Hate - Ron/Draco - NC-17
Title: Hate
Author: shocfix
Pairing: Ron/Draco
Words: 541
Rating: NC-17

Written for 50_smutlets, where I claimed Ron Weasley.

So, basically, it’ll be another 50 Ron!smutlets.

But not with his Harry.


Hate
****
Grimmauld Place was cold and dark and miserable, and Ron hated it, but it was supposedly safe.

It made Harry utterly silent and depressed, it made Hermione twitch at shadows.

And it made him flinch every time he passed Malfoy on the stairs.

He still didn’t approve, but it was Harry’s decision, so Malfoy was hiding there.

Hiding from You Know Who.

Because he’d failed him.

Because he was a failure.

Who’d run away from school because he’d let Death Eaters in and got the Headmaster killed.

Whereas, they had run away from school in a futile attempt to find three golden trinkets hidden somewhere in the fucking country.

So Ron felt he had the moral high ground here, and he sneered at Malfoy at every opportunity.

But Malfoy didn’t sneer back, which was infuriating.

If it wasn’t bad enough that everything else in his life was changing, since when did Malfoy not sneer at him?

But this Malfoy was even thinner and paler than the real one, and he had dark bruises in the delicate skin under his eyes and he ghosted around the house in a really irritating way that made Ron want to…

Suck on his throat.

Which was the most irritating thing Malfoy had ever done.

Ron had been pretty sure that this bizarre impulse was due to Malfoy’s utterly vampiric pallor, and he wished that the git had been swishing around the place in his expensive, velvet robes.

Because Malfoy had been dumped on their hands in the clothes he stood up in, and Ron had breathed fire as his mum dressed Malfoy in his own old clothes.

So Malfoy didn’t swish, or swoop, in velvet or anything else.

He crept in jeans and a Cannons sweatshirt, with the cuffs turned back to show thin wrists, with dark blue veins that made Ron think of sucking, yet again.

He’d even asked Hermione if she thought Malfoy was a vampire.

Because he really didn’t like the alternative.

Until the alternative stepped in front of him in the hall, one evening, with a pulse flickering in that pale throat.

“I don’t have limitless patience, Weasley,” he said.

“What?”

“How long did you take to make your move on the Mudlood?”

“Don’t call her that.”

“How long?”

“I never…” Ron shook his head and took a step back, finding his back pressed against the wall.

And his front pressed against a skinny teenage boy, who grabbed his hips and slid against him.

“I don’t like blokes,” Ron muttered.

“I don’t like you,” Malfoy murmured. “But I want you.”

“I hate you,” Ron complained.

“But you want me,” Malfoy whispered.

And he tipped back his head and let Ron suck on that marble skin as he ground their cocks together, his breath shuddering against Ron’s face as he rutted, his cry smothered by Ron’s mouth as he came.

“Fuck,” Ron gasped, sinking his teeth into Malfoy’s throat as a slim hand slid down the front of his jeans and wrung his own climax from him.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Ron said, bracing himself against the wall as Malfoy stepped away.

“Of course not,” Malfoy said, with a hint of a sneer. “You’re still Potter’s bitch, but I had you first.”