Unexpected
By Guanín

The fist lands on your jaw, fast and hard and completely
unexpected, shattering the smirk that plays on your lips. You raise
your hand to your face and touch the already swelling spot. You see a
flash of fiery red out of the corner of your eye.
*Watch where you`re going, Weasley.
Fuck you, Malfoy.
Tell me, are you usually this brainless or is it just for my
benefit?*
Pain erupts in your face once more, this time over your left eye,
scattering your stunned thoughts even further. Anger born of outrage
and hurt pride burns in your stomach. With the low snarl of a
challenged animal, you drive a heavy fist into your opponent's pale,
freckled cheek. Ron staggers from the force of the blow, but he
recovers quickly enough to avoid the next punch, which glances off
his shoulder. He turns tempest filled eyes on you and charges.
Fists fly as punches are exchanged on both sides. Five years of
pent up anger and loathing are released as tense knuckles hit flesh
and bone, splitting pale skin, brushing soft flesh. Blood, red and
hot and screaming, flows from numerous wounds, some inflicted on the
body, others on the spirit. It splatters on his flushed, freckled
skin and stains your ice blond hair crimson.
A sudden, sharp jab to your stomach expels all the air from your
lungs. You double over in shock and pain, but receive no mercy. Agony
explodes in your face, as Ron's fist slams into your nose, hard
enough to shatter bone. A stark cry of pain flies from your lips. All
further action on your part is now purely defensive, vain attempts to
hinder his swiftly increasing advantage.
Your head echoes duly against the bare stone wall. The fight is
finished, but not the struggle. Your scratched hands scrape on the
rough surface where bigger, stronger hands bind your wrists as firmly
as iron manacles. Ron towers over you; the difference in height that
you had never allowed to bother you makes you feel small, weak,
vulnerable. His chest heaves with every breath, so close to yours, so
deliciously and frustratingly close that it almost hurts, not real
touching but a feverish whisper between your bodies. You raise still
defiant eyes to your captor, blinking at the sweat and blood that
clings to your eyelashes. You look up into fire. The spent rage has
done nothing to quell his ardent temper, but rather it has stoked the
flames that burn in his heart. A shiver, cold and hot and excited and
afraid, sweeps through your aching body.
Ron leans in close to your face; his breath falls hot and heavy
on your split skin.
"You arrogant wanker. I am so fucking sick of being your
amusement just because you're too stupid to think of something better
to do. Did you really think that I would just lie back and take it
now that you don't have your lackeys to defend you?"
The passionate words scorch your ears. A scornful reply stands
ready on your tongue, but you don't speak. Your lips pull back into a
snarl, revealing your teeth in a primitive display of hostility. His
hands tighten on your wrists. He opens his mouth, ready to continue
venting his spleen, when you act. You lean your head forward and
seize Ron's mouth with your own. You close your eyes as soon as your
lips touch, fearing to see his indignation sparkle in his eyes. His
lips are supple beneath yours for only a moment, then they quickly
freeze as his entire body stiffens. An infinitely long moment passes,
but his lips remain upon yours. Boldly (foolishly, stupidly, but if
you've gone this far) you begin to move your mouth. Pain flares in
your cut lip, but you ignore it. It is a background sensation to the
pleasure of Ron's mouth. At first hesitant, your movements soon
become more confident. You caress his soft lips, taste the forbidden
recesses of his mouth, savor the rich, spicy sweet flavor of his
tongue, his lips, his teeth, his very essence. Blood, yours and his,
mingles between your mouths. A moan, loud and pleased and broken,
slips past your lips into his. You kiss him thirstily, desperately;
you're like a lost man seeking the one missing part of his soul. The
frustration, the torment, the passion that burns inside you, hot and
pulsing and relentless and God you never knew how much it hurt until
now, all this you pour into Ron's unresisting mouth, hoping and
pleading.
There is a slight push against your mouth, a new pressure on your
tongue. Your roused hopes rise as Ron's formerly slack and
unresponsive lips move with yours.
A moment later the sweet sweet lips are gone, the contact
brutally broken with a brusque movement. A whimper from you protests
the abrupt withdrawal. Your lips reach blindly, searching for Ron's
absent mouth. You open your eyes. His face has retreated a full foot;
a myriad expressions and emotions flash across it. His skin is an odd
motley color; it wavers between pale white and bright red. His eyes
close, open, flick up just long enough for you to see heat and
confusion, and close again. His voice is shaky and wavering as he
speaks.
"What—what was—what are you doing, Malfoy!?"
His hot breath brushes your skin; you drink it in hungrily,
addicted to it.
"Kissing you," you reply in casual, offhand words that reveal
nothing of the desperate need that roils inside you.
Ron's body tenses further.
"Why?"
You tilt your head a bit to the side.
"To show you." The words are kept steady only by force of will.
"Show me what?"
His tired impatience sends nervous shivers down your spine. You
open your mouth to answer but no sound emerges. The words tumble over
and over in your brain, too many, too fast; they coalesce and get
stuck in your throat. But his eyes beat down upon you like twin
summer suns, relentless in their fury, so you say the first words
that alight on your tongue.
"You."
As soon as the word leaves your lips you want to take it back.
Ron's brows furrow and that confused look you usually find so
endearing softens his glare. You see, almost hear the query on his
bruised lips, but you continue before he can give it voice.
"What you have done to me. What you do to me all the time. I
don't even need to be near you anymore to feel it. You're in my
blood, affecting me every fucking minute. I can't sleep. I can't
breathe. No matter what I do I can`t get rid of the ghost of you
hounding me like a golden red apple I can`t touch"
Ron's expression is more shocked with every word. His head shakes
slowly, unconsciously.
A mirthless smile twists your mouth.
"What? Am I shocking you, Weasley? You never expected this, did
you? Draco Malfoy, obsessed with your Muggle loving hide."
The words rush out of your mouth quickly, thoughtlessly and they
are so bloody stupid but they won't stop. Panic has taken hold of
your tongue.
"Quite pathetic, isn't it? At least it is on my part, for you it
must be flattering—"
"Stop!"
Your wrists are abruptly released; they fall limply at your
sides. You raise your eyes, which you had lowered out of
embarrassment, and see that Ron has moved away, leaving you bereft of
his warm. He stands in front of you, hands raised as if to ward off
anything else you have to say.
"Just. Shut. Up. Are you even conscious of what you're saying?
You expect me to believe that you are obsessed with me, that this
whole thing you have against me is because you like me, not because
you hate me? How thick do you really think I am? I just kicked your
arse and you kiss me. You are definitely the most infuriating, crazy
git I have ever met, and I'm including Percy in this assessment."
Cold anger coils in your stomach, suffocating the few remaining
warm embers. How dare he treat this like a joke, as if all your
despair and torment were just an act? You exposed corners of your
soul that you have never allowed anyone to see. In the oddly welcome
face of defeat, instead of trying to preserve what little dignity you
had left, you bared your throat in front of the conquering lion's
jaws. And he has the temerity to think it a game.
"This is not a game," you say between clenched teeth. "You are an
even bigger idiot than I thought you were if you believe that."
Ron turns incredulous eyes toward you.
"I'm the idiot?"
"Yes, you are. You beat me; you had me at your mercy. You could
have finished me off if you wanted to. Why would I seek to inflame
your ire even more by joking around?"
"Maybe you were trying to soften me up. Not that I see how you
could have thought that would ever work."
"Don't you?" You step up to him, the line of your body in a
challenging stance. "You kissed me back."
His eyes narrow; confusion, realization, and finally denial
battle in their depths. His body fidgets, seeming to want to retreat.
"What are you—I did not kiss you back."
You respond in the same stony voice. "Yes, you did."
Your gazes remain locked for a long time, one defiant, one
determined, both refusing to give an inch.
"You enjoyed it, whether you want to admit it or not. Denying it
is not going to change that."
"I'll bet you loved that," Ron says bitterly. "Just the thing to
hold over my head."
Laughter suddenly bubbles up inside you. A smile laced with
hysteria shadows your voice.
"You think I'd try to blackmail you with this? I kissed you,
remember? I was the one who was weak and beaten in front of you, who
made myself open to humiliation. If word gets out of this the
reputation I have been building since I came to Hogwarts will vanish
instantly. I'm the one who should worry, not you." You pause, looking
steadily into those tumultuous hazel orbs. "You still think I'm
playing?"
You both stand motionless, staring at each other for the longest
time. There is a flash, a new understanding in Ron's eyes. You feel
the tension between you shift and change, still there but in a new
form, a more uncertain form. Then he looks away and the connection is
broken. Your hands tighten and you suppress a weary sigh. You know
you weren't expecting much —if anything at all— but disappointment
clouds your vision nevertheless.
You walk around him and begin making your way to the dungeons.
"No."
The softly spoken word halts you before you can take more than a
few steps. You turn, wondering. He doesn't look up at you as he
speaks.
"No, I don't think you're playing. But, Malfoy…"
He turns to look at you. Your breath stills as you see the softer
light in his eyes.
"This is so unexpected, to say the least. I mean, you're Draco
Malfoy. You insult me and mock me every chance you get. Besides
Snape, you're the most evil bastard I've ever met."
"Oi! Enough with the flattery. It'll get you nowhere with me."
His lips quirk upwards in an almost smile, but his voice does not
change its confused tone.
"How can you want me? You hate me."
"I never hated you," you say with utmost sincerity. "That honor
has always been reserved for your friend Potter. You were just an
amusing bonus. I didn't want to like you. It was as surprising to me
as it was to you. Of course at first I found the stench of poverty
revolting, your blind devotion to Potter pathetic, and the
expressions I can bring up to your face hilarious." You notice the
color rapidly rising to Ron's cheeks and the anger that begins to
sparkle anew in his eyes so you swiftly proceed. "Then I actually
began to find your quirks charming, endearing even. Then I started to
look at you, I mean really look at you, and I noticed things that I
had not seen before or never cared to see. You're hot for one thing."
"What?" A disbelieving and slightly insecure smile crosses his
mouth. "I am not hot."
"Oh, please, you're fucking sexy. Hasn't anyone ever told you?"
Ron shakes his head. "They must be blind not to notice."
A warm flush reddens Ron's face and his eyes flicker down shyly,
but pleased. You smile at the sight.
"You embody all that which a Gryffindor is supposed to be."
Ron looks up in surprise at that.
"You hate Gryffindors."
"I'm a Slytherin. As I general rule I do; you are exempt from
that rule. To tell a secret, I actually find some of the Gryffindor
traits to be worthy of admiration. You're loyal, brave…I still think
the self-sacrificing is pathetic, though."
" Just because Slytherins don't care about anyone but themselves."
"You'd be surprised. Besides, I have no desire to see you get
yourself killed for Potter. I would be very displeased if you did.
You're no good to me dead."
He contemplates you as if seeing you for the first time.
"You really care, don't you?"
"Yes," you respond without hesitation. "Yes I do, to my
misfortune. I can't get you out of my head. I look at someone else
and it is your face I see. I hear your voice even when you're not
around, in class, in the Common Room, when I'm lying in bed trying to
sleep and not dream about you. I hate Potter now even more because of
you. Every time I see you smile in his direction I want to beat him
into a bloody pulp."
"Wow." Ron's voice, like his face, is surprised and awed. "I
really bother you that much?"
"You bother me so much I'm not sure whether I want to beat you or
kiss you."
"Well, you did both today." He rubs a spot on his ribs. "You have
sharp elbows."
"And you have hard fists."
"Did it help?"
"You tell me."
He ponders this for a few moments, his eyes unsure.
You keep your face impassive, but your hands are slick with sweat
and your stomach feels sick with nervousness.
"Listen, Malfoy…"
Your stomach makes a sharp lurch and you struggle to keep the
disappointment from your face, certain that he is about to reject you.
"I'm not really sure what to do. I've hated you for so long and
now this. I'm still shocked. And it's not like I can go from hating
you to liking you in an hour. But if what you say really is true," he
turns a firm eye on you, but his gaze soon softens, "I don't see why
I can't try."
Your heart melts, freezes, and then melts again. The warmth you
had lost comes back slowly to heat your body.
"You mean that?" Your happiness shows in your voice.
"I do. Especially if it gets me more kisses like that. That was
the best kiss I've ever had."
"Told you you enjoyed it. Though it would have been better if you
had responded at least a little more."
Ron grins and your heart sings. For the first time, that grin is
directed at you.
"There will have to be some conditions, though," he says,
business like.
Your smile falters. "What conditions?"
"No more making fun of me—"
"Well, that's obvious."
"Or my friends."
That one isn't unexpected, either, but you scowl nonetheless.
"I least I hope you don't expect me to be friendly with them."
"No. I know better than to expect that much. Just please try to
be civil. You do know how to be civil, don't you?"
"Ha, ha. If that's the price to get you I suppose I will have to
try. But I can't make any guarantees."
"Good. Now, um, there is one more thing." He lowers his eyes, his
skin suffused with a warm glow. When he looks at you again, his eyes
gleam with a light somewhere on the edge of shyness and
licentiousness. "Do you think you could kiss me again?"
Joy spreads like wildfire in your being, hot and consuming. You
smile and seize that rich, warm, moist, divine mouth with your own.
You sink into his heat and the last vestiges of ice melt away.

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