I'm not in Denial

Ron - Playing Nice

It was officially the first entire schoolday that Ron had missed since the incident and although the redhead felt well enough to be discharged and to return to his classes, he was more than very content to laze around in the infirmary a while longer, chomping down his treats and receiving tons of sympathy.

Yep, he thought with a dreamy smile, he definitely should have been sick more often. Thinking about it, maybe he could throw himself down a flight of stairs or get Harry to hex him or something to miss his Potions Final...

Well, Trelawney would have been happy.

Considering that she had predicted that he´d get into a serious accident that would affect his entire life last lesson, he supposed that for once the crazy old bat was right. But then again, she also said that Harry would be trampled by a horde of psychopathic house elves, so he didn´t know what to believe.

The Gryffindor had in fact spent the whole day either sleeping or reading a Muggle book that Hermione had given him about Wardrobes, Lions and Turkish Delight (whatever the hell that was). It was really quite good, despite the great efforts he had made to dislike it and grate Hermione´s nerves with its negative aspects (`A portal through a wardrobe? What was that Muggle thinking? What a stupid place to put one!´). With a shrug as he bravely popped a handful of random Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans into his mouth, Ron guessed that he just wouldn´t ever tell her. Then he shuddered as he loudly gulped down the remains of the sardine, mayonnaise and the raisin flavoured beans he´d bitten right through.

In between his study of Ice Queens and his dreams about chasing after a buzzing silver snitch that greatly resembled Draco Malfoy´s head, the Gryffindor had a not so enjoyable visit from Hermione who, red-faced, had obviously run all the way from her last lesson to dump a pile of homework as big as Professor Flitwick onto his tray, then had scarpered off before she was late for Arithmancy. Somehow, she managed to shout over her shoulder if he´d finished the book, to which he grunted something unintelligible and frowned as her fuzzy-head disappeared out the door. He´d actually finished that `Wardrobe-Book´ day she´d given it to him, quite unable to put it down but he wasn´t about to tell her that! Ron Weasley wasn´t supposed to like books. And plus, he hated it when Hermione got all I-told-you-so-ish. Which was all the bloody time anyway.

He `accidentally´ nudged off the pile of sheets from his tray with his elbow as he mock stretched and yawned loudly, making the rustling papers cascade noisily to the floor. Hopefully, she´d buy that he hadn´t spotted them. After all, he was so (cough) ill that even his eyesight was miraculously affected...

The sudden deep growl from the next bed made the redhead lose his train of thought and stop mid-yawn.

Malfoy.

"Keep it fucking down, Weasley," the familiar, though more tired and irritated, voice spat from the next bed. "Some of us are trying to sleep." Ron turned with an angry pout to see that the scowling Mr Malfoy was trying to pull his sheets over his head in annoyance. Ron fumed and his lips had actually formed into a full frown before he realised that he was actually supposed to be nice to Malfoy.

God, `Nice to Malfoy´... why on earth did he agree to that?

Why didn´t he just suss it as a Malfoy trick and throw a punch at him for being the devious little shit he was? And how the hell could he be nice to a boy who he´d spent most of his life referring to as `git´ and automatically made a face at when he walked into a room? Bugger. This sure was going to take some getting use to. Ron grinded his teeth to stop an expletive from escaping him as soon as he heard Malfoy´s voice.

"It´s Two o´clock, Malfoy."

It took all his self-control not spit the words out. Weasleys may have been poor, but they were loyal, reliable and always kept their word, and Ron was an absolutely perfect example of this. He would be `nice´ if it bloody killed him... and he wouldn´t be surprised if it did. He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly as the Slytherin´s silver head finally popped out of the covers. A pale, pointed face distorted in pure annoyance and a perfected snarl appeared as Malfoy pulled the sheet viciously off his head, his usually neat blonde hair spiky and static. His drooping bruised grey eyes soon narrowed at Ron angrily, almost accusingly. Wow, the little git (shit, he meant something `nicer´) really didn´t seem to be a morning person.

"And your point is?" The Slytherin growled. They stared silently at each other for a while. For some suddenly insane and unknown reason, Ron felt like laughing. Malfoy just looked so ridiculous, practically being swallowed by his giant duvet and sheets, his pale hair in all directions, his chin raised defiantly, his once split bottom lip puckered angrily and his arms now crossed viciously across his chest. The git (damn, not again) looked so childish and like the totally spoilt little brat he was that Ron wanted to guffaw outright in his face. But that probably wasn´t the most sensible thing he could have done. Yes, the Gryffindor could be sensible when he felt like it, which he supposed must have been because of Hermione´s influence. Uh-oh. He would be highlighting his timetable and drawing Professor Lockhart´s name in little hearts before long...

Instead of being pissed off at the seething Malfoy reaction (like he pretty much usually was), Ron merely smirked at his former enemy´s appearance, knowing that would affect him more than his anger ever could. In fact, the Gryffindor was beginning to wonder if Malfoy actually liked winding him up...

"You look like shit, Malfoy."

The Slytherin scowled even further, a deep growl escaping his snarling lips. Ron beamed with smugness. He´d found his weak spot. God, the evil little prick really was a vain twat. Well, he guessed that Malfoy did have good reason to be. The blonde boy propped himself up so he was sitting up and staring at the redhead with proper dislike.

"Yeah, now I'm about as pretty as you, Weasley," he snarled. Hmmmm... Pretty. That was a bloody good way to describe Malfoy. It made Ron want to snigger. Damn, if Malfoy didn´t watch out he´d be wearing make up next. And swapping hair advice with Parvati and Lavender...

"How´s your face anyway?" Ron asked civilly with a smirk, ignoring Malfoy´s last words. He would be `nice´. He would feel nothing but `niceness´ towards Malfoy. He would not grab his book and stuff it down the git´s throat... He would be cool and laugh it all off...

The Slytherin shrugged, still looking somewhat peeved. Ron supposed that he had woken up enough to remind himself of the deal.

"I´ll live." Damn it.

"Oh, that´s a shame," Ron said with genuine repentance. "I hope it hurts like a bitch." It was Malfoy´s turn to smirk, and Ron wanted to kick himself for losing the little power he had. This could only end in him punching Malfoy. That look did it to him every time.

"How about you? That ugly mug of yours improved much?" Ron was slightly taken aback. Rude but civil. He unclenched his teeth, mouth opening in slight surprise. He was actually clenching them in the first place to stop himself when Malfoy said something mean. He blinked, still in some shock, then slowly dissolved into a derisive expression and a snort.

"Do you even give a shit?" The Slytherin shrugged casually as he dropped his eyes to study his perfect nails.

"No."

The redhead didn´t know what it was, but it something about the way Malfoy had said that. Not even a slight on his family could have matched it. The teeth clenched again. He could feel a burning under his freckled skin rising up from his neck as he scowled. The Gryffindor was suddenly, in a word, pissed off. The Slytherin should have `given a shit´. He should have been praying that Ron was in severe pain. He should have cared with sadistic feeling that Ron was in agony. How could two of the most emotional and bad-tempered people in Hogwarts not react to each other when in a room together? How could the bastard just sit there so coolly, acting as though there had been nothing between them? They had had the whole fanatical, violent enemy thing going on for four years. Four years. And now, suddenly, they were just casual and indifferent acquaintances. It was seriously screwed up. Malfoys and Weasleys had an animosity, a reaction, between them from the beginning of time. It was practically something in their blood. You couldn´t just give that up with a deal.

Why the hell had he agreed to it?

Damn and bugger it.

He never wanted anything more in his whole life than to punch Malfoy at that moment in time.

And due to his stupidity, he bloody couldn´t. God damn it!

"Do you know why people don´t like you, Malfoy?"

It was Malfoy´s turn to blink in slight surprise at the abrupt question as he looked up with slightly wide eyes. A very un-Malfoy look. However, in a split second he had managed to relax into an attractive smirk as he leaned fluidly against his unfluffed pillow. Shit, he was definitely back to his usual control. And Ron was slowly losing his.

"Like I give a shit, Weasley."

"It´s because you´re a prick." The answer only made Malfoy´s smirk broaden, making Ron´s fists tremble furiously under his sheets. Oh yes, he was losing it.

"And here was I thinking that you´d say something intelligent, Weasley," Malfoy smiled maliciously, looking so composed it was sickening. "But then again, I do have an incredibly wild imagination." 

"Malfoy..." Ron warned, his teeth clenched and his hiss dangerously threatening. Just one more word and the Gryffindor would discard the deal and kill him...

Malfoy smiled.

"Yes, Weasley?" He batted his long eyelashes, a glint of wickedness in his eye as he mocked innocence. "Can I help you with something?"

Draco - I´m back

Yes! Yes! Yes!

He was a God.

One minute Weasley had the upper hand. He had that fucking sexy smirk on his face and the body language that screamed casual good-nature, making Draco want to both hit him and shag him until he begged for him to stop... but then Weasley panicked. The Slytherin could see his cute and irrational redheaded mind grasping wildly for help as realisation of his defeat kicked in. His eyes looked wide, worried, like a muggle rabbit trapped by the headlights of an advancing car.

And that was when he felt it. The tingling. As though ice-cold water had been released in waves under his skin and that cool head rush, making every thought as clear as day. Even if someone tried the Avada Kedavra curse on him, he could merely smirk it off. He was cool, calm, indifferent and ruthless. Just the way he had always been before Lucius and Weasley had infected his mind.

Well, it was about fucking time he was back...!

He turned to the fiery redhead, his cruel smile broadening at Weasley´s livid expression and at the realisation that he could control his lust for the boy. He was now so easy to resist.

 "And here was I thinking that you´d say something intelligent, Weasley." Draco grinned in soft malevolence, his body language calm and composed. "But then again, I do have an incredibly wild imagination." 

He wanted to chortle at the fuming look on Weasley´s bright red features but he easily produced a look of calm unconcern. Oh, he was fucking good. While the Gryffindor couldn´t help spilling his emotions all over his attractively freckled face, Draco could veil his skilfully. Oh yes, he had the power. He didn´t even have to fucking swear.

Ok, so he wasn´t sticking by his own deal by playing nice... but he was a Malfoy. When were they ever trustworthy? Or nice? Besides, just seeing Weasley pissed off was worth it. And he was really pissed off. The Slytherin controlled the bubble of delighted lust from overtaking his lower body as Weasley held his shaking self with all his strength to the bed.

"Malfoy..." He hissed through gritted teeth, almost viciously pleading for him to stop. Stop? Why would he stop when he was just getting started? He was the Lord of all creation.

"Yes, Weasley?" Draco purred, batting his eyelashes innocently through a blatant smirk. Man, he could even flirt without getting pissed off with himself for doing so. "Can I help you with something?"

"You´re... not... sticking... by... the... rules..." Weasley was still hissing through permanently clenched teeth. The Slytherin could see his trembling fists under his sheets. For a fleeting second he wondered what else could be trembling under those sheets...

No.

He would not lose this sudden composure due to some idiotic crush on Weasley. The stupid Gryffindor wasn´t worth it. Instead, Draco raised a malicious brow and curved his lips into a mocking smile.

"How quaint, Weasley. You actually believed me. I always thought you were dense, but now I realise that you´re as stupid as you are poor."

He knew he´d pushed the right button. He grinned. The redhead was so fucking predictable that it was sexy. Wait a second, he found everything the Gryffindor git did sexy...

Oh well.

Sitting back, he waited patiently for the redhead to react, and he didn´t need to wait very long at all. Weasley jumped out of bed (nice flash of leg) and pounced.

But he had never pounced like this before.

Oh shit.

Draco´s smirk completely disappeared, his heart skipping a beat and his face paling even more. For once, the Slytherin was utterly frozen to the spot, unsure how to move or to even breathe. A thousand thoughts ran through his head, a cold sweat washed over him and not even his cool composure could have prepared him for this.

Weasley was straddling him.

He was sitting on the Slytherin´s abdomen, one warm bare leg on either side of him and his scorching hands, which had clasped around the blonde´s collar, had pulled Draco up to his face; the Gryffindor´s hot, angry breath on the blonde´s lips in rough pants. Two pairs of blue eyes met, the tips of two noses touched and two heartbeats beat frantically against one another... But those weren´t the only Weasley organs he could feel rubbing tantalisingly against him.

Oh fucking God.

He should have said something. `Get the heck off me, Weasel´ or `Get your Mudblood contaminated hands off me´ but there were only three things on his mind; Sex, Weasley and Right Fucking Now. With his sexy deep growl, his burning red skin, his taut, strong body pressed tightly against his... And it didn´t fucking help that he could feel on his abdomen exactly how aroused the Weasel was...

Wait a fucking minute. Weasley was aroused?

Draco´s expression changed from surprise to lustful astonishment when he saw that the anger on redhead´s face had disappeared. He was now deathly pale under his freckles and was looking straight into his nemesis´s eyes with something more akin to fear. He was still breathing deeply, his body heaving against the Slytherin´s as he tried to get his nerve back. The blonde could practically taste the sweet puffs of air as he could with the musky aroma emanating from the Gryffindor´s piping skin. Oh God. Weasley was all around him. Weasley was turned on. And all Draco needed to do was flip him over.

His cool composure went as soon as it came. All he felt now was the warmness of the redheaded blanket on top of his cold self and an almost grinding sensation against his pelvis. He bit back a moan. Oh Jesus. This could not be fucking happening.

Weasley´s hands slowly loosened around his collar, his blue eyes still wide with innocent fear as they naively slid down the Slytherin´s chest, unintentionally causing the blonde boy to shudder slightly with the pleasurable alien touch...

Wait a fucking minute. He wasn´t just going to take this like a Nancy Boy. If anyone were going to do the touching, it would be him. Not a mother-fucking Gryffindor. And who did Weasley think he was? Did he honestly think he could get out of this situation now that he had started it? Well, the ginger prick had another thing coming. And the pun was fucking intended.

Giving the redhead a brilliant, though somewhat nervous (he´d berate himself later), smirk, Draco slipped his shaking, ice-like hands up the steaming thighs that were clamping him down. Despite the sudden temperature change, Weasley didn´t shiver. The boy hardly fucking moved. His hands were against the Slytherin´s chest but he didn´t push him away. He only looked at the Slytherin with an almost dead looking complexion, gulping in adorable nervousness and his breathing hitching with every millimetre the blonde´s freezing fingers slid upwards and underneath his short robes. Draco leaned even more forward so their forehead´s were resting against each other, making Weasley´s already unsteady breathing catch even more.

"Want me to go higher, Weasley?" He smirked seductively. Weasley´s trembling, full lips opened a fraction but what he was going to say, the Slytherin never found out.

"Malfoy! Weasley!"

Oh fuck it. And he was just about to get in his pants. Bloody McGonagall. She was on the list higher than Potter now. He growled as he turned menacingly to the sight of the Transfiguration teacher standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips and looking even sterner than should have been legal. Bloody Gryffindor cow. He´d get her. Oh yes, slowly and very painfully, too.

She let out a puff of angry air, almost shaking with her fury.

 "Never in all my years have I seen such rivalry between two students! Fighting, even in the Infirmary!" Draco blinked. Fighting? She thought they were fighting? He couldn´t help but smirk at his luck as Weasley, red-faced and utterly mortified, staggered clumsily off the Slytherin, avoiding both their gazes as he stood beside the bed, holding the bedside table to keep him balanced as he looked down at his large feet. Draco knew what large feet usually implied and couldn´t wait till he got another shot at his fiery little (well, he hoped big) redhead. Darting his gaze to Weasley´s face, the blonde boy noticed that he looked as though his whole world had come to an end. Jesus, the sexy bastard looked like he was going to either faint, puke or cry. Or all at once. McGonagall puffed out her chest to illustrate her anger as she continued briskly, still looking outraged. The Slytherin snorted. "I have, moreover, come to request the pleasure of your company. Both of you."  She said the last very harshly. Draco couldn´t stop himself from sneering viciously at her.

"Oh really, and why would that be? Want us to dance for you?" She narrowed her eyes dangerously. Nobody ever talked like that to her, and the Slytherin knew it. Instead of yelling or taking points off him, she merely fashioned a tight-lipped look of contempt.

"I would try to acquire some manners in the next few minutes if I were in your position, Mr Malfoy." Her eyes blazed behind her spectacles as she paused, holding herself stiffly. "The Governors have arrived."