LJ username: Anonymous
Length: 3,340 words
Rating: Hard R
Warnings/notes: Blowjob, angst, major character death. This fic isn't totally without hope, but it does address a very real issue for many people. Massive thanks to my two betas, B. and L. who I'll name once I'm revealed as author.
Summary: Two things are exceedingly unnatural to Ron: being sober, and finding himself attracted to Draco Malfoy. But maybe he can get used to both, if given a chance...
Disclaimer: All sexual activity portrayed in this fic is between two consenting adults who are at least 18 years of age. I do not own any of the characters.
You and Me and the Rain Make Three
It wasn't the night sweats Ron hated the most. No— that wasn't the worst part. He didn't even so much mind that there were a couple other people from Hogwarts there that he knew. Katie Bell was a scarecrow, though, a spindly caricature of her former self, the Quidditch goddess that he remembered from earlier years. And even more distressing was that she'd been at this specialty treatment centre for nearly a month and had apparently put on a stone; gossip travelled fast in a place like this. His addiction hadn't caused him to quit eating, to be sure.
No, the worst part of this whole experience of checking himself into rehab was that Draco Malfoy also was there. He wasn't checked in for alcohol; that was probably far too pedestrian for him. He'd evidently been brewing his own special concoctions and became addicted to them. He was absolutely unrepentant, too. Ron couldn't figure out why Malfoy was there. Maybe somebody like Parkinson or even Harry had intervened. Harry always had been obsessed with the obnoxious git, and he had a hero complex to boot.
Ron hadn't spent much time with him, but he couldn't avoid him totally. Thankfully when they gathered for group therapy they were split up into three groups and Malfoy wasn't in his. Katie was, however, and her story had made him feel as though his heart had been wrung out like an old dishrag. His wasn't much better, and he'd stumbled over the words to get them out.
Sober. He hated it. And that was why he was sitting outside in the so-called Serenity Garden at night for as long as he was allowed before they closed it, smoking a cigarette. The door opened and a figure appeared. Ron winced involuntarily. Malfoy walked hesitantly toward him. Ron didn't give him an inviting look, but he managed not to scowl outright.
"Can I have a fag?" Malfoy asked.
Ron felt he jaw want to drop, and then took a drag off his cigarette to steady his nerves. "You— smoke?" he asked. He'd seen Malfoy out there a few times, but usually he seemed lost in his own thoughts, or writing in a notebook.
"On occasion. Look, never mind." He turned and started to walk away.
"Oi! Here." Ron fumbled with the pack and pulled one out. Malfoy turned back around and accepted the proffered cigarette. Ron lit it with a lighter. All residents were required to surrender their wands as part of the intake process. Anyone caught doing wandless magic was booted out.
"Thanks." Malfoy inhaled deeply, coughed, and then composed himself again. "Who turned you in?" he asked bluntly.
Ron tried and failed not to be captivated by the perfect small u-shape in the middle of his upper lip. This was madness. It was utterly insane to be attracted to Malfoy, especially when he was so relentlessly sober. Merlin, he'd kill for a bottle of Ogden's right now. It would certainly make their conversation less excruciatingly awkward.
Malfoy gave him a wary look. "Really?"
"Yes. Fell off my broom out in the middle of nowhere, broke a few bones and it scared the piss out of me. You?"
Malfoy took another drag off the cigarette and gave him a sour look. "Potter."
Ron nodded sagely. "I wondered. But how did he—"
"I'm not going into details."
They looked at each other, and Ron realised with sick fascination that he was thinking about kissing Malfoy's thin lips and grinding against the jut of his pelvis. Surely this was just a side effect of withdrawal, or maybe the new infusions the medi-wizards had been giving him. Or the indisputable fact that, for months, he'd done nothing but wank.
Abruptly he stood up, puffed a last round and ground out his cigarette in the appropriate container. "Guess I'll try to sleep," he said, keeping his distance even though his instinct was to give the man a hug.
Malfoy gave an affirmative noise. "Think I'll stay out here until they force me back." He took a far more successfully elegant drag off of his cigarette. "See you at breakfast."
Ron padded back to his room, waving inconsequentially to the medi-witch on guard. Once alone in his room, he shrugged off his coat and peeled off his jeans, toeing off his shoes as part of the process. After crawling under his covers, he found his attentions returning to Malfoy with the strength of iron to a lodestone. Ron had been in rehab a good fortnight and Malfoy had managed to remain peripheral, something Ron should have known wouldn't last. They had too much history. And now…
He let his hand drift to his boxers, sliding underneath the waistband to his hardening cock. As he pulled and stroked, he imagined other fingers wrapped around him, a more slender palm, a tighter grip. His fantasy self opened his eyes, found he was lying down on a bed, not here, not an institutional bed that wasn't much of an improvement from lying on the floor. Grey eyes regarded him warily as Ron imagined reaching down, his awkward meaty fingers hesitantly trailing through damp curls to the novelty of a cock different from his own.
"Merlin." He groaned and squeezed his eyes together as he let his fantasy progress dizzyingly along. What would Malfoy's cock feel like? Would it curve to the left or right, or jut out forwards for the taking? Would it be thin or hefty, have a knobbly crown or barely peek out from a fleshy skin? How would it taste…?
"Fuck," he groaned when he came, wondering just how messed up in the head he must be to have just wanked to the thought of Malfoy.
"This is absolute bollocks," Malfoy hissed derisively.
"No shite," Ron growled in reply.
Ron looked at the images he'd cut out of a magazine, spread out around him without rhyme or reason. The truth was, he concurred. Cutting out pictures from a variety of wizarding magazines to represent the dreams or visions he had for himself in the future was utter rubbish. He glanced over at Malfoy's panoply of pictures, and was taken aback by what he saw. There were lush gardens, and tropical islands, isolated huts on the edge of endless forests… a whole lot of escapism, Ron thought to himself.
"So where are you planning on going after this?" he asked aloud, gesturing at the moving photos with his scissors.
"Straight to my fucking lab." Malfoy gave him a hard look. "I didn't ask to be here, and I don't plan to take away any of these so-called helpful lifestyle changes with me when I go."
Ron mulled his statement over, moving around the pictures he'd obediently cut out. There were several good-looking blokes, as he did hope finally to be able to have sex with another guy. Part of his coming out to Hermione had caused his spectacular spiral. Sadly, aside from two nights at a gay club when he was so cabbaged he couldn't remember what he'd done, he'd not yet been able to explore his urges. Was that why he now found Malfoy attractive? He might not even be a woofter, but Ron thought it was a high possibility.
The therapist wandered around, making positive comments in a soothing, placating tone.
"Why the focus on men?" Malfoy asked.
"That's a bit personal," Ron retorted without even thinking.
Ron watched Malfoy pull some of his infamously distinct hair behind his ears, the gesture unassuming and yet somehow erotic. What did Ron have to lose in telling the truth? Maybe once they got out of this, they could… go out for drinks? Ron sighed. Relentless sobriety allowed him to think far too much and with far more clarity than he was comfortable with.
"Look," he said in a low voice. "I realised that deep down, I fancy guys. Of all people, I'm a poofter. You can just imagine how well that went over with Hermione. Some people who I'd thought were real friends, well, they weren't. You can make fun if you like— I'm at peace with it. And besides, I'd thrash you," he added for ego's sake.
Malfoy's expression transformed to one of utter surprise. "You?" He gaped. "But—"
"I don't know why I told you," Ron snapped. "It's not like we're even friends."
Malfoy shrugged, an unassuming gesture. "I don't hate you any more. And besides, I've known I was queer since I was fourteen. Couldn't act on it until later. We're definitely in the minority in the Wizarding world."
Ron digested this information, which seemed to be a token gesture of peace. He moved his pictures around, rearranging them and thinking with increasing dread that reorganising his future would be nothing like this.
"I really don't know how I'm going to cope back in London," Ron admitted. "How am I supposed to meet anybody if I can't go to pubs, or clubs?" he continued on, his voice rising in pitch and desperation.
"There are ways." Malfoy's voice was reassuring. "Are you honestly not going to drink?"
Ron shrugged, feeling more helpless than ever. "I'd like to think that I could function without it. I've done some pretty scary stuff when I was blotto. Nearly killed myself a few times. Not on purpose."
He looked at Malfoy and saw understanding etched in his features. Maybe it was empathy. Was there a flicker of desire to add to the palate? Surely not. Fucking Cerberus, Ron actually wanted to strip him down and do all sorts of wicked things to him. Relationships weren't allowed between patients, though the understanding was of that between a witch and wizard, not two of the same gender. This was leagues beyond the safe bound of insanity. Them getting together was forbidden, not to mention mad and highly improbable.
"Let's talk. Later. Outside, when it's just the two of us," Malfoy murmured, letting his fingers brush lightly over Ron's knee. "I did some crazy things, too. Obviously we're not the only ones."
He looked around the room and Ron was reminded that indeed, there was no shortage of people who had issues with various chemicals, potions, and other destructive behaviours.
"Okay everyone," the therapist cooed, her expression impossibly serene and positive. "Time to share your dreams for the future of your lives free of the chains of addiction that have bound you to fear."
Ron let out a heavy sigh equalled by Draco's. He looked over at him and Draco winked. Ron's libido threw itself into high gear and his blood pounded in his ears. It was going to be a long afternoon with no respite.
Ron made it through dinner, an ego-shattering role-playing therapy session, and mandatory journaling time. Shockingly he hadn't wanted to punch the wall, not even once. Maybe he was making progress… more likely, it was that his thoughts weren't really on himself. He'd found an unexpected attraction to his former classmate, perhaps somewhat to do with the fact that he understood what it was like to have lived so dangerously. Pathologically. Losing friends, family, jobs, not to mention hours and days that he couldn't remember or account for. With this additional information that Malfoy played on his team surprised him in ways that made him awkwardly conscious of his groin. He actually found himself hoping they'd have time in Serenity Garden— alone. That was rare. As he wandered outside, he saw with sinking hope that there were two other residents, and Malfoy. Draco smiled at him, and Ron thought the expression didn't entirely suit him. It was probably that he was used to seeing a sneer.
"May I join you?" Malfoy asked as Ron produced his cigarettes.
They both lit up and with a nod, Draco motioned to a corner with a bench.
"I wish we could sit together in my room," Malfoy said ruefully.
"But we can't. Staff rules. Pretty silly if you ask me."
The other two residents stood up and went inside. Now it was just the two of them, in the semi-dark, and Ron found he couldn't stop looking at his lips. Since when did he find himself attracted to Malfoy? He'd obviously lost his mind.
Draco checked to make sure they were alone and then moved his hand to Ron's leg. "I'm much more experienced than you are," he said.
"That's not fair! I was married, you know."
"Not to a man," Draco replied in a voice that struck Ron as not really all that nasal after all.
"Well, true, but we can't, you know, um, out here," Ron stammered.
"I didn't think that you ever followed the rules. You sure as Hades didn't at Hogwarts."
Ron opened his mouth, but it was true. He shut it.
"Put out your cigarette," Draco demanded.
"Because I'm going to kiss you."
Gulping, but leaning in, Ron said in a tone huskier than usual, "Shouldn't you wait to get my permission?"
"More rules. Fuck them."
Then Draco's lips were on his, and the hand moved from his thigh to the bulge between his legs. Ron moaned into the kiss, a wild tangling of tongues and smoke-smelling warmth.
"I think this," Draco murmured, "proves that I'm right."
Ron confirmed the statement by putting his hand on top of Draco's.
"I — never — would —" Ron's words were deliciously interrupted by more nips and Draco running his tongue across his teeth.
Draco pulled away to say firmly, "I would never have expected this. Ever. In a million years, and the million after that. And I think we can get away with a quickie."
"A quickie. Or I think I'll just suck your cock."
Startled and incredibly aroused, Ron gawped at him. "One of the staff or residents could walk out anytime. That's crazy!"
"Oh, go on. I'll be thorough and fast. Live a little."
Ron's brain was trying to tell him No way on Merlin's green earth! but the rest of him was joyous at the thought of a blowjob. That hadn't been something Hermione particularly enjoyed and he'd felt like a berk to ask for them on occasion.
"I really, really hope nobody comes out here," he said as he allowed Draco to unzip his jeans.
"Me too. I tend to be lucky, however."
Ron groaned when in the dark, at a rehabilitation centre, Draco kneeled and licked his cock.
"Be quiet," Draco warned, and then sucked him down.
"Sweet Merlin," Ron whispered.
Draco was quite skilled, and he was obviously happy to be engaged in his task. Ron's world shrank down to nothing but him gripping the bench, slurping sounds, and the surreality of Draco's head bobbing between his legs. Soon, too soon, he knew he was going to explode. He put his hand on Draco's head to motion to pull off, but Draco shook his head. In fact, he increased his speed and held the base of his erection.
"Nnnnnngh," Ron sighed as quietly as possible. He panicked, thinking he heard somebody walk out, but it was just the wink. "You're incredible. That was fucking amazing."
"Why, thank you." Draco looked serene, and as poutily satisfied as the best porn star.
"What can I do for you?" Ron asked somewhat helplessly because he'd just had the best blowjob of his life.
"Nothing. Don't want to get caught."
"But…" Ron's voice died out as he had a vision of just how embarrassing that would be. He nodded and tucked himself in. They both stood and Ron decided he could savour one more kiss before going in for the night. With his hands shoved into Draco's back pockets, their lips met. This one was more gentle and salty, a flavour of recent passion.
Ron nearly jumped out of his skin. Draco was irritatingly blasé as the staff attendant on night duty strode angrily toward them.
"None of that, mates! You know inter-patient relationships are strictly prohibited. Especially with…" His expression was barely-restrained disgust. "With two men."
Draco held his head up haughtily. "I don't care what you think about gays, you troglodyte. I was just leaving, anyway."
The attendant looked furiously at them. Ron was reminded of Snape.
"Ron, let's go."
"I'll check your rooms, you better believe it! Don't you even think about continuing this," the attendant said with venom.
"Not to worry," Draco said equally nastily, but he defiantly held Ron's hand until they got inside.
Once inside the institution, privacy was nearly impossible, so Ron said simply, "Good night, Draco. It's been… memorable."
Draco's eyes sparkled with lust. "I'll relive those memories for some time myself—"
"Gentlemen!" the attendant barked, leaning heavily on the first two syllables. "Beds! Now!"
"I'm going," Ron groused. "See you tomorrow."
"Do I have to force—"?
In bed, Ron relived the unreality of it and thought about a wank, but that seemed somehow disrespectful of the amazing oral sex Draco had given him.
In the morning, Ron discovered Draco had demanded to be discharged early. Maybe he'd planned that for a while, and that knowledge had fuelled their tryst. It made his breakfast a nearly inedible and sombre experience. He'd really come to like the man. Ron still had ten days to go, but he promised himself that he'd find Draco when he was released. That was certain and consoled him somewhat. Enough for his stomach to relax enough to have toast to go with his coffee.
It was with very slow and purposeful steps that Ron approached the Malfoy family cemetery. He wasn't at all sure that there wouldn't be a couple of ghosts lurking around and he really didn't want to deal with that. Draco had, as vehemently proclaimed, returned home and to his lab. Somehow he'd miscalculated either how much he'd taken or the potency of what he'd brewed. No quiet overdose for Draco— he'd been at one of the hippest clubs in Wizarding London when his heart suddenly stopped. It had been all over The Prophet, with Rita Skeeter writing up her final nauseating obituary, describing him as a rebellious spoiled brat. Which, Ron had to concur, was true in some ways. But then he'd seen glimpses of another side of him, and glimpses were all they'd ever be now.
He stood at the grave. Draco's name, dates of birth and death and the Malfoysian crest were etched into the stone.
He'd brought a white lily, not knowing what the fuck flower would be remotely appropriate for a young wizard who died from an overdose of something he'd carefully brewed himself. After placing it on top of the gravestone he clumsily sat on the ground, leaning his back against it. It was frigid. He took out a cigarette and lit it, evaluating how he felt. 'The emotional range of a teaspoon'? What the fuck had Hermione really known?
"I do care, a lot," he said bitterly. "Maybe you were only interested in the one time, but we could have given it a go. I'd have liked to at least done the same for you, though I know it wouldn't have been as good. Damn you! Why couldn't you have died later? Like years and years later?"
Some annoying commentary from one of the therapists at the centre about the sad statistics of addicts back out in the world came resentfully to his mind, and caused a further stream of furious invectives about the fucking world being more fucking fair. Reflective of his miasma of sorrow and desolation, ran began to fall. He held his cigarette until it got soggy.
"Just you and me and the rain. So sorry things turned out like this."
Once on unsteady feet he ran a hand over chilled stone and left the cigarette as an offering. He sighed, and turned and plodded away.