Author: Mosh Title: The No Talking Rule Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
He didn't need it. He just... took it, while it was there, that was all. There was the No Talking Rule, which meant that nothing got complicated, and a lot of the time he could close his eyes and pretend it wasn't Malfoy. The problem was, Malfoy was the only one... available. And, to Ron's great surprise, Malfoy had made the first move. Although a rather violent move, it had been a move all the same. An unmistakable erection, which had been ground firmly against Ron's hip during a hallway scuffle at the start of the seventh year. At first Ron thought he could use it against the Slytherin, but then, Malfoy had made it quite clear very early on that he'd felt Ron's erection too. So. It wasn't like there was anyone else, Ron told himself. Again and again. The No Talking Rule worked really well at first. Malfoy always initiated the sex, often with a knowing nod during lessons, a secret indication to meet later. And so they would meet. They had learnt gradually, silently, somehow, what the other liked, and that was that. It worked; Malfoy liked being fucked hard, really hard, and fast, and always on Ron's lap so he could control the force and pace himself. Ron preferred it slow and deep, over the back of a chair as he stroked his own cock until he came. Neither of them went near each other during the day, both knowing it wasn't worth the risk of ruining it for the sake of public humiliation. And so, for the first time ever, Ron and Malfoy agreed on something. However, a month into it, and after many sweaty, pinching, lip-biting, clenching, coming meetings, the Rule had been broken. And in the worst way imaginable. Ron didn't stop thrusting. A herd of wild horses couldn't have dragged him from Malfoy's tight, silky arse at that moment; the very moment Malfoy opened his mouth and moaned, quietly: "Harry". He pressed his sweaty face into the crook of Ron's neck as he climaxed, spurting quick stripes of come up Ron's stomach. The clenching of strong inner muscles sent Ron shuddering through his own orgasm, pumping fast into the body above him. And, as usual, Ron was coldly pushed away. He watched with still-trembling thighs and a sweat-and-come-soaked stomach as Malfoy went around retrieving his clothes. Deep down under the breathlessness and utter bliss of having just come hard, Ron felt sick, confused. Angry. What the hell had that been about? He opened his mouth to say something, to snap and ask Malfoy what the fuck he thought he was playing at, but he stopped, loath to ruin the silence. The Rule. He reminded himself that he didn't want to have to go back to frustrated wanking alone in the shower. He really didn't. But fuck, Malfoy had said "Harry", clear as day. And it had been during sex - the moment of orgasm, no less - so it couldn't have been a sick joke on Malfoy's part... could it? He heard the shuffle of bare feet and looked up, glaring at Malfoy's retreating back. Ron got up and began to make the chilly, solemn journey back to Gryffindor Tower, a deep-rooted unsettled feeling buried under his initial shock. What Malfoy had said - it didn't make any sense. Did he like Harry in that way? But that was absurd; Malfoy positively hated Harry. Although, Ron was sure he'd heard correctly. Oh God, it didn't bear thinking about. Until the next time it happened. Ron worked his fist quickly over his cock, long, tight strokes until his shaft started getting nice and hard. He could feel the damp blond hair plastered to his shoulder, and hear the breath beating fast and uneven out into the room in time with his own as Malfoy pumped at his own prick beside him. It still felt odd, doing this. Ron closed his eyes and continued, uncomfortable because the Slytherin sofa was leather and it felt horrible under his sweaty body. His skin kept squeaking against it, and he was thankful that the Rule prevented Malfoy from mentioning it (as he surely would have done, with a sneer). Ron glanced quickly at the doors again, at the soft blue glow of the Detection Charm. It was ready to alert them if anyone approached. At this time of night it was highly unlikely, but, nevertheless, there was also Harry's stolen Invisibility Cloak slung over the back of the chair, in case they didn't have time to get out. Malfoy puffed a silent grunt against his neck, pulling Ron back from his paranoia about being caught. Then he became aware of the other things: Malfoy's elbow, nudging against his arm in rhythm with his hand. The slight increase of speed meant Malfoy was fully erect and could stroke himself more easily. Closing his eyes, Ron sealed his lips tightly together to keep from groaning as he twisted his thumb around the head of his own prick. Two more jerky pulls and he was ready. He wanted to get inside Malfoy, now, and fuck him and come and then it would be over for the night. He stopped wanking, took his hand away from his cock, and waited. The cushion next to Ron scrunched and whined as Malfoy shifted. And then Malfoy was climbing onto his lap, those all-too-familiar cream-white thighs squeezing as he gained balance, those hot, well-manicured hands braced against Ron's chest. The hardest part was keeping quiet at the moment of penetration, so a moan or two right then was allowed. And a moan or two was what Ron gave as Malfoy lowered himself, slipping onto Ron's cock slowly, down, down, stretching, squeezing, spearing himself, all the way. Ron held Malfoy's hips hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into the soft spots just above the bones, arms aching, already pushing Malfoy up and then pulling him back down as hard as possible. It wasn't going to take long tonight. Malfoy looked up at the ceiling, absently taking a handful of Ron's hair and holding on so tightly that Ron thought he might pull it out. But Ron found himself not caring about his hair or the pain of Malfoy's grip; he thrust up into Malfoy's tight, fluttering arsehole over and over and over, trying to drive himself as deep as he could. And then suddenly, right out of the blue, he heard a soft stream of moans that sounded frighteningly like: "God, yes, Harry... fuck..." Ron barely registered it before he was spurting hard into Malfoy's arse, his body gone quite rigid. Malfoy slammed himself down once more, wrapping his fingers around his cock and pulling desperately at it. He followed shortly, moaning little unformed sounds against Ron's forehead, coming in bursts across his own fingers. Without much time to process things, Ron watched Malfoy rise off his lap and turn his back coldly, stalking over towards his pyjamas. Ron blinked in disbelief, reaching for the Invisibility Cloak and pulling it around his shoulders. With the same sick feeling he had got the first time Malfoy had said... the Harry thing, Ron swallowed the curses burning on his tongue and made his way towards the stairs. He desperately wanted to yell at Malfoy, hex him, punch him, beat him black and blue and red. But the Rule. The damn Rule. "Weasley." Ron stopped, but didn't turn. This was the first time Malfoy had spoken to him in almost a month. Moaning didn't count. Nor did the Harry thing. That was just... not good. Not something Ron wanted to think too hard about. Ever. "How long have you been in love with him?" Ron blinked. "What?" He turned around, annoyed that the No Talking Rule had been broken. "Potter, stupid. That's the second time you've called his name. You'd better stop, or this ends." And with that, Malfoy tied the string of his pyjama bottoms, then headed in the opposite direction towards the stairs to the Slytherin dorms. Ron stood still for a long time, brows lowered as the confusion in his brain simmered and gradually tapered off. Then his blood ran cold as realisation dawned and things began to make sense. ~Fin~ |
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