All That I'm Good For Is You

Ron sank into the chair in the lounge, blowing gently on his tea and trying to keep his eyes open. He was exhausted. Not only had he worked three consecutive night shifts, he'd been incanting complicated spell-casting that drained his ambric energy more than it should have. Normally he'd be tired, but there was a reason why he had to be especially attuned to what he was doing to keep his focus: he wasn't dropping straight to sleep when he got home, as had been the case up until five months ago. Letting his eyelids droop, he allowed his imagination to return to the sight that had greeted him two mornings ago, promising himself that he'd only think about it while drinking his tea.

The heat bloomed inexorably in his groin as he remembered the vision of his lover, wrists crossed above his head and bound with his old tie from school. A scattering of candles provided enough light to see how the anticipation of Ron's arrival had affected him, the stiffening shaft lifting from its platinum curls as Ron looked on in disbelief. Ron had slowly placed his valise on the floor, unable to tear his eyes away from his wanton lover. Draco had voluntarily placed himself into that seeming position of submission, but as Ron had begun tugging off his clothes with the grace of a waltzing troll, it had been quite obvious who had held the control of that erotically memorable coupling.

Ron was jolted from his reverie when some of the tea splashed over the side of his cup. He yelped, both because the charmed hot tea coursed over his fingers, but it also fell into his lap. Said region of his body now sported a growing arousal, thankfully concealed by his Healer's robes.

"Nice one, Ron," he muttered to himself, retrieving his wand to cast a cleansing spell. The memory of Draco's and his vigorous shagging still danced distractingly on the edge of his mind. Just then an orange memo flew into the lounge and began tapping on his shoulder. "Just a bloody minute." He put the tea on a table and reached behind him to grab hold of the parchment.

"Bloody hell. What's gone off now?" he asked grumpily. The lack of sleep was really beginning to catch up with him if he could be that irritated and yet half-hard, unable to stop thinking about Draco, hoping he'd be at Ron's flat in a few hours when Ron got off of work. He rounded the corner and stomped rather unprofessionally up to the receptionist. "Yes?" Ron demanded, adjusting his robes and adopting an 'I'm busy, what's this interruption all about?' expression on his face.

"Weasley! You're to go home!" Eustace Creevey enthused with a blinding smile.

"I'm what?" Ron exclaimed, flabbergasted.

The unflappably chipper cousin to the equally optimistic Creeveys Ron had known at Hogwarts thrust a lime green scroll at him. "You're to leave. Take a few days off. Head Frogmorton decided you've been working too much and you're to have four days recuperation leave."

Ron felt suddenly deflated. "Does he think I'm not performing well?" he asked, taking the parchment and scanning the contents.

"No, don't believe so," Eustace said, jauntily crossing his foot across his knee. "All I've heard — and I've heard a lot," he said with a knowing waggle of his eyebrows, "is how superb a Healer you are. You're just due for some well deserved time off."

"What about my patients?" Ron mentally ticked down the list and recognised that, in fact, now was a perfect time to go; his more tricky cases were practically complete and his intern could finish the final spells.

"Frogmorton knows their status. If he didn't think Hyacinth could finalise their treatment, he wouldn't have suggested it. Go on. If something apocalyptic happens, I'm sure the Head will be in contact with you."

Ron stood a few more moments, reading the contents of his leave notice more carefully. It all seemed to be in order; there was nothing to indicate he was being asked to go because he was a hazard to anyone. Simply put, it was his two year anniversary date and he'd not had a scheduled holiday in eight months.

"Right then," he said, stretching a bit to ease the tension in his shoulders. "Back on Wednesday, it appears."

"Jolly good!" Eustace crowed. "See you later!"

Ron managed to keep from rolling his eyes as he made his way to the senior Healers' staff room. He hung up his robes, shoved some annoying paperwork into his bag, put on his traveling hat and headed to the staff fireplace that connected St. Mungo's to the Floo network. He held a handful of granules and was about to throw them in when one of the words from his notice hit him with the force of a Bludger.

"Fuck," he moaned before whipping around, grateful that no one else had heard him. "Anniversary. Bollocks, Ron. You can't get Draco anything at this time of night. Morning."

A cloud of self-discontent settled around him. He hadn't meant to forget. That was the truth; he'd thought about it heaps of times. It was five months, not the most common to commemorate, but he and Draco both admitted that in former relationships they'd rarely made it past the four month mark, much less five. Ron had really intended to do something superb and memorable for his lover.

His frustration with himself only heightened when he stepped out of his fireplace and could tell he was alone. The flat was silent. With a resigned sigh, he dropped his things near the couch and headed for the kitchen to pour himself a drink. After the second shot of firewhiskey he paused, trying to figure out what time of day or night his body clock was on. He gave up. After the third quaff, he put the bottle away and went to his dining room table.

There was a small pile of envelopes: the prior day's post, no doubt. Next to it was a picture of a gorgeous white beach, unbelievably clear blue waters lapping on the shore, and a man lounging in a hammock strung between two tropical trees. Confused, Ron picked it up, envying the bloke swinging gently in the afternoon sun. What he wouldn't give to be relaxing like that. He turned it over and with a start, noticed Draco's handwriting.

Ron paused in shock before continuing on. He flipped the card back over. The soothing scene wasn't an advert; Draco had somehow managed to scheme with the hospital to get his time off and made holiday arrangements. Ron felt both elated and guilty. No gift he could come up with could rival this. He turned the card back over.

Still stunned, Ron read the message through a few more times. His mind was slightly sluggish due to the alcohol, but he trusted Draco enough to believe this wasn't a hoax. Draco had packed for him, so all he needed to do was Apparate or take the Floo network to the London international portkey terminal. He couldn't go empty-handed, though— what could he bring? Draco lacked for nothing in regards to things. He did seem to appreciate it when Ron gave him backrubs… In a flurry of activity, Ron tore through his flat, picking up a few items, including some cedar wood scented oil, a pair of sunglasses he dug out of a messy desk drawer, and on impulse, a small framed picture of the two of them taken a couple of months after they'd begun seeing each other. Draco hadn't seen it yet.

Draco hadn't seen it. Ron smiled and breathed out in relief, knowing at last what to offer as a gift that wouldn't be seen as overly sentimental by his decidedly pragmatic lover. With this holiday, though, Ron realised he should consider that Draco might possess a romantic side, normally well hidden. He would probably still hex Ron back to the Dark Ages if he ever showed up with a stuffed animal lion, as Hermione had helpfully suggested. Tossing all of his necessary items in a satchel, Ron quickly brushed his teeth, grabbed the most recent issue of Quagmire's Quidditch Quarterly, and Apparated to the international terminal.

A couple of hours later he stood in front of a simple, isolated house situated not 500 yards from the ocean's edge. The sea was just beginning to glow as the sun's first light struck the water. He'd walked two miles and was more exhausted than ever. A concierge at the hotel had offered to escort him on a flying carpet, but Ron had wanted to shake off the discombobulation of the portkey and adjust to the new climate. Now, however, he was dead on his feet. He placed the starfish he'd been given on the door, which then unlocked. Once inside, he saw he was in a cozy sitting room. A lone candle provided enough light for Ron to put his bag down quietly and not collide with any furniture. After a perfunctory visit to the bathroom, he stripped down to his boxers and crawled into the enormous bed where Draco lay on his side, snoring lightly. Slipping his arm around Draco's waist, Ron sank immediately into sleep.

* * * * *

It was as though he'd slept for a year, but in truth it had only been twelve hours. Ron stretched from his toes to his fingertips, luxuriating against the silky cotton sheets with a yawn. Unsurprisingly, he had the bed to himself. He gazed at the wall and the play of mellow shadows made by the sun before rousing himself. Ron found Draco lying outside in a hammock decidedly similar to the one on the postcard, and reading a cooking magazine.

"Ah, you are alive!" Draco said smiling, letting the magazine drop to his chest. "You were supposed to wake me when you arrived, you cheat. Obviously you needed the sleep. Should I make us some supper?"

Ron kneeled beside the hammock, cradling Draco's jaw in his hands before leaning in to hover over Draco's mouth. "You're by far the most unpredictable, amazing man I've ever known, much less dated. Thank you." Ron pressed his lips to Draco's, trying to impose with lips and tongue how grateful he was. Their kisses grew deeply passionate until Ron pulled away, mouthing a trail of love bites across Draco's creamy neck.

"I've got to get washed up before I do anything else," he murmured against Draco's collarbone. "After that I'm going to lavish every bit of attention I have to your gorgeous body until you're screaming my name. Then I'll do it again."

Draco actually shivered, though Ron wasn't entirely sure that it wasn’t related to a passing breeze. When it came to their sexual pasts, Draco's was more exotic and involved far more people than Ron's, though he knew this only anecdotally. He didn't really want to know details, and thankfully Draco didn't care to provide them. Ron did hope that he had some advantage over Draco's ghostly past lovers in that Draco seemed to be investing himself emotionally in their relationship in more and varied ways, outside of their intimacies. The sex was incredible; Ron had never been with anyone as experienced, but Draco didn't lord it over Ron. In fact, he tended to dismiss it, saying that he preferred to think of his past as trial runs for what they now engaged in.

"I'll look forward to that," Draco said in a low voice, running his hand from Ron's neck down his back. "You'd better go get that shower before I simply disrobe and beg you to shag me rotten right here."

Ron swallowed, ducking his head into the hollow of Draco's arm. He adored the way Draco smelled, and it wasn't simply a carryover from his experiences with him as his Healer. He inhaled deeply, smiling at Draco's self-conscious snort.

"One might think you were part dog, with the sniffing you do."

Ron looked up at him, sitting back on his feet. "Can't help it. I just adore your scents. But mine are getting a bit ripe." With a last quick kiss, he went back inside and got in the shower. The hot water felt tremendous on his skin so he stood for a while, letting it beat on his back and shoulders. Eventually he turned around, and using Draco's shampoo, washed his hair. A rustling behind him forced him to turn around.

"I couldn't wait," Draco said, his hungry gaze raking over Ron.

"Glad you didn't," Ron replied, taking Draco in his arms and turning them so that Draco was under the spray.

"Here, let me wash you," Draco insisted, manoeuvering Ron back under the shower head, his chest to Ron's back. He picked up the soap and lathered it over Ron's chest, running his hands through Ron's dense patch of chest hair before doing the same under his arms. Ron was in heaven; he'd never had a lover shower with him before, much less bathe him with the care and affection that Draco was doing.

"Thank you, thank you," Ron sighed happily. "Did you really manage to arrange for my time off from St. Mungo's?" he asked, sinking back against Draco as the other man soaped up his hands and began thoroughly sudsing Ron's flaccid cock. With the attention it was receiving, his cock began to harden. Draco teased him a little, cleaning the head with more care than was necessary before moving his hands back to wash Ron's sacs.

"I did. A few strategic questions of that Creevey fellow and comments to your Head of Hospital and I convinced them you were in dire need of leave time, especially given your length of service." Draco was massaging Ron's arse cheeks more than washing them, but Ron didn't mind in the least.

"And you arranged this holiday, too. I'm quite the lucky partner."

A flash of heat suffused Ron's face as he realised what he'd said; he and Draco didn't call each other anything: boyfriend, friend, companion. They simply were. They were seeing each other. A lot. Apparently Ron's feelings of exclusivity were more transparent here in the steamy bathroom, as he was languorously cleaned by a devoted Draco.

"Yes, you are," Draco said huskily, his soap-slick fingers sliding down Ron's cleft. His deft fingers circled Ron's entrance before pushing inside as Ron groaned with pleasure. He'd grown to enjoy Draco's tongue and fingers, though he wasn't ready for anything larger and Draco had never pushed it. This, however, was exquisite, Draco's downy chest hair against Ron's back, two clever fingers slowly thrusting in and out of Ron's arse, Draco's other hand pulling gently on Ron's rapidly growing erection.

"Merlin, Draco. You’re so good to me." He turned his head as far as he could, hoping to be able to kiss Draco’s cheek. "I want you to know how much I adore you. Nobody’s ever been as thoughtful to me as you are. I don’t want you to have any reasons to start looking elsewhere."

"Don’t be daft." Draco nuzzled the back of Ron’s neck, making his motions on Ron’s arousal more focused, but slower. "You’re sexy, hung like a hippogriff, deep down you’re an embarrassingly romantic sap, and you appreciate me for being me, despite our mutual loathing back in school. I’d have something wrong with me if I were to let my eye rove."

Ron squeezed his arse around Draco’s fingers and pushed into Draco’s hand. "Draco," he moaned longingly. "Want to make you feel so good. Want you to come again and again. What do you want me to do for you?"

"Why don’t you rinse off and go into the living room. And no touching yourself," Draco said hotly into Ron’s ear. "I’ll be out momentarily."

With a sigh, Ron felt Draco remove his hands and fingers. He and Draco both washed their hands, and then Ron kissed Draco feverishly until Draco pulled back, a promising expression on his face. "Go on. Dry off and get our lube. I won’t be long."

Ron did as he was told, before standing in the doorframe of their rental house, looking off at the smooth water. His skin prickled as the warm air danced over it, his desire mounting as he waited for Draco to tell him what he wanted the most.

"Gods, you're amazing," Draco drawled appreciatively.

Ron turned around, leaning suggestively against the doorjamb. "I'm all yours. Tell me what you want."

A prurient, wicked gleam settled in Draco's gaze. "You just like it when I talk dirty."

"Maybe," Ron said, coughing when his voice cracked.

"Well then." Draco gracefully padded over while Ron devoured Draco with his gaze. Draco was slim, but had some muscle on him, and suffered none of the physical insecurities Ron was slowly learning to let go. He stopped in front of Ron, pressing their erections together as he snaked his hands over Ron's waist to his squarish backside. "I want you to make a mountain of pillows for us on the floor, where you'll lie down on your back and I'll get on my hands and knees above you, turned so I can suck your delicious cock while you do the same to me."

Ron let out a wounded moan, grasping Draco's hips and rocking his groin into Draco's.

"We'll do that until we both come, then we'll rest for a little bit, but you won't take pity on me. You'll play with my nipples, biting on them and flicking at them with your tongue until I start to get hard again."

At this, Ron had to stifle the indecent noises that wanted to escape his throat by sucking on Draco's shoulder.

"You'll gently tell me to get back on my hands and knees, because you want to taste all of me. You want to lick my tight, freshly washed hole, to hear me begin to beg for you to fuck me even though I love it when you're stabbing inside me with your tongue."

"Draco, I’ll come just from your words if you aren't careful," Ron said brokenly. "This isn't fair."

"It most certainly is," Draco said imperiously. "You told me to tell you what I want. So I am."

Ron whimpered, thrusting slowly against Draco as he nodded. "But I want to do those things."

"You will," Draco purred against Ron's ear. "I'm almost finished. You'll be rimming me within an inch of my life and you'll reach around to pull on my cock. The top will be slick with fluid and then I'll really be begging, because I won't want to come until you're balls deep inside me."


"I'll be there, panting and sweating while you put lube all over your magnificent cock. You'll hold onto my hips, pressing the head of your cock at my slick hole, unable to look anywhere except at your shaft as you push it into me. And when you do, when you're fully inside of me, my hot, clenching muscles squeezing around you, you'll lean over and kiss my ear and say my name with your deep, awestruck voice. I'll probably come right then."

Ron made a gurgling, strangled sound as he feasted on Draco's mouth, kissing away any further potential descriptions. He couldn't bear to listen to any more. Then he proceeded to do everything his lover had suggested, though he improvised with an additional cornucopia of kisses and growled adulations. Draco didn't appear to mind.

* * * * *

Ron enjoyed the sun to its fullest his last day at the beach. Thanks to Draco’s long-standing friendship with Snape, Ron was able to have the most potent sun repellant he’d ever seen applied to his skin; Draco refused to let Ron put it on himself. For the first time in his life, he was able to lounge in the sun, his freckles darkening only slightly, and he never burned. Draco had begged off an hour or so earlier, going inside to take a rest on their massive bed. It was a bit ludicrous, as Ron thought about it: of all the places for a freckled red head and a marble-skinned blond to go on holiday, a sunbaked beach was not the first locale to come to mind.

It had been a blissful several days, however. Ron and Draco stayed up late and slept in; Draco would make breakfast, they’d read or go snorkeling or take rests or talk — and there was a lot of lovemaking. Ron felt something had deepened in their relationship with this trip. They didn’t talk about it, not really, but Draco had gone to a fair amount of trouble to schedule their time away, and he’d trusted Ron to arrive. Trust. Perhaps that was the additional layer to their passion. They’d been drawn to each other in school, but back then it had been based on unequivocal animosity. They’d despised each other, but could never stay away. It had been too driving a force; they’d had to give in to the anger, had to go back to taunt and torment the other. Now it was too delicious. They surrendered to the novel experience of rediscovering shared lives through a transformed lens, delighted in a deeply affectionate carnality that was as deep and undulating as the sea.

It was ridiculous, but Ron missed Draco’s company already. He didn’t want to go back to work. He wanted to live with Draco on a tropical island and eat and swim and be awed by the swaths of stars and fuck and make love. His cock began stirring at the thought.

"You’re insatiable," he said blithely to his penis, tucked neatly into the sport trunks Draco had purchased for this holiday. Ron would never wear them if anybody else were around, but with just the two of them, he was flattered that Draco wished to see him in such a small bit of fabric. He finished off the Selkie's Fin cocktail Draco had made and went into the cool shade of the house.

Draco was wearing loose shorts and sitting in a papasan chair, one leg crossed, reading a gay romance novel he'd had translated from Portuguese a few weeks prior. His face was decidedly pink and his neck was flushed. Ron hadn't had the impression that the book was all that explicit, and he couldn't imagine that it rivaled some of the actual encounters Draco had alluded to from his past. Perhaps Ron was wrong.

"Hey, beautiful," Ron said, fully aware that his own arousal was increasingly evident. He crawled into the chair to try and sit on Draco's lap, though the chair didn't lend itself to Ron folding up his legs.

"Hey to you," Draco replied as Ron looked at him in surprise.

"That book must have some really hot sex in it," Ron said, rather shocked at how erect Draco was, all from reading.

"Maybe, maybe not."

Ron unabashedly rubbed against Draco's groin and Draco moaned in response. "You don't know how long I've been waiting for you to come back inside," Draco murmured.

"I'm beginning to guess." Ron ran his hands through Draco's silky hair, kissing his eyebrows and enjoying the friction of their clothed erections as they pressed against each other.

"I think you're addictive," Draco said seriously, his gaze smouldering as he slowly rutted against Ron. "The more sex we have, the more I want."

"That's not a bad thing, is it?"


Draco's kiss was possessive, his hands greedy as they pulled Ron as close to him as possible. While their tongues slid and twisted in each other's mouths, Ron let his fingers do some investigating of their own. Draco's shorts had wide legs, and Ron was able to slide his hands all the way up to the heated juncture of Draco's thighs. Draco's naked, damp thighs. Ron's thumbs hit something rubber and he paused, still devouring Draco's mouth. Draco went still, though he tightened his grip on Ron's lower back. Not only had Draco opted to sit around without underwear, he'd —

"What is that?" Ron gasped, his fingers exploring Draco's clenching arse.

"Butt plug," Draco said reverently, "with a vibrating charm. Intermittent. It means I've been in here, stimulated and stretched, waiting for you to come back. And now I want you to fuck me against the wall."

Once enough blood had circulated from Ron's pulsing erection to his brain and he was able to form a sentence, he did his best. "Now?"

From under hooded eyelids, Draco's look should have singed Ron's eyebrows. "If you'd be so kind."

Ron took a shuddering breath. "Hope I survive it," he said, matching Draco's hedonistic expression before tormenting his pebbled nipples until Draco began pulling Ron's hair. Ron slid out of the chair, half-dragging a panting Draco with him and undoing the shorts to pull them down and off Draco's legs. The mischievous toy was obvious now; Ron licked and nibbled up the tender skin of Draco's inner thighs until faced with the intruder.

"Don't need you now," he said to the silver phallic device, tugging it casually from Draco's body. Some of what he was doing was play-acting; Ron had experimented with a few items of a more organic nature, but nothing as sophisticated as this. Draco was writhing, his cock jutting up toward his belly and his chest splotchy with heat from his raging desire. "This is mine," Ron growled at Draco's widened muscles, ignoring them for the moment to get up on his knees and take Draco's cock in his mouth.

"Holy FUCK!" Draco yelled, legs splayed and thrusting into Ron's mouth.

Ron mercilessly pulled back, running his tongue across the salty slit of his lover's cockhead and sucking on the viscous fluid. "Yes, fucking's brilliant," he said as calmly as possible around the mouthful of rosy flesh. His swimming trunks were terribly uncomfortable. He stood up, shucked the tight fabric and glanced around for their lubricant.

"It's in the windowsill," Draco said, knowing what he was looking around for. "I really do want you to fuck me against the wall."

Ron's heart was racing as though he'd just won a Quidditch match. "I really want to do that." He extended his arms and Draco took them, allowing himself to be drawn up and into Ron's embrace. "I really want you, Draco," Ron breathed against Draco's temple.

"Then take me."

Draco placed his kiss-swollen lips again Ron's, using his index finger to draw a line down Ron's jaw and to the hollow of his neck. "Take me, Ron. I'm yours, after all."

Ron's heartbeat tripped against his ribs, the implications of Draco's words threatening to undo him. "I… I…"

"Ron. Make love to me. I'm going to stand over here, and you're going to follow me and put your—"

"Yes, I know," Ron said, having collected his composure, at least a shadowed fragment of it. "After these months together, I have a very good idea of what to do to make you forget anybody else."

Draco had walked across the room and stood patiently, hands planted against the wall, his legs spread. He turned to look over his shoulder, a disquietingly innocent smile on his lips. "I don't care about anybody else."

There were no other words after that. There was Ron, sliding in Draco's welcoming, grasping heat and clutching at Draco's chest, the other hand fisting Draco's length. Draco pushed back against Ron, encouraging him to be harsher, more predatory, but Ron didn't have that kind of uncaring brutality in him, not in those moments. He filled Draco as far as he could, listening to Draco's telltale breaths for when he was close, and speeding up his thrusts when they were apparent.

"Mine, mine, beautiful, Dracodracodraco," Ron chanted before his orgasm ricocheted out of him.

"Fuck, yes, fuck, gods Ron, love you," Draco came with a shout. His chest was heaving as his release spilled over Ron's hand.

Ron, not so far gone as not to be flabbergasted at Draco's declaration, gently slowed his motions on Draco's cock and laid his forehead against the back of Draco's head. He wasn't sure what to do, or say. The intoxicating musky scent of sex wafted up around them. Driven by his sensitive nose, Ron nuzzled up into the sweaty hair by Draco's ear. He closed his eyes, hearing the unbelievable words echo in his head again and again as though they echoed through the room. Surely he hadn't meant it. People said all sorts of things when out of their minds with scorchingly hot sex.

But Draco wasn't like that. He hoarded his innermost feelings like a goblin with Galleons.

And yet…

Gently Ron pulled his softening cock out of Draco. They cleaned themselves up with affectionate small talk, had most of a bottle of wine while watching the radiant sunset, and got ready for bed. Ron remained preoccupied, wondering if he was supposed to respond, and if so, how. Draco was his usual snarky, but attentive self. He adjusted the picture of the two of them, temporarily housed on a chest of drawers. He'd thanked Ron for it with an hour long back massage, and homemade brownies. Draco was drawn to making desserts, and Ron wasn't one to stop him.

At long last Draco fell asleep, sprawled on his side, one arm curled up under his pillow and the other thrown over his head. Ron looked at his face in the dim darkness, the few scars telling a fragment of the tale of Draco’s part in coming to the side of the Order. It was as though Ron's reality had become fundamentally unsettled, somehow; that the Cannons had won, that the sun would rise in the west, that a beloved one who had died might know of and share in his happiness.

"I want you to have meant what you said," Ron said softly, easing his body next to Draco's. The shifting of the mattress unsettled Draco's sleep enough that he adjusted his posture, draping an arm over Ron's midsection with a mumbling of nonsense.

* * * * *

On the occasion of their eighth month anniversary, Ron and Draco moved in together.

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