Fic: Unfinished Business, NC-17

Title: Unfinished Business
Author/Artist: seventines
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Contains, er, adult sexual situations. Please oblige me by not reading if you’re under age in the country in which you live.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: A work related visit to the Leaky Cauldron lands Ron in a difficult situation.
Concrit?: I’d love some :)
A/N: This was inspired by the Ron/Draco 9-to-5 Challenge (although obviously disgracefully late). However, the pub setting was inspired by a post from partitioning – Happy Birthday, Prima, Ron and Draco would like you to join them in a refreshing glass of bubbly. Sorry about the lack of angst – Ron just wouldn’t let me write him that way ;-)
Many thanks to my superb betas: lazy_neutrino and kaz814.
I’ll archive it at House Rivalry as well.
Word Count: 4,291

Unfinished Business



Apparently, the Black Arrow was causing a bit of a stir amongst broom fanciers. The first Ron heard of it was when he was hanging around with Dean and Pete, flicking through the latest copy of AeroSport that had been delivered to the office that morning.

“No, it’s not on that page, mate. It’s a little snippet in the breaking news section,” Dean said as he riffled through the magazine, past the used broom and accessories ads. He’d only just arrived in the office, late for work as usual and Ron suspected that the lateness was due to a morning spent reading his own copy of AeroSport in the local café. Dean had been working with Ron for several months now and everybody expected him to be late. He rarely disappointed them.

Ron and Pete let him have the magazine, because they’d pounced on it earlier when the mail had been delivered, leaving the rest of the mail on Flawless Phil’s desk. Trade had been slow, not unusual for a Wednesday, and Flawless Phil rarely showed up before lunchtime, so they’d had plenty of time to read it.

Pete had felt he was entitled to first go at the magazine because he was the only one of them who’d sold anything that morning. A flustered witch bought a replacement broom for her son, who’d written off his first one earlier in the week during a nogtail hunt at Durmstrang. Pete, who was honest and well-intentioned, had almost told her about the pulling to one side problem that made the second-hand Comet Two-Sixty such an attractive price. Ron suspected that it was just a badly adjusted Braking Charm, something that he’d heard was quite common with Comets. He’d persuaded Pete that there was really no reason to mention this, since it would come up at the broom’s next service and anyway, it wasn’t dangerous, not if you were a half-way decent flyer. Since Pete would never have sold the broom without his help, Ron felt entitled to take an extra long coffee break to read the new magazine himself.

Until Dean arrived, Ron and Pete had been tucked away in a quiet corner of the showroom, avoiding browsers and reading about broom development while admiring the rather avant-garde robes of the blonde witches who seemed to be a necessary part of any photo layout. Just before Dean came in, a particularly attractive one had winked at Ron while suggestively stroking the handle of a new Comet.

Once Dean got hold of the magazine, a few minutes elapsed while he got slightly distracted by an article on new anti-theft charms. Eventually, he started to get excited and shook the magazine at them. “Listen,” he said, “I’ve found it.” He read the short article out to them.

“Arrow Brooms, based in Wiltshire and mothballed in 1980, have resumed manufacturing after a mystery buyer purchased the company. The Arrow designs, long known for their superior style and manoeuverability, are to be brought up to date by the new Arrow designer, Freesia Smethwyk. The Black Arrow, their top of the range sports model, will debut during Brush Up 2004 in Wembley next week. So far, Arrow has not announced any approved dealerships.”

He finished reading and looked at them expectantly.

“Oh, no,” Ron said. “You’re not setting me up with any Freesias. We’ll try to get the dealership the usual way. Remember what happened with the Twigger rep?”

Dean grinned happily. “Of course I haven’t. How could we ever forget? You don’t have to worry, Ron, I’ll take care of any man-hungry female reps. Is it a plan, then? How about we all get together and bother Phil when he gets in? We’ll be on the stand at Brush Up anyway and all we’ll need is a slightly increased entertainment budget. Know what I mean?” He winked at Ron in a decidedly lewd way, and Pete shuddered slightly.

The following week, Ron and Pete spent every evening after work setting up the stand. They weren’t supposed to be doing it on their own, but as far as Ron could see Dean spent most of his time chatting up Joconda Brewitt who was working on the Quality Quidditch stand. Ron wondered if he should mention this to Flawless Phil, but Dean was a mate, and anyway, the less time Joconda spent setting up her own stand, the better Flawless Phil’s Flying Supplies would look in comparison.

The night before the trade show opened, Ron and Pete were struggling with the self-laying carpet when Dean strolled over, looking pretty sharp in new racing-green robes. Ron looked enviously at the robes and wondered how much they cost and if they’d look good with red hair. He seemed to remember Ginny telling him that the Weasleys should all have been in Slytherin. When he’d asked her to explain, she’d given him a sly smile and said that they’d look great in green.

Recently, though, Ron had decided that Ginny might have been thinking beyond simple coordination issues. She had been getting gradually more devious during her last few years at school and nobody had been shocked when she’d got engaged to one of the Slytherins a few months after her NEWTs. Since then, Ron had found himself examining a lot of his beliefs for Ginny’s mischievous misinformation. He was pretty sure now that Harry didn’t fancy him, whatever she’d implied at the time. Squirming inwardly at the memory of his last conversation with Harry, Ron vowed never to follow up any of the other crushes he’d had at school.

Dean interrupted his thoughts by Vanishing the tins of broom polish that were scattered all over the stand, including the one that Ron had been holding.

“You need to finish one job before you start the next, Ron. Are any of those brooms actually polished yet?”

“Maybe if Pete and I weren’t doing it all by ourselves, we might have got more done. Have you finished working on Joconda yet? That looked like a tough job, mate.”

“Hard work, but I’m the best man for it. Are you boys coming down to the Leaky for pre-show drinks? Apparently the Arrow people are going to be there, so it’s a good opportunity to nobble them before Quality Quidditch gets to them.” Dean looked over his shoulder with a sly smile and added, “Joconda’s a bit behind with her stand, so we could have the deal signed before she even gets to the pub.”

Pete stood up, jumping forward a few steps when the carpet took a swipe at the back of his legs. “Did I hear something about drinks? I’ll come, if you’ll just spend two minutes helping with this bloody carpet. I think Phil got it cheap when he was on hols in Turkey. It just won’t stay still.”

Biting his lip for a moment, Ron tried to cast his mind back to his Dad’s favourite spells for badly behaved charmed objects. He tried a Deletrius, and the carpet flapped a couple of times like a beached fish and then flopped down, covering the stand area neatly. Grinning delightedly, he Accioed the cloaks and prepared to Apparate. All three of them arrived simultaneously at the Leaky but Pete, whose sense of direction wasn’t great, took a moment to emerge from the Gents’ Toilet to join them in the main bar. Dean plunged straight away into the crowd around the bar to order drinks and Ron managed to get seats by the fire, although the elderly wizard reading The Arithmancer refused to budge and sat in the middle of their group, clearing his throat disconcertingly from time to time.

When it was Ron’s second round, he went up to the bar and, worming his way into the press of bodies, started trying to catch the attention of the barman, a task almost as demanding as catching a Snitch in a hailstorm. After what seemed like ages, the barman turned around and looked vaguely in his direction.

“Two firewhiskys and a Dark Arts Ale, please.” The barman didn’t seem to have heard him, and Ron was about to have another try when the press of bodies behind him resolved into a single body and a low voice spoke in his ear.

“I would never have had you placed as a man who’d be into the Dark Arts, Weasley.”
Ron wiggled in an undignified way until he could see over his shoulder. Draco Malfoy stood, pressed up against his back, with his face so close to Ron’s that Ron needed to lean back a bit to see him properly. It took only seconds to register that Malfoy looked exactly as pale and blond as Ron remembered from school and that the black and silver robes he was needlessly creasing against Ron’s back were expensively cut.

“Every family has its black sheep, Malfoy. Of course, some families just have sheep.”
He grinned, feeling pleased to have scored a point, even though Malfoy’s lemon and vervain cologne was making his head swim. He was about to expand on his point when events overtook him.

Malfoy addressed himself to the barman. “Add a bottle of Maison Sorciere Brut 1996 to that order, Tom, for my room. Two glasses.” He tossed a handful of Galleons onto the counter with a careless gesture and looked back at Ron. “I’d be delighted if you’d join me for a drink, Weasley.”

“What makes you think I’d want to drink with you, Malfoy?” Ron injected ten years of increasing bitterness into his voice, but Malfoy just smiled slowly, revealing the tip of a pink tongue hidden behind very shiny teeth.

“If you don’t want to drink with me, Weasley, that’s just fine. I’m sure Joconda said she might drop in later, so I won’t be drinking alone.” He placed a hand on Ron’s shoulder in what appeared to be a farewell gesture, then winked across at Joconda, who had finally arrived and was laughing horsily with her friends. Just as Ron thought everything was going to be fine, he glanced down at the long fingered hand on his shoulder. A rather vulgar platinum signet ring set with glittering black stones in an arrow shape sat proudly on Malfoy’s little finger. Ron didn’t think it was his imagination that the finger in question twitched slightly as he looked at it, making stones glint darkly.

He swallowed hard and looked across at Dean and Pete, noticing that the sinking feeling in his stomach contrasted oddly with a growing sensation located slightly lower down. Worryingly, it seemed to be driven by the scent of lemons and the sight of Malfoy’s tongue. Dean was looking at him intently and mouthing, “Black Arrow” and “dealership.” Unexpectedly, an image of Ginny insisting that Malfoy fancied him popped into Ron’s mind, and he shook his head to clear it.

With a deep-seated feeling of being screwed by destiny, Ron turned around to face Malfoy’s triumphantly feral expression. Attempting a carefree smile, he accepted the invitation.

“Of course. I’d be delighted to have a drink with you.” And the opportunity to prostitute myself for Flawless Phil is my favourite job perk, he added, silently, while maintaining his empty smile. Malfoy responded with a little squeeze of his shoulder, then slid his hand down Ron’s back, stopping just a little bit too low for politeness. Ron stepped quickly to one side and grabbed the firewhiskies that Tom had slapped on the bar.

“I’ll just drop these over to my friends before I join you,” Ron said, trying to move around Malfoy without making it look as if they were dancing. He dived into the crowd, emerging by the fire to place the drinks down in front of Dean and Pete. He made sure his back turned to Malfoy when he spoke.

“Help. He wants me to drink bubbly with him in his private parlour.”

Dean laughed. “From what I’ve heard about Malfoy, you’ll enjoy every moment. The contract’s as good as ours, just lie back and think of Quidditch.” The elderly wizard rattled his Arithmancer, and cleared his throat disapprovingly.

“Yes, but it’s Malfoy. I mean, if it were anyone else, it would be different.”

“Don’t be coy, Ron. Ginny told me about you and Malfoy.”

“No way, Dean. It wasn’t true. We never had a thing.” Ron was beginning to feel panic, like a very hot curry, making him sweaty and breathless. “Ginny said that about half the boys in Hogwarts. Including you.”

“Well, if it had been dark and I’d been very drunk, it could have happened. Honestly, though, I know Theo Nott from when I worked for Firebolt and he told me all about Malfoy.” Dean went on to describe Malfoy’s sexual preferences in language colourful enough to make Pete blush and Ron’s eyes pop. The elderly wizard’s magazine drooped just enough for him to peer curiously over the top. When he caught Ron looking at him, he harrumphed and ostentatiously turned the page.

“Look, Ron,” Dean said. “Just don’t think about it too much. Phil will be so grateful, you’ll be guaranteed a raise. You might even be able to afford Chudley Cannon season tickets for next year.”

Sensing that he wasn’t going to get any support from either of his friends, Ron walked very slowly towards the door leading to the private parlours where Malfoy was waiting for him. Malfoy gently but firmly pushed Ron out the door and along the corridor towards a parlour at the far end. He stopped and waved Ron into the room ahead of him, following and closing the door behind them. Ron moved two steps into the room very quickly and turned, wishing he’d never listened to Dean, or Ginny for that matter, and wondering how much he really needed a job with Phil.

Malfoy locked the door and then leaned back against it, combining a casual elegance with an effective blockade. He ran a hand through his hair, which immediately fell back into place.

“Please, sit, Weasley. Make yourself comfortable.” He gestured at the only seat in the room, an ancient and over-upholstered chaise longue by the fire. Balancing on a little table beside it was a bottle of champagne, an obvious cooling charm causing moisture to bead on the dark glass. There were only two glasses. As far as Ron was could see, it was disgustingly obvious that the scene was set for seduction. He sat on the edge of the chair and waited to see what Malfoy would do next.

He was surprised, because what Malfoy did next was to pull a magical contract from his robes, and hand it over with a flourish. Then he sat down beside Ron, and lounged against the back of the chaise, looking up at Ron from beneath slightly lowered eyelashes. The contract awarded the sole UK dealership for the Arrow range of brooms to Flawless Phil’s Flying Supplies for one year and contained a blank space for two signatures at the bottom.

“New broom sweeps clean, Weasley.” Malfoy smirked, and brushed some imaginary fluff from his trousers, drawing attention to his long, well defined thighs. “You have no idea how happy I was to get a chance to renew our acquaintance over such a mutually beneficial deal.”

Here we go, thought Ron. A few broom related double-entendres, a quick snog, an embarrassing shag in front of the fire and Bob’s your uncle. How bad can it be? In answer to himself, he leaned forward across Malfoy and grasped the bottle, popping the cork using a quick unsealing spell. The whole thing would definitely be less embarrassing after a few drinks. He poured, and passed a glass to Malfoy, who sipped it with the world-weary air of someone to whom champagne was commonplace.

Ron downed his own in a large gulp, managing to swallow quite a lot but having to suppress some bubble-related snorting.

“So, Malfoy. Shall we get down to negotiations? Apparently, you want to talk brooms.” He wondered briefly if Ginny was right, because he would never have described their mutual enmity at school as acquaintance. He raised a curious eyebrow, and Malfoy saw his eyebrow and raised both.

“You need my broom, Weasley. I know you do, I can see it.” He shifted his crotch slightly, and Ron’s passing glance informed him that Malfoy’s broom appeared to be ready for action. So far, so predictable.

“We’ve established that, Malfoy. But, to be honest, I’m suspicious of you. You were a complete prick at school, and if you think I’ve forgotten that bloody song, you can think again. As far as I can see, there are only two explanations for this. Either you still get a perverted kick out of humiliating me, or there’s something dodgy about your broom, and you need me to help palm it off on an unsuspecting public.”

He paused to check how this was going down with Malfoy, but the pale face remained impassive.

Ron continued, getting into his stride, “If it’s the first one, and I drink enough of this hinkypunk piss, you’ll probably get what you came for.” He waved the champagne glass dismissively.

“If it’s the second,” he went on, “you can screw me now, but you’ll be the one buggered in the end, because our technical people will spot a dud a mile off, and you know how fast word travels in the business.”

He was leaning forward now, almost spitting at Malfoy in his determination to get his message across. Malfoy’s eyes glittered and Ron realised, too late, that the angrier he got, the more Malfoy’s excitement mounted.

“You are such a tart, Weasley. Theo told me you were easy, but I’d really no idea.”

Before Ron could point out that he didn’t actually know Theo, Malfoy leaned towards him and caught him around the back of the neck, pulling him into a rough but very stimulating kiss. Malfoy’s tongue seemed to be as agile as it was witty, and Ron found he couldn’t remember the point he’d been trying so hard to make. He felt a hand grasp his knee, then begin to slide up his leg, insinuating itself between his thighs. Using the last of his resolve, he pulled away and, aware that he was panting slightly, stared at Malfoy. Malfoy looked at him coolly, and the thumb of the hand between Ron’s thighs stroked firmly against the fly of his trousers. Ron felt his hardness increase with every pass of the thumb.

After the fourth pass, he admitted to himself that he was a complete tart and leaned in for another kiss. This time, he felt Malfoy pull away a little, and then a warm tongue started to make distracting movements in the region of his ear. The feel of the accompanying hot breath on his neck was astonishingly arousing.

The kissing resumed, and Ron didn’t resist when Malfoy started to pull at his robes, gradually loosening them enough to slide a hand inside and press his nipple. The little moan he gave apparently excited Malfoy because he started to press forward, and Ron slipped slightly off the couch, just recovering himself by stretching his leg out to balance himself. Taking advantage of this, the hand that had been stroking the front of his trousers pushed between his legs and massaged more firmly. Ron’s cock throbbed, and the pressure on the fastening of his trousers increased uncomfortably.

Malfoy spoke in his ear. “Perhaps it’s time to examine the merchandise, Weasley.” His voice had dropped so low it vibrated in Ron’s ear like a puffskein’s purr.

“Sign the contract first, Malfoy.” He was aware of sounding very breathless and hoped that they could get over this bit quickly, so he groped around until his fingers touched paper.

“Accio quill,” he said, blindly stretching out his free hand and hoping that the quill wouldn’t have to pass through a locked door to get to him. He hated blunt nibs. The familiar sensation of feather tickled his fingers, and Malfoy pulled back from him and hurriedly took the quill out of Ron’s hand. He signed the magical contract with a flourish and handed the quill to Ron, who signed rather illegibly in the space left for the distributor. Malfoy took the quill and contract from Ron, placed them neatly on the floor beside the couch and, handling his wand precisely, cast an Imperturbable Charm on the door. Then he eyed Ron hawkishly and executed a remarkable manoeuvre that would have won him acclaim on the Quidditch pitch. Ron found himself lying back on the couch with Malfoy partly on top of him.

Apparently, Malfoy had a thing about ears, because he started to nibble on Ron’s earlobe, something which felt much more pleasant that it should. In between nips, he murmured, “You must want me, Weasley. I’ve never seen anyone sign a contract that quickly without having lawyers check the small print.”

“It’s the brooms I’m interested in, Malfoy, not you.”

“I know, Weasel. Me too, I just can’t get enough of them.” He accompanied this statement with a dexterous unbuttoning of Ron’s trousers. The situation was charged with anticipation, and Ron began to wish that they could just leave the bad puns behind.

“Don’t call me Weasel,” he said and then sucked in a breath as cool fingers wrapped around his cock, sliding up and then pulling back down until he felt the foreskin slip back. To Ron’s astonishment, Malfoy slid down and pulling Ron’s aching cock free of the gaping trousers, enveloped it in his mouth. A rough tongue moved into the little groove just under the head, then swirled up and around at the same time as the warming fingers moved along the shaft. Ron squirmed, trying not to thrust but finding it difficult to stay still.

Without lifting his mouth, Malfoy looked up at Ron, his grey eyes the intense shade of wet slate. He kept his hand and mouth moving, watching Ron, his tongue dragging like damp velvet across the slick skin. Ron couldn’t look away because it was the first time he’d had any kind of prolonged eye contact during sex, and it went straight to his groin as though his blood was on fire.

When Malfoy’s other hand started to touch the skin behind Ron’s balls, circling gently, and pressing in rhythm with Ron’s own hip movements, it only took a few seconds before the tension built up too much to control. He thrust helplessly into the warm mouth a few times and watched the shine of Malfoy’s lips until he felt the pulsing in his cock that seemed to pull all of his body into a single point. He came hard in Malfoy’s mouth, intense spurts followed by weakening shuddery little thrusts, until he gradually slumped back on the couch, aware that his fingers were embedded in the collar of Malfoy’s black and silver robes. When he released it, there were damp fingerprints on the crumpled velvet, and Ron decided it looked a bit the way he felt.

He opened his eyes when he felt Malfoy move, and watched as he slid up towards Ron, looming over him with glistening lips. He stayed like that for a moment, then reached down and lifted his champagne glass and sipped carefully. The kiss that followed qualified as the most bizarrely erotic of Ron’s life, fizzingly alcoholic, slightly salty and sweetly sharp all at the same time. He felt debauched and despoiled, and he wanted the feeling to go on and on.

Malfoy pulled back and looked at him, a slow smile on his lips, then pushed himself up and off the couch, standing over Ron, adjusting his robes. He poured Ron another glass of champagne and then moved towards the door.

“Wait, Malfoy. When do I get to see the broom?”

Malfoy turned at the door and smiled enigmatically, standing so that Ron could see the outline of a hard cock against the velvet robes. “Still under wraps, Weasley. Don’t worry, you’ve won the exclusive rights to the ride of your life. I have an urgent appointment tonight, but you’ll be hearing from me.”

He left in an impressive swirl of robes, and even though Ron followed as soon as he’d cleaned himself up and done up his trousers, there was no sign of Malfoy in the bar. Dean and Pete looked at him quizzically until he handed them the contract. As they read it, Dean whistled softly under his breath.

“You’ve landed it, Ron. What a star. I hope you didn’t have to do anything against your principles.”

“That’s just it,” Ron said. “I thought I’d have to, well, you know. But,” he made a face, “Malfoy did, not me.”

“Don’t know why you’re complaining, mate. I’d have considered it myself but I’m not his type, apparently.”

“What on earth is his type, then? We couldn’t stand each other at school.”

Dean gave a short laugh. “That’s his type, Ron. God, you’re so naïve. He likes it when you hate him.”

Ron had another pint with them, but the image of Malfoy’s mouth kept intruding into his thoughts and the whole unfinished business nagged at him all the way home. It was all wrong, he wasn’t supposed to want to shag someone like Malfoy. He couldn’t for the world of him work out why Malfoy had done what he’d done and then left, before Ron could return the favour. The only explanation he could find, in the middle of the night, his sheets damp and his brain in a frenzy, was that Malfoy really wanted him, that it was nothing to do with brooms, and that Ginny might be right about Slytherins.