Ten days after the violet incident, Ron and Draco had finally stopped avoiding each other, and things were back to normal. Relatively. If you discounted the fact that Draco had charmed the flower to last indefinitely, and slept with it on the bedside table next to him. And if you also discounted the fact that Ron was taking a lot more cold showers than were strictly necessary, even in the summer heat. They were now talking about all sorts of things, and had even had a discussion about who was the bigger prat at school.

Ron was in the common room one evening when he received an owl from Hermione, saying that she was going to be in London on the weekend, and Ron should come up and have a night out on the town. He groaned.

"Anything wrong?" inquired Draco.

"A night out on the town with Hermione and Harry." He read the letter through again, and groaned even louder. "And she's got someone who wants to meet me; a friend of her latest man. Aargh."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Would you let your friends hook you up with a blind date?"

"Maybe. It depends."

"Last time I said yes, I spent the evening disengaging the hand of an overmuscled Neanderthal from my upper thigh."

"Probably not then. Why can't you go, but say no to the blind date?"

"Have you ever tried to say no to Hermione when she's in a crusading spirit?"

"What are you going to do then?" Ron thought for several long moments; then gave Draco a very measuring look.

"Draco," he said in a very casual voice, ¡°what are you doing this Saturday?"

They apparated to a place in Diagon Alley, and met Harry, Hermione and their dates in a Muggle pub near the Leaky Cauldron. Draco smoothed his shirt down anxiously. He hadn't been sure about the violet shirt, but he remembered what Ron had said about his eyes. He tried hard to despise himself for wanting to look good for Ron, but failed. Ron's eyes had lit up when Draco came into the common room, though Ron tried to disguise it, and also tried hard to despise himself for caring that Draco looked good. In fact, he looked great, and Ron had a hard time not ogling him. "Just a convenient date," they both reminded themselves sternly. Draco surreptitiously took in Ron's dark blue jeans and red t-shirt that, surprisingly, did not clash with his red hair and freckles. The t-shirt was a little short, and the jeans were low slung, leaving a nice curve of stomach and back bare when he stretched.

Harry was with Evie, whom Ron had met before. Hermione was with a tall and muscular man, easily as tall as Ron and much bigger, called Steve. They had a quick drink and left for dinner.

"So, Draco, been undoing Ron's belt lately?" asked Harry, and Ron inwardly groaned. He blushed as Harry told the story, with liberal editing as Evie and Steve were both Muggles, and didn't look at Draco. Draco did not blush, just shrugged his shoulders.

"It seemed like you were getting entirely too much fun out of watching, Harry," he said, at the end of the recital. "If I ever jump on Ron again - and who could blame me when he gets all sweaty and masculine? - I intend to lock the door first to keep voyeurs like you out."

"Harry does like watching," giggled Evie. Draco looked them both up and down.

"Performance problem, perhaps, Harry?" he asked blandly. Harry spluttered into his drink and hastily disclaimed. Ron changed the subject, though it was difficult to know what to talk about in the presence of two Muggles.

As the night wore on, things got riotous. They ended up at a Muggle pub, drinking and dancing. They had met some friends of Steve's, including Mark, who was obviously the friend Hermione had had in mind, judging by the way he checked Ron out. Ron was devoutly thankful that he had brought Draco along, though it was questionable what good he could do. The man was built like a train. Hermione might like muscles, but Ron preferred small men. "Like Draco," his innermost mind whispered, and he was too drunk to shut it up. "He's just your type," it continued, "small, handsome- and he's interested. He wore violet tonight." Ron tried to protest that wearing a colour that he had once admired in relation to Draco did not constitute interest. "He's lean, and look at those legs. Nice. Firm. What a great arse." Ron was abruptly shaken out of his transfixion by Hermione's voice.

"Ron. Don't you think Mark is nice?"

"No, Hermione, I don't," he surprised himself by saying firmly. ¡°Excuse me, I'm going to dance with Draco."

Draco saw him approaching, and was conscious of a sense of relief, which he promptly did his best to hide. He had noticed Steve's friend checking Ron out almost as quickly as Ron had. "It'd be a bit of a disappointment if you didn't get a kiss after all this dressing up, wouldn't it?" whispered the voice inside his head. Draco told it to shut up as sternly as possible, but watching Ron weave his way between dancers, with Draco as his obvious quarry, made his blood fizz too much to be serious about it. "He's hot. And he's interested. He's been looking at you all night." Draco tried to insist that Ron's gaze had been a defensive move against Mark the friend of Steve's, but it didn't wash.

Ron was suddenly in front of Draco. They began to dance without talking, moving their bodies to the pounding dance beat. They watched each other surreptitiously, seeing flesh exposed in different moves. Draco had partly unbuttoned his shirt, and Ron could see sweat sliding down from his collarbone to disappear into the cotton. Draco watched the arches of Ron's hipbones move as his t-shirt rode up. Someone jolted Draco from behind, and Ron reached out to steady him. As if on a malicious cue, the music faded out and a slower beat started. Ron's hand slid, without thought, from Draco's shoulder to the small of his back. Draco moved closer, and their bodies almost brushed as they moved to the new beat. Ron let his hand drop away, but Draco didn't move back. They continued to move together, keeping their bodies just apart, though they could feel the heat of each other as they moved. Draco looked up, and a part of Ron dizzily realised that violet did make Draco's eyes stormier. Unless the storm was nothing to do with the shirt and everything to do with the situation. Draco, looking up, watched Ron lick his lips. They were parted slightly, and looked so soft. Without thinking, Draco stepped the little bit closer to bring their bodies into contact. Ron's hands came to settle on Draco's hips, and they danced closer still. Ron felt Draco's breath on his throat, and leaned his head down. Only a breath separated their lips, when Harry shoved into them, Evie in tow. The music was low enough for some sort of conversation, and Harry took advantage of it.

"Great place this," he shouted, his eyes dancing as he looked at his best friend, wondering if he would blush. However, while Ron did blush, he did not step back from Draco, and kept his hands firmly planted on his hips.

"Yeah," he answered casually, "but not as good as my bedroom. After all, I'm going to get to see this nice shirt crumpled on the floor." He looked down at Draco. "Shall we head home?" Draco looked up at Ron, unable to read the expression in his eyes, and nodded.

"Yep. We're wasting our time here when I could be wrestling you out of those jeans." He looked straight at Harry, whose eyes were shining with mischief. "Don't expect him to be on time for brunch. I'm going to fuck him through the mattress." Ron leaned down and deliberately bit the side of Draco's neck, then licked the skin.

"You're going to wake up everyone in the castle, you'll come so hard," he whispered.

They turned and walked out of the nightclub, and Harry walked back over to where Hermione was sitting, leaving Evie to dance with Steve. They put their heads together and enjoyed an evil plotting session. Brunch tomorrow was going to be fun. Especially if they had to go and find Ron.

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