hackthis_archive | HP – For Those With Anger Management Issues

celli said Sark, but my brain has a hearing issue, and it heard Snark -- Lots of Snark, with crack undertones. (When was the last time you heard someone say *that*?)

Harry Potter
Ron/Draco
For Those With Anger Management Issues

The first time Malfoy asks, Ron can’t bring himself to say no because he’s too busy laughing himself into hysterics, and at some point he collapses on the floor unable to even support the idea, or himself, without dissolving into riotous laughter. It never even crosses his mind that Malfoy is serious, because really, Malfoy? Not even.

It makes much more sense when Malfoy kicks him in the ribs while he’s down, because that’s much more Malfoy’s style.

*

The second time Malfoy corners him, Ron can feel the amusement welling up inside him before Malfoy’s even opened his thin, pink mouth. Rather than hearing Malfoy out, Ron makes a snorting noise and turns to walk away. When Malfoy smacks him in the back of the head, Ron’s too surprised to do anything for several seconds. By the time he pulls himself together to retaliate, Professor McGonagall’s already dragged Malfoy away for detention.

*

Maybe something happened to Malfoy when he was a little bratty Malfoy that’s only recently begin to addle his brain now that he’s a seventeen-year-old equally bratty Malfoy, because as far as Ron can tell the answer should be pretty simple before the question even comes out.

Still he says, “You’re out of your flipping mind, Malfoy.”

Apparently, Slytherins don’t do simple. “In Weasley speak does that translate to a ‘yes’ or ‘no’?”

“It translates to ‘you’re out of your head’.”

“Hmm, still not a ‘no,’ is it? Perhaps you need to hear it in smaller words.”

“I don’t need to hear anything again,” Ron protests. “I heard you well enough the first time.”

Only Draco Malfoy could make a proposition sound like a favour and a death sentence at the same time. If Ron were inclined to grant Malfoy this favour, which he’s obviously not, he’s not sure if Malfoy would be in his debt or if he would be in Malfoy’s. Neither proposition seems particularly appealing – and Merlin’s balls, when did the heat become so oppressive in the dungeons? Ron can feel the sweat seeping into his shirt and staining it dark with perspiration.

“Well, have you thought it through yet, Weasley? I understand I may have used one or two words not within your vocabulary, but I haven’t got all day for you to sort it out.”

“You can’t just ask me something like this,” Ron protests, waving his arms about as though attempting to take flight. “It’s not as though I’ve thought about it before.”

“Of course you have.”

“I have not!” Ron can feel the colour creeping up his neck and across his cheeks. “Fuck you, Malfoy.”

“Quite. Yes, well, you’ll notice I didn’t say you’d thought about it with me, did I? But surely even you’ve thought about the basics before, perhaps with the Mudblood or your precious Harry --“

Whatever Malfoy was going to say winds up muffled by Ron’s fist connecting with his jaw. The bones in Ron’s hand twinge as he shakes off the force of impact. Punching someone in the face never feels very good afterwards, and Malfoy’s eyes are strangely bright in the torch-lit hallway, but rather than even attempting to hex Ron back, Malfoy just grins as he rubs his cheek. “I’ll take that as a no, shall I?”

“You can take that however you want,” Ron snaps. He’s just preparing to leave when Malfoy has the nerve to kick him in the arse.

When Ron whirls back around, Malfoy smirks. “It’s your best attribute, you know.”

Ron doesn’t remember much of anything after that – just that he hits Malfoy and Malfoy doesn’t hit him back –- that much.

Clearly Malfoy's off his rocker.

*

When Ron catches up with Harry and Hermione in the Great Hall, he shrugs off their inquiries about where he’s been and why he’s late for lunch. He was right behind them; he just got sidetracked, and he would tell them what happened with Malfoy if he thought it was actually important, but there’s nothing to tell, so Ron keeps his mouth shut. When Malfoy stalks into lunch several minutes later, Ron’s too busy discussing the O’Toole Triple Spin with Harry to notice. That much.

*

Ron’s fist should have ended any sort of dialogue that Malfoy could hope to have with him, but apparently that’s not the case because run-in number four takes place two days later, when Ron finds himself the victim of a full Bodybind in the Runes section of the library.

It’s very hard to strangle someone with your bare hands when you can’t even move, and clearly this is why Malfoy has Ron propped again a shelf and is breathing into his ear.

“You never answered my question.” Ron can feel Malfoy’s lips brushing against his ear, and he can’t even shudder away because of the blasted hex. Ron can feel his blood beginning to simmer, and he could kill Malfoy right now, if he were free and Malfoy would stop digging into his ribs with his wand.

“When I get out of here --” he grits out, only to be cut off.

“You mean, if you get out of there,” Malfoy corrects. “After all, it is late in the day and you could be here all night, especially if Madam Pince were to close up in a hurry for some odd reason.”

“If you leave me here, I’ll string you up from the Quidditch goal posts by your pants and turn your robes red and gold,” Ron warns.

Malfoy’s laugh makes Ron’s stomach curl, and he scowls when Malfoy taps his wand against Ron’s chin thoughtfully. “An intriguing proposition, but I think not, although I do think this might be an interesting facet of your personality. Perhaps we can discuss it further at a later date.”

“When you’re sorted into Hufflepuff,” Ron snaps.

“No need to be rude,” Malfoy says. “Just answer my question, and we’ll have done with it.”

“I’m not – not that way.”

“I didn’t say you were. You’re missing the point entirely, Weasel, err, Weasley.”

Ron can feel the desperation beginning to well up inside him. He’s not gay; he’s not attracted to Draco sodding Malfoy; and he could’ve been sitting in the Gryffindor common room playing chess with Dean if he hadn’t put his essay off -- and maybe he’s under Imperio. Except if he were under Imperio surely he wouldn’t be thinking he were under Imperio, right?

“I can't shag you!” Ron shouts much too loudly, and he blushes when the books around him tell him to ‘shush.’

“I don't even fancy you,” he insists in a lower tone. “I actually hate you, you know.”

“Do you really think I care? I asked for a shag, not your thoughts on my post-Hogwarts prospects,” Malfoy points out.

“Yes—but but---“ Ron can’t stop sputtering. The whole situation is ridiculous. “Riddikulus,” he says suddenly.

Malfoy’s exasperation is clear. “I’m not a boggart.”

“Bugger.”

“I’m trying.”

*

By the time Ron finds himself crashing into the Slytherin changing rooms after their afternoon Quidditch practise, he knows he’s losing the plot, but that doesn’t stop him from grabbing Malfoy by his entirely too pale and surprisingly well-built arm and dragging him into the showers.

“What exactly are you playing at?” Ron demands, waving a letter with green sealing wax on it and ignoring the sneering faces of several curious Slytherins poking around the corner.

Malfoy doesn’t even have the grace to look fazed. “You know what I want, and when you give me an answer, we’ll have done with it.”

“By why do I have to say it?”

“You very well could have sent me an owl,” Malfoy points out with a nod to the letter.

“By why?” Ron’s got that desperate feeling again, and his fingers tangle with the parchment and his hair as he attempts to push his hair off his forehead. “You can piss right off, you know.”

“I could, but I won’t,” Malfoy says matter-of-factly. “Surely you're up for it, Weasley, I can't imagine that any one would want to die a virgin, even a great oaf like you.”

“Don't do me any favours,” Ron scowls and waits for the violence to begin, but it never does, and when Ron glances down, Malfoy’s clenching and unclenching his fists as though he’s actually attempting to restrain himself.

“Who said this was about you?” Malfoy snaps.

*

As the youngest of six boys, Ron knows all about the power of persistency and continually hounding someone until you get your way, but really, he’s had enough, and Malfoy does have one point in his favour – Ron really doesn’t want to snuff it as a virgin. He reminds himself of this over and over again as he heads back to the castle, pointedly not thinking about the Slytherin password that Malfoy whispered in his ear.

*

Ron doesn’t get cold feet; he just doesn’t go to meet Malfoy at half-one because he is not losing his virginity in the Slytherin dorms. That’s just – that’s absolutely out of order, even if Ron is completely losing his mind.

*

Ron suspects that if had known he was going to lose his virginity underneath the Ravenclaw Quidditch stands, he might’ve been more willing to go to the Slytherin dorms, but perhaps not. It’s certainly not the most comfortable affair ever, even if Ron’s the one who accosted Malfoy after his practise, and when Malfoy drags him down onto the grass and begins unfastening his robe and his flies and putting his hands pretty much everywhere at once, Ron has a moment of panic, because, really? What does he think he’s doing?

Ron’s snogged girls before; he’s maybe even looked a little too long at Seamus in the showers, but this thing with Malfoy is so far beyond him that he feels like he’s watching them from another room altogether.

Every too hard kiss and too sharp nip of Malfoy’s teeth on Ron’s skin is happening to someone else, but not in a bad way. It’s just that Ron’s never thought of himself as the sort of bloke who would shag a Slytherin, even one that has incredibly long fingers and really soft skin.

When Malfoy begins re-arranging Ron and tells him ‘touch me here’ and ‘lower’ and ‘harder’ and all those other things that Ron wouldn’t know to do otherwise, Ron complies without a second thought to anything. He wants to do this because he can.

Having sex with Malfoy doesn’t make him gay or straight or confused, it just makes him a seventeen year-old boy who’s trying to get his end in before his entire world goes to war; and it’s only when Ron’s writhing around on his back, with Malfoy’s mouth around his cock, that he realises that this is actually happening to him. Not to anyone else, but him, Ronald Bilius Weasley. He’s having sex with Draco Malfoy underneath the Quidditch stands, and he can feel his sweat drying along his forehead and when he reaches down Malfoy’s hair feels cool between his fingers.

Ron’s not poetic; he’s never been interested in talking about how he feels or why this or that, but he feels strangely detached from the wet noises that Malfoy is making or the pricking sensation of Malfoy’s fingernails digging into his thighs, and he wonders if everyone feels so removed the first time they have sex.

He wonders if most people are willing to just give themselves away so freely just because they can, because they’re trying to do everything they can before it’s too late.

*

They’re lying in the grass afterwards, staring into the dark nothingness inside the bottom of the stands, and Ron has no idea where his trousers have gone. His pants are under his head, and his robe, well, he doesn’t want to think about the state that might be in right now.

Every now and then the wind whips through the tent and the tapestry flaps displaying glimpses of the gray Scottish afternoon.

Ron’s randomly pulling at clumps of grass when Malfoy rolls onto his side and smirks at him. Ron just purses his lips a bit like his mum.

“What was the whole point in this, then?” Ron asks.

Malfoy shrugs. “My mother believes I have anger management issues, she said I should find someone to work through them on.“

“So you chose me?”

“Well, it was either you or Blaise or Potter, and frankly, I’d sooner shag a kneazle than shag Potter, and Blaise keeps persisting in his straight ruse, so it had to be you.”

“I’m honoured.” Ron’s flat tone says it all.

“Don’t get your pants in a twist,” Malfoy says. “It’s not as though you haven’t gotten anything out of the deal.”

Ron makes a noncommittal noise, but he starts when Malfoy’s hand lands on his stomach softly. “Most people don’t do this, do they?”

“Do what?”

“Shag people they hate.”

“More than you might think.”

Ron nods as though he understands. “Probably.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know.”

Malfoy shrugs. “Fair enough, do you fancy another go then?”

Ron rolls over to meet him half way. “Why not?”

-end-

Beta and improv (facet, stain, oil, oppressive, twinge, spin) by

serialkarma, which really is love. Also, please come and claim your kids now because I don't want them anymore, kthx.

Current Mood: enthralled
Current Music: U2 'Lemon'

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

digitalmeowmix2.livejournal.com

thats cute cute and funny! hee!

From:

supergrover24.livejournal.com

There are days I wished this university had Quidditch stands so I could go over to them and peek under and catch pretty boys fucking. It'll never happen, though, will it?

Good job anyway!

(But Snarky Sark would be cool. With Will. Or that Simon guy that Justin Theroux played.)

From:

Educated Black Person, Esq., A.A., B.A., MBA, Ph.D., RN, NAACP, AAA

HP – For Those With Anger Management Issues

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