy. Embarrassed and angry, Draco snatched his shirt up from the floor and started to struggle back into it.

"Draco, don't," Ron pleaded, carefully wresting the shirt from Draco's trembling hands.

Draco stood still as stone, his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his eyes firmly shut. His body had been beautiful once, before he ended up on the streets. He had carefully left out the part of his story where he had been robbed, raped, and left for dead in Knockturn Alley. Sick and starved he had said. But it had been so much more than that had had the scars to prove it. Scars he had long ago learned to hide beneath charms.

Warm fingers stroked the long scar that ran diagonally across Draco's chest. He shivered under the touch, and the hand jerked away. Reaching out blindly, Draco took Ron's hand and placed it back against the scar, wanting him to repeat the gesture. He gasped in surprise when Ron traced the line of the scar with his tongue instead.

At that moment, Ron's stomach growled again, loudly and insistently. Draco snickered as a bit of her nervous tension was diffused, and he felt Ron's grin against his bare skin. Pulling Ron's face up to his for a chaste kiss, Draco smiled.

"What in Merlin's name have we gotten ourselves into?" he asked rhetorically.

"I'm not certain, but I think it's something good," Ron replied. His face turned suddenly serious. "Draco, I know we hardly know one another. We never really did, but even more so now, what with how much we've both changed. I don't know where this is headed..."

"It doesn't matter," Draco said honestly. "Whether it's for a lifetime, or only for tonight, it doesn't matter. Because it's real. It's real, and it's ours."

"Ours," Ron mused. "I rather like the sound of that."

"Just don't get too used to it, Weasley," Draco warned, patting the other man on the bum as he walked by him headed for the kitchen. "I've never been very good at sharing, you know."