Rain

A/N: As usual, my writing is lacking something in my eyes. But oh well. This is with hope one of the first Deathly Hallows fanfic (of this pairing) to hit AFF. If not, again oh well. At least it was fun to write! The pairing is Yaxley/Ron. There are no real major spoilers, though you will want to have read up to the chapters about the Ministry, or else you'll have trouble understanding the setting.

Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day.

The words seemed to have been burned into the inside of his skull. He couldn't get them out. Didn't even know where they came from. All the while, the rain poured down heavy, soaking his robes, but more importantly, soaking everything the office had to hold. Now what spell? Hermione had told him a load of likely-sounding incantations, but they were wiped as cleanly from his mind as though he'd been Obliviated, replaced by that damn pointless chant: rain, rain, go away.

Ron reached up, fisting his own hair.

His face, or Mr. Cattermole's face anyway, was probably the palest of whites by now. What was he going to do?! Somewhere, floors below, Mrs. Cattermole was being judged...sentenced...Merlin only knew what that meant -- Azkaban, or death maybe, anyway, it meant that someone's life was going to be destroyed, while he was sitting here...

"I deserve to go to hell." Ron moaned, slowly relaxing his grip...

Which was redoubled as a pair of arms snaked their way around his waist. A jolt of surprise went through him, like an electric shock bursting through his veins, making his body go rigid. "Eh!?" he yelped, his wand poking uselessly out of his robe pocket, while he craned his neck to get a look at the face of his assailant. Eyes falling on Yaxley's smirking face, his blood turned to ice.

"Wha-what the -- aren't you supposed to be -- ?"

"With your wife? Yes," Yaxley answered indifferently. His arms tightening, Ron found his back pressed firmly to the Death Eater's hard chest. "but what was that you were saying, Cattermole? Hell? I could easily send you there."

"No." Ron said unevenly, his fingers fumbling over the damp Ministry robe covering Yaxley's arm. His throat felt like it was constricting around the words, but he managed to grind out, "Thanks, really. Think I'll pass on that one mate."

"No? Damn. Well, I'll send you to a different place, then." Yaxley said simply.

Ron felt him lean closer. The next thing he knew, something hot and wet was tracing the rim of his ear. "Oi!" he said, too used to Fred and George's jokes to put up with something like that. Disgusted, fear forgotten, he wrenched himself from the Death Eater's grip and wheeled about to demand, "Oi, what are you on about?!"

"What do you think?" Yaxley hissed. He stepped forward, and Ron became horribly aware of how close he was to the wall. One bid to retreat had his back pressed up against the wall. Yaxley put his hands, of all the unnevering places, on his waist, and crouched, so that his eyes were aligned with Cattermole's. Ron had never felt so short. The man smirked again -- which was a warning, he supposed, the only warning unfortunately.

With a mouth crushed bewilderingly to his own, Ron opened his mouth to yell; and that Yaxley took as an invite, thrusting his tongue inside and snaking it all around. The only thing that stopped him from vomitting was the threat of pain or death. So he stood there, his hands clenching and unclenching compulsively on Yaxley's shoulders, unresponsive yet rooted to the spot. It was like a train wreck, really, in that he couldn't pull himself away, and when the kiss ended it wasn't because of anything he had done.

It was what he didn't do. Yaxley growled, "What's the matter with you?" his face had flushed crimson, with anger or some homosexual desire, Ron didn't know, didn't want to know.

"Oh, I dunno. You don't think it's that you just snogged me, do you?" he said, mockingly thoughtful.

Something dark crossed Yaxley's expression. He reached over, grabbed Ron by the shoulders, and pinned him firmly to the wall. "It's always the coy act with you, isn't it, Cattermole?" Ron could smell toothpaste as well as the underlying hint of that morning's breakfast on his breath, but all he did was stare into his face, transfixed. "Though," here Yaxley grinned, "I never do hear you complain once I've put it in you."

"Excuse me?" Ron asked, aghast.

Yaxley grabbed himself a handful of robe. With surprising strength, he yanked the material, causing it to rip cleanly. "I'll put a new tune in you," he said, stroking his rough palm over Ron's newly exposed chest, causing gooseflesh to rise wherever he touched. "I'll put a new tune in you, all right."

Ron felt -- figuratively, 'course, ignoring the downpour overhead -- like someone had taken a bucket of ice-cold water to him. He felt awake for the first time. Alert. He threw up his hands, gave Yaxley a great, heaving shove...

To his surprise, it had no affect. The Death Eater remained as solidly unmoveable as a brick wall.

Yaxley threw back his head, laughing unkindly. "You know you can't fight me, Cattermole, why do you bother?" he questioned, grinning. He lowered his head, the hard bluntness of his teeth sinking into the fleshy juncture between Ron's shoulder and neck, and with his all pressed up against his, chances of fighting back became even more remote.

Ron gasped, gripping Yaxley's shoulders tightly, his expression twisted with anger, surprise, fear. "...the hell -- bastard...get off. I said get OFF!" he shouted. To his relief the mouth was pulled away, but that relief was soon replaced with renewed terror.

"Silence!"

Ron stiffened.

A wand jabbed painfully between his ribs.

"Your wife, Cattermole,"

Poor Mrs. Cattermole.

"she's damned. You know that, don't you? Damned. The dementors will suck out her soul, today, unless..."

He shuddered involuntarily, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"Unless I intervene." Yaxley stated.

"Will you?" Ron said doubtfully.

"No," Yaxley admitted. "Unless you suddenly find yourself feeling more cooperative, that is. Then I might change my mind. I might...help her case."

"You're thick, if you think I'm going to believe you."

"Good point, Cattermole, but what choice do you have?"

Good point.

He grimaced. "What...what is it you want, anyway...?" he asked hesitantly.

"Your arse." Yaxley reached around him, gripping it roughly.

Ron's ears reddened. "You're barking!" he insisted.

"Maybe, but once more: what choice do you have?"

"None," Ron said blankly, thinking about how lucky Mr. Cattermole was to be sitting in St. Mungo's right now, probably puking his guts up, oblivious to what was happening to his doppelganger over at the Ministry of Magic.

"Good." Yaxley grunted, ripping the work robe away.

Pale eyes flickered over his newly exposed torso, as well as the black undershorts he wore. He shifted uncomfortably where he stood. "Look, I..." he began, but Yaxley, evidently, didn't care what he had to say.

In a flash, the shorts were down and around his ankles. Ron's flaccid length flipped free, causing him to go as red as his hair would have been, if he was himself. "Hey!" he protested. "Hold on a minute!"

"To what, admire the roses?" Yaxley sneered, his fingers encircling Ron's prick. "Get over it, Cattermole...we're running on a tight schedule today."

Ron fought to swallow the lump in his throat. He wanted to shout, he wanted to fight, he wanted to run. But Mrs. Cattermole -- he had never met her before -- but what he imagined her face to look like kept drifting across his brain, stifling the impulses and keeping him frozen. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He could feel his cock swelling, but refused to look. It was stupid but he felt as though staring at the spot where Yaxley's long, rough fingers darted out over his flesh would be really admitting to the crime, and he couldn't stand the thought.

"I'm not a shirtlifter." he muttered.

"Of course you're not," Yaxley said, which left Ron blinking for a couple of seconds. Then he added, "You're what we call a 'pillowbiter', Cattermole. Now be quiet. I didn't postpone sentencing to listen to you make your usual excuses..."

Ron couldn't think. He said nothing, focusing instead on trying to keep as silent as humanly possible, with a hand sweeping, squeezing, and teasing him so expertly. Beads of pre were already forming at his slatch. He was ashamed when he felt Yaxley take the substance onto his fingertips and rub it in slow circles into the shaft. The hand dropped to his base, where it gripped him tightly.

"Turn around." Yaxley commanded.

Dubiously, fully aware of what he was exposing to the Death Eater, he obeyed. "Come on..." he moaned, tensing up when he felt the tip of Yaxley's index brush over the crease between his buttocks.

"You've delayed me already, and I'm not using lubrication because of it.." Yaxley said, pressing, carelessly, against the tight ring of muscle guarding Ron's hole.

"Mmnf!" Ron groaned, his hands clenching into fists.

"Thought that might shut you up." he chuckled, pressing harder, until his finger defeated his inner muscles and slid in up to the first knuckle. He made a 'come here' gesture with the finger, testing the tightness. "Merlin, Cattermole. Relax."

He almost sounded concerned; not that that helped.

Ron gritted his teeth, shaking his head.

"Or don't. I don't care. This will be a fine fuck, with or without your cooperation." Yaxley snorted, pressing his mouth to the nape of his neck, all the while forcing a second finger into Ron's dry passage.

He felt like someone had forced molten lava up his rectum. And he wondered, if this was having a few fingers half-way up there, what would Yaxley's erection be like? Despite himself, he tried to follow the Death Eater's instructions. Tried to relax. But no sooner had he started to make the effort, than Yaxley withdrew the fingers, replacing them with the head of his prick at Ron's entrance.

"Wai -- " he started to gasp, realizing, too late, what was about to happen.

Yaxley rolled his hips, thrusting forward smoothly, shouldering Ron's inner muscles agonizingly aside, forcing his tip inside.

"Fuck!" Ron howled, slamming his forehead to the wall. He saw stars, but the flash of pain was a welcome distraction from what was taking place at his arsehole. He felt himself being stretched by something incredibly wide, something that felt like a baseball bat and couldn't have been just the head of that bastard's penis.

"Quiet!" Yaxley snarled in his ear, surging forward.

"No, fuck, no!" he yelled, tossing his head. He was being torn apart, didn't Yaxley understand that? Ripped apart from the inside. There was no way -- no way in hell! -- he could possibly take that much up his rectum.

But Yaxley was ignoring what could and couldn't be done. He was grinding forward, gripping his hips tight enough to bruise. Unyielding in the face of his pain, he forced himself deep inside. Penetrated Ron inch by unbearable inch. After what felt like a second to him and an eternity to his fuck mate, Yaxley had worked himself in, so that Ron's sphincter muscles were contracting, amazingly tight, around the hilt of his pole.

Ron felt wet down there, and it wasn't the water. If he looked around (not that he could all slammed up against the wall) he knew it would be to see his blood coursing out around Yaxley's cock. He shuddered and moaned, shaking his head in now-muted denial of what was happening to his body. It was worse than anything he could imagine. Worse, he thought wildly, than the Cruciatus curse.

Yaxley was panting. His grip went lax, went tight, went lax again. "There." he breathed at last, grinding his hips against Ron's backside, relishing the feel of flesh against flesh.

"No..." Ron grunted, unable to stay silent. "t-take it out."

"You'll take this until I'm through, Cattermole." Yaxley growled, suddenly angry.

He jerked his hips back, the ridges of his shaft scraping all along the other male's insides, yanking out, making Ron buck and scream louder than he had during entry. He plunged half way in again before he was apprehended, again, by the wonderfully tight constriction of muscles. "Fuck," he breathed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say...you'd never...had it before." he laughed. "But we both that's not true, don't we?" he slapped his thigh roughly.

Ron shook his head, feeling the Death Eater's handprint burn against his skin, but that wasn't what he was concerned about. What he was concerned about was what felt like a monster prick ripping him apart from the inside. And Yaxley's words, 'you'll take it until I'm through'.

Supposing he lasted indefinitely?

"Merlin, please..." he hissed, raking his short fingernails down the wall in hopes of alleviating the ferocious burning in his backside.

"Ooh, fuck." Yaxley groaned, grazing his teeth none too gently along his shoulderblades, when Ron tried to clench down and force the cock out.

It didn't help -- but it did -- because while Yaxley remained lodged in as firmly as ever, Ron did feel that gargantuan erection give a pulse, which was...maybe not a good sign, but something. It felt gross, but he stiffened up again, clamping all his muscles down around the length inside.

Yaxley was in heaven. The union lubricated by scarlet blood that coursed down their thighs in shining rivulets, he pounded away, impaling him repeatedly on his staff, basking in the feel of supreme tightness. He couldn't believe this was the same, stuttering Cattermole he had pinned down time and time again, after and before and during work. The same Cattermole who had taken to sending him guilty -- but longing -- looks in passing...

"Fuck- fuck." he grunted, stiffening, his balls drawing up, tightening.

"Please..." Ron sent up a final prayer for it to be over. He could almost feel every vein pulsing in Yaxley's cock, and though it wasn't an experience he would ever want to repeat, it told him that even Death Eaters had their limits. He clamped down -- like a vice around the head of the condemned -- one, final, time. It was the hardest thing he had ever done.

"Yes, fuck, yes," Yaxley panted, rutting Ron into the wall as from the slatch of his penis, white hot semen shot, lubricating the most excellent fuck ever by pasting Ron's insides. "Yes."

It was sick.

Ron closed his eyes, his jaw clenched, shuddering at the feel of Yaxley's thick, sticky cream pouring into him.

Yaxley thrust forward for a final time. Blood and ejaculate oozed out around his deflating pole, which he kept rammed up Ron's still tight orfice for several seconds. And then, as quickly as he had taken him, he jerked out.

"Well then," he said, cleaning himself with the flick of his wand, though leaving Ron untouched. He stowed himself away. Straightened up. "You'll want to come down to the court rooms to see your wife off. After you take care of this mess, of course."

Ron knew Yaxley meant the rain, but he couldn't believe the rest of it. "Y-you're going to sentence her anyway?" he breathed, hunched over, reaching blindly for the remains of his navy blue robes.

"Of course. She's a Mudblood, Cattermole. What did you expect? Favoritism?" Yaxley sneered, slapping him squarely on the arse.

Ron hissed.

"As I said, you'll still want to come hold her hand, won't you? I'll be seeing you in a moment." he said, slipping his wand into his pocket, and turning away.

Ron mouthed wordlessly. By the time he thought of a worthy enough insult for the piece of scum Yaxley, he had already left the room.

Feeling too spent to do more than clean the mess from his legs and repair the robes with his wand, Ron got dressed and left the room and its rain behind.

A/N: All reviews are appreciated! ^^;