I'm not in Denial

Author name: MamaLaz

Email: [email protected]

Title: I'm not in Denial

Chapter: 8/18

Category- Romance/Dark Humour

Keywords- Ron Draco Slash

Rating- R

Spoilers- All Books I suppose

Summary: Our Favourite Blonde Slytherin is having issues with his father and his sexuality... and just because he's attracted to The Weasel doesn't mean that he's a real homosexual or anything...

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J K Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Ron – What an End to a Perfect Day…

Mr and Mrs Weasley fervently insisted on spending the entire day with their son, but on reaching the hospital wing and heeding how cross Madam Pomfrey was with her unruly patient, they laughingly decided to leave the youngest Weasley boy so he could rest. Mrs Weasley was the more reluctant of the two to go and Ron smiled at the way Mr Weasley and Percy had to seize her on either side and by the arms to guide her out, though she managed to miraculously squeeze in a couple of kisses and a loving hug as she was dragged away.

Fred, George, Ginny, Harry and Hermione (who’d finally returned from her meeting) spent the rest of the afternoon trying to cheer Ron up by joking and telling him all the latest news. The biggest laugh of all came when Harry disclosed that Neville had somehow managed to turn Pansy into a horse during the Advanced Configuration class they’d missed and that nobody could actually tell the difference when Professor McGonagall changed her back.

Ron, who had laughed so much that he hurt all over, felt great.

Not only was he, Ron Weasley, the centre of everyone’s attention but he was also surrounded on all sides by mountains of treats and feeling as though someone had built his own personal Honeydukes around him. He also had a feeling that he was going to get very, very fat by the time he finished it all… but Ron Weasley was never one to waste things, especially not a good sweet or thousand. On thinking about how much money his family had actually spent on all of this when he knew very well that they couldn’t afford to made him feel warmly fuzzy inside, though he, in embarrassment, tried to shake the feeling off. He also suspected that Harry and Hermione had something to do with all this, especially the former. Harry had never been comfortable with having so much money and was perfectly happy to give truckloads of it to people he cared about, especially the Weasleys. He probably knew from seeing the opportunity of an unconscious Ron, that the redhead’s usual pride couldn’t halt him this time. With a shrug, Ron didn’t bother to complain. Why not enjoy the fact that your best friend was damn rich?

With a little smile, he leaned back against the pillows Hermione had fluffed most eagerly as he studied the scene. There were so many packets of everything (even the Canary Creams that Fred and George had slipped in, though everyone knew to avoid them), that stealing treats from the giant mounds became as regular as the jokes. Ron even welcomed it very graciously until Fred and George’s snatching fingers tried to take his last Chocolate Frog, causing him to feebly try and protect it with his large hands. In the middle of the two wailing about how he didn’t love them enough, Madam Pomfrey bustled over with some Pepper-Up Potion for the invalid and shooed them all out, declaring that her patient needed to get some rest and that the Weasley Twins should take that dreadful racket outside. With a hug from Ginny, a kiss on the cheek from Hermione (both causing him to blush awkwardly in different ways) a beam from Harry and a ruffle of his hair from George as Fred nicked the frog when Ron wasn’t looking, they noisily exited the room and left Ron immediately gagging down some force-fed Pepper-Up Potion from Madam Pomfrey. After the steam had finally subsided from his ears, Madam Pomfrey left as quickly as she had arrived, leaving Ron alone in the room and feeling suddenly quite drowsy. All that laughter seemed to have tired him out. The redhead yawned as he snuggled back down properly into his covers, pulled them up to his chin and over his slightly chilly self.

Yeah, maybe sleep was the best thing for him.

Closing his eyes with still a content smile on his face, Ron Weasley sighed in pure satisfaction. This was the life. No lessons (Ok, it might have been the weekend), loads of attention, loads of free food and no homework. Hermione might have insisted on getting her assignments when she had turned into a cat in their second year (he sniggered to himself) but he would rather have a pet spider than ever ask for work while he was ill. Why ruin one of the best reasons people faked being sick? It wasn’t the greatest excuse for absent work for nothing, you know. However, just as the Gryffindor had rolled to his side and nuzzled his head into the squashy pillow until he was comfortable, he felt it.

The feeling of someone watching him intensely.

Snapping open one eye as the weird tingling sensation tickled at his face, he caught a severe flash of piercing grey glaring at him.

Malfoy.

Malfoy was watching him.

Ron had completely forgotten he was in the room, and he reasoned now that that was probably a good thing; it would have totally ruined his good mood, however short it now turned out to be.

Malfoy was lying on his own bed with his curtains now partially drawn, so all Ron could see was his practically silver head on his pillow; his neck down hidden from his view by the blue bed drapes. From their pillows and similar positions, they stared at each other. Startling blue was matching icy grey across the small space between them with neither hate or like and without the slightest hint of blinking.

Ron had, by now, opened both his eyes and was wondering with suspicion what the slimy little git wanted. Probably another fight or to share his latest drawling insult. The redhead narrowed his eyes. Well, he could try it but here was no way that Ron would let Slytherin bastard make him lose his temper again. The Gryffindor had learnt (with much needless and insistent lecturing from Hermione) that the only person who would get in trouble for fighting would be him because Malfoy was already expelled and…

Shit.

Ron suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

Malfoy was expelled and it was all his fault. He had managed to get his worst enemy kicked out of Hogwarts after years of plotting and dreaming almost religiously about it. The redhead shook his head in slight amazement as he pondered it. It just sounded so surreal. He would never have to see the Slytherin again.

Malfoy was the first to blink out of the two, which was quite a surprise. Instead of a sneering remark or another jibe at his family the Slytherin, suddenly realising that he was doing it, merely snapped his eyes away and turned over, the back of his blonde head facing the redhead.

Ron blinked repeatedly, absolutely convinced that his eyes were deceiving him. He looked completely confused, his mouth hanging open in his utter surprise and his blue eyes wide. What the hell was that? Had Malfoy gone mad? In reality, Ron would, by now, be lunging for Malfoy’s scrawny little neck and trying not to kill him. He would be pushing him up against a wall or punching him in the gut and would be hearing that snarl ringing through his ears. But here he was… being forced not to touch him.

The Gryffindor didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all.

Someone had to initiate a fight, or at least an argument. It was usually Malfoy though… was it Ron’s turn to say something cruel? Biting? Or even, heaven forbid, intelligent? Ron twisted his lips, looking even more frustrated as he pouted slightly at the back of Malfoy’s head, almost willing him to turn over. This wasn’t the way it should have been. Enemies did not ignore each other. Where the hell was the ‘Evil, cold Death Eater’s son’ show Malfoy performed effortlessly? This was Malfoy’s cue to say something cleverly cruel and that would be Ron’s to punch him in his pointed, pale face with all his might. Not doing anything while they were alone in a room together just seemed… well, wrong. Ron had to say something. It was tradition. The air around them seemed to be tingling with almost suspicious whispers. Damn, even Ron’s aura knew that something was wrong. He licked his lips in some uneasiness. Now how would he do this? He tried to smirk, though it sounded more like a nervy squeak.

“…Can’t even hack a staring competition, eh Malfoy?” The Gryffindor decided afterwards how utterly lame that sounded, but it didn’t seem as though Malfoy had heard. Or he was ignoring him. This only made Ron frown furiously, his face turning red. Damn it, Malfoy! Turn around and look at me! What the hell was his problem? Malfoy never ignored him, even if everyone else did. What else were antagonists for? The redhead sat up slightly, propping his elbows against his pillow so he could look up and across at the blonde with proper fury “Malfoy, are you deaf?!” He practically spat out in his confused rage.

Still no answer.

The Slytherin was lying very rigid now, almost as though he were impersonating someone petrified or dead. Ron nearly kicked off his covers in his frustration. There was only one thing for it. “Draco!”

That did it.

Malfoy turned around in slow fluidity as his penetrating and fierce feline eyes bore into Ron’s, almost making the Gryffindor shiver.

“Don’t call me Draco, Weasley.” His voice was practically cut ice. Ron shook his head in even more aggravation. That was almost civil. How could he go from furious to so absolutely indifferent? The Slytherin’s cold reply was like ammunition. Ron crossed his arms as he slammed his back against his headboard, his eyes narrowing fiercely.

“I’ll call you whatever the heck I like,” he snarled. “Though Draco is the nastiest thing I could think of.” Malfoy seemed to be holding himself with extreme restraint; he didn’t even smirk as he continued to lay on his pillow, his eyes glimmering with absolutely no emotion.

“Just leave me alone, Weasley. I’m not in the mood for you.” This made the redhead tremble even more. How could the little git be so composed and calm when he was ready to blow his top? Oh no, Ron wasn’t going to give up so easily. He was going to make Malfoy lose it so he could lose his. He even managed to smirk properly this time.

“What, afraid I’ll ruin your pretty little face again, Malfoy?” He sneered. “Or that you might break a nail?”

Malfoy’s cool expression suddenly dissolved, his eyes narrowing as his mouth snarled angrily. Ron had hit a nerve and the Slytherin did not look pleased.

“What are you? Deaf as well as stupid and poor? Fuck off, Weasley, or I’ll break your ugly face again.”

Ron almost whooped in joy as he thanked God for making Malfoy such a vain twat. He then proceeded in jumping out of bed and lunging for him again.

Draco – Oh, not again…

Damn it all. And he was doing so fucking well, too. He was acting detached and so fucking cool that he could practically taste the buzzing under Weasley’s steamy hot and utterly pissed off skin. In fact, Draco’s performance was so superior that he wanted to chortle and celebrate how wonderful he was. His casual movements, the stony eye contact and his lack of any emotion even though he was with Weasley… someone should have presented him a fucking award. That would show that four-eyed little shit. He could keep away from Weasley easily, despite what that stupid Potter thought…

But Weasley just had to fucking torture him, didn’t he? He just couldn’t leave him alone. He just had to keep yelling at him. Draco had squeezed shut his eyes and tried to mute him out, endeavouring to think of anything other than the perfectly and temptingly shaggable specimen in the bed beside his. Granger naked. Potter naked. That ogre of a Gameskeeper naked…

Damn. He was sure that one would have worked.

Draco realised how in trouble he really was when that giant and hairy savage couldn’t turn him off. Desperate times indeed did call for desperate measures. Oh, for Christ’s sake. Pansy naked!

Draco shuddered. God, that really did it. He should have used that one sooner. The Slytherin tried his hardest not to throw up at the image as his mind cruelly played out a sickeningly wrong amateur striptease…

But then he’d said it.

Weasley had called out his first name. And nothing had ever sounded so right on his tongue.

Fucking Weasley. Just thinking about his tongue drove Pansy out of Draco’s mind kicking and screaming and his very frequent ‘Dream Weasley’ entered the scene, deciding to adopt her method and finish it off perfectly. Oh God… who taught him to move like that? Dear Lord… those adorable freckles really did spread all over. And how on earth did the boy manage to defy gravity with that thing weighing him down…?

For God sake, Draco. Get a grip. Turn around and stop being such a fucking pillow biter.

The Slytherin, managing to physically control himself, turned sinuously around and stared at the fuming boy blank-faced, though it was bloody hard to when his little redhead was shaking so sexily, his anger flaring out of him. The blonde boy tried to sound as cold as he could, and applauded himself with his success. Man, he was good at this.

“Don’t call me Draco, Weasley.” If truth be told, Draco didn’t like the affect it had on him when he did. Of course, Weasley could never know that. His calm and very uncharacteristically civil words only instigated the fiery little Gryffindor (who was Draco calling little?) ample opportunity to answer furiously back. God, was this what Draco looked like when he was angry? How could Weasley not want to jump his bones?

“I’ll call you whatever the heck I like,” The Gryffindor had snarled. “Though Draco is the nastiest thing I could think of.”

Fuck, he’d said it again. And just when the Slytherin was calming down. How could just one word affect him so much…? Why did bloody Weasley have to say it in such a throaty, ‘Come-do-me-thoroughly-and-now-Draco’ voice? And it didn’t help that his furious, animated anger made him look too jump-worthy for the other boy to even describe. He definitely knew one thing; Ron Weasley would be an absolute animal in bed...

Shit. He was doing it yet again.

He snarled at himself for not catching his thoughts beforehand. Why couldn’t he control himself effectively, like he could everything else, when Weasley was around? The Slytherin needed to blank it out. To blank him out. He needed to be unruffled and calm. And he couldn’t do that while putting ‘Dream Weasley’ in many interesting positions within his head. He also couldn’t do that while being turned on by the real fist clenching, narrowed eyes blazing, body trembling, blisteringly hot and flaming-haired Ron Weasley in front of him.

“Just leave me alone, Weasley. I’m not in the mood for you.” He glared icily, trying not to undress him with his eyes. He thanked God gratefully, though he considered himself a sceptic in all things, for making his mood-concealing genes so efficient because oh, he was such a liar. Of the many things the Slytherin would tire of, he was quite always in the mood for Ron Weasley and especially since the redhead was already on a bed…

“What, afraid I’ll ruin your pretty little face again, Malfoy?” Weasley suddenly sneered. “Or that you might break a nail?” The Gryffindor’s words stunted Draco so much that even ‘Dream Weasley’ stopped in his tracks, looking as though he feared for his real counterpart’s safety… and he should have.

Draco switched at the words. The Weasel had hit a nerve.

There were many things Weasley could say without the Slytherin reacting, but every time he was reminded that the ginger shit had actually touched the face, the blonde boy felt a blinding rush of unadulterated anger. Bloody Weasley. Nobody was allowed to touch his face, not even a work of art like the redhead… which was something that Lucius Malfoy himself soon discovered as well. The front the Slytherin had been so amazingly proud of melted away into a puddle of nothing as his irritation shone through in absolute clarity. Why wouldn’t Weasley fucking leave him alone? He needed to keep Potter’s arrangement before Scarface decided to tell his little Gryffindor friends about his ‘little secret’. And especially before he decided to tell Weasley. Couldn’t the stupid redheaded git see that Draco, for once, didn’t want any trouble? Couldn’t he fucking tell that the Slytherin just wanted him to piss off before he either backed out of the deal (Malfoys never backed out of deals) or just raped the boy? Did he have to spell it out like he would a three year old or Goyle? He didn’t like the way he made him feel, and he wanted him out of his life no matter how much he wanted to lust after/lick/play with/senselessly shag him. Couldn’t the stupid fuck understand that? The Slytherin snapped.

“What are you? Deaf as well as stupid and poor? Fuck off, Weasley, or I’ll break your ugly face again.”

He barely had time to cringe over his words. He knew he had said something brainless, he knew he had lost his temper and he knew what would happen due to his stupid and sudden abandon. However, Weasley had already jumped him when he deliberated that he would soon do so. And, yes, once again the hands had clasped around his throat.

Damn it.

Draco, almost allowing Weasley to punish him for his own weakness, looked into the blazing, crimson, lightly freckled and stunning face as it looked viciously into his with an almost triumphant smile. Bloody Weasley. He had wound him up on purpose. How could a Weasley ever even dare to entertain that they could read a Malfoy like a book? He wasn’t as fucking predictable as Longbottom. But Draco wasn’t very affronted. He was actually more tired than anything else. This routine was definitely getting old now, despite Draco liking the whole concept of bare ‘skin on skin’ and the Gryffindor touching any part of him. However, if Weasley grabbed his throat one more time Draco was sure he would set a record somewhere. Or win a set of steak knives or something. Lifting his bored, practically drawling grey eyes to meet Weasley’s fierce blue ones, the Slytherin sighed as though he didn’t have a pair of hands trying to strangle him.

“Aren’t you tired of this yet, Weasel?”

The redhead blinked slightly, a bit taken aback by the blonde’s words. God, he loved it when Weasley got that dense, naive look about him. His hands loosened slightly from Draco’s neck as he peered down at him in obvious confusion.

“What… what the fuck do you mean, Malfoy?” Draco looked him intensely in the eye for a while before he answered, thriving in the knowledge he was making the Gryffindor uncomfortable and wishing to avert his eyes. Yep, there go the blushing ears again. God, he could really nibble cheerfully on them…

He really had to stop this.

Draco was pretty sure that Weasley’s anger had gone (the boy shifted moods faster then Draco planned elaborate murder plots) but was contented all the same that Weasley’s soft hands remained touching him, now resting lightly on his icy collarbone. The Slytherin controlled himself to not arch to the warming touch as he shrugged, feeling Weasley’s hands involuntarily brush gently against him as he moved his upper body.

“Well, I sneer at you. You grab my throat. It does get awfully tiring.” Weasley looked even more confused as he raised his eyebrows. His mind seemed to also be seeing the wearisome pattern as he pouted slightly.

“Well… what else are we s’pposed to do?”

Think about the deal… Don’t let his pretty blue eyes and hot arse make you forget the deal…

“We could try and be civil to each other,” Draco suggested, with still that drawling, bored tone to his voice, almost hinting that he didn’t care. Draco cared, all right. “I mean, we’re fucking stuck here with each other until that Pomfrey bitch lets us out. We could at least be nice.”

Nice. He crinkled his nose. He hated the word ‘nice’. As soon as he said it, he felt penitent. Not just because of the meaning, but it was just a vague and stupid word. But mostly because of the meaning. Ron grinned wryly, and the Slytherin berated himself for thinking how well a smile suited his features. He was seriously getting obsessive when he even liked their smile. This was not good.

“Nice, Malfoy? You couldn’t be nice if your life depended on it.” That smile was infectious, but Draco was never very prone to disease. He merely rolled his eyes and snarled.

“Either say yes or no, Weasel. I don’t have all fucking day.” Ron narrowed his eyes at the tone, but he didn’t get very angry. His lips twisted to a suspicious frown.

“Is this one of your little games, Malfoy?”

“What exactly do I have to gain Weasley, besides the pleasure of your company?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve already been bloody expelled thanks to you. I’ve got nowhere to go and I’d rather end my days here on a eminent note and my face in tact, thank you very sodding much. And besides, I wouldn’t exactly tell you if I was planning to fucking kill you anyway, would I?” Instead of growling at Draco’s sneering and malicious tone, Ron actually concurred as he shrug-nodded.

“Nah. I s’pose not.” They looked at each other, the Gryffindor’s hands still resting lightly on the Slytherin’s collarbone as he looked down at the resting blonde. Draco wasn’t sure if he liked all these niceties and wondered if he was doing the right thing or just fucking things up even more. But hey, it was worth it just to hear Weasley say his name in that orgasmic way he had. The redhead’s eyes didn’t soften though his voice became a fraction less suspicious. “Why the hell should I trust you, Malfoy?”

The Slytherin shrugged casually again, scolding his heart for thumping loudly when Ron’s hands again brushed against him. He steeled his face as composed as he could.

“What exactly have you got to lose?”

Weasley’s lips pursed as his forehead furrowed in contemplative thought; perfectly understandable for someone who was about to make a deal with his worst enemy. Dear Gods, he was fucking hot when he looked intellectual too… and did he have to tease the Slytherin by puckering his lips in such a fashion? If he didn’t put them away soon then Draco might accidentally bite down on them… again.

When the Gryffindor finally spoke (which snapped the other boy out of his ‘Dream Weasley’ sequence yet again), he did it almost reluctantly but firmly, as though he’d come up with a final plan. His own face was composed, though his eyes still blazed.

“Promise you’ll leave Harry and Hermione alone and not call them any names. I mean it, Malfoy.” His last words were said with a threatening glare.

Draco blinked slightly, but quickly returned back to composure. He’d agreed so quickly? He thought he’d at least need to do more coaxing. A bribe… a Wizard’s Oath… a blow job… But why should Draco have been surprised? He was a fucking Gryffindor. He thanked God that they were so bloody trusting.

Draco suddenly frowned. But why did everyone want him to leave their friends alone? Did they think he was a bad influence or anything? Harrumph. They should have felt privileged to be in his company. Feeling slightly offended, Draco nodded though never discarded his slight smirk.

“Malfoy’s honour.” Ron snorted.

“Two words that don’t belong in the same sentence.” Draco had to agree and, despite himself, smiled up at the object of his desire.

“Damn fucking right, Weasel.”

“Just so you know, Malfoy,” Ron added, that infuriatingly sexy pout playing on his virginal lips. “I intend to kill you if you’re playing some Slytherin trick.”

“I’d like to see you try, Weasley,” Draco smirked challengingly and, to the surprise of both, Ron actually shrugged. No punches, no sneers. Maybe no smile, but hey, it was progress.

Then there was a silence. And a pretty awkward one at that until the Slytherin finally, with a twisted and ironic smirk as he noticed something, spoke up.

“Hey Weasley?” Ron blinked at the sudden address, gazing flusteringly down at the pale Slytherin and looking untrustingly suspicious all over again.

“What is it, Malfoy?” Draco bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes gleaming with impulsive and malicious hunger.

“You can stop touching me now.” Though I’d rather you not.

Ron looked down at his hands in surprise and practically withdrew them as though they’d been scolded by Draco’s icy skin when he noticed them still on the Slytherin’s collarbone. He looked almost ashamed by their uncontrollable behaviour. Looking up at the Gryffindor, the content blonde very interestedly noticed that his adorably freckled face had been overtaken by the most fetching blush before he spun around and practically sprinted back to his own bed.