1. My attention span is disturbingly short

2. My Quiet One's gift-fic muse is being obstinately broody and non-Christmas-y

3. Chapter 18 of Origin of Storms sucks.

4. Ron and Draco shagging makes me happy.

So... early Halloween present: Wench!Ron was birthed by ladybeth, although I dont think this is quite what she had in mind *grins*

This is part one (?) of an AU Mutiny!verse cookie - if Archenemy and Endless Love never happened, so some pirate references may not make sense unless you've read Mutiny!. But seriously, there isn't much plot, so it doesn't much matter :) This is slash, dirty R, with a possible NC-17 continuation...


*****
Halloween Treat

“Are you drunk, Weasley?”

Ron jerked his head up and glared at the blond. “No,” he bit out, then turned back to the mirror and flicked open another button on his shirt, pursing his lips and cocking his head thoughtfully.

“A bet then? A dare?” Draco was staring unabashedly at Ron’s legs. They were quite shapely, really; long and pale and bare beneath the shortened, ragged hem.

Ron rolled his eyes at his reflection. “No, Malfoy.”

“So,” Draco finally glanced up at Ron’s face, “why?”

The redhead shrugged, rubbing a hand over his newly shaven face. He missed his beard already, but fair was fair. “It was my turn.”

One of Draco’s brows shot up, eyes silently questioning.

“To be the wench,” Ron elaborated, then shimmied slightly in discomfort. “Mind giving a girl some privacy, Malfoy?” he went on, hiking up his skirts to adjust the boxers underneath. Skirts and shorts didn’t mix all that well.

“You’re standing in the middle of the Prefects bathroom. In a dress.” Draco crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. Really, this was just too good to be true. “Privacy is the last thing I’m going to give you.”

Ron furrowed his brows and spun around, dropping the fine cotton cloth of his pirate costume and placing his hands on his narrow hips. “What?”

Draco’s smirk widened into a leer. “You make a fantastically ugly girl, Weasley,” he commented. He did, too. He was entirely too red, his face entirely too expressive and mobile, his limbs entirely too long, shoulders entirely too broad. Hands entirely too big.

Ron’s eyes rounded and he took a wary step backwards. “Malfoy, what...?” He swallowed hard, disturbed by the predatory gleam in Draco’s irises. His bum hit the edge of the sink and he braced his hands on the porcelain, darting his gaze from Draco to the door and hastily calculating the odds of him actually making it there before the blond accosted him, silently cursing Seamus for insisting he wear the kitten-heeled pumps. What self-respecting pirate wench wore stylish footwear? Shouldn’t he be barefoot? Why hadn’t he protested harder when the Irish git had shoved them into his hands? Well, other than the fact that they did wonders for his calves.

It was just his incredibly bad luck that his turn as tied-to-the-mast-wench fell on Halloween.

Boldly, Draco stepped forward and pressed the flat of his palm against Ron’s chest, his fingertips sliding into the open neck of the Gryffindor-red frock. “However,” Draco went on, eyes narrowed on the redhead’s lips, “You’re passable as a boy.”

“P-passable?” Ron stuttered, somehow insulted and horrified all at once.

“All right,” Draco conceded, amused at the boy’s disgruntlement. “More than passable. Delicious, even,” he purred, then chuckled lightly at the diffused color on Ron’s face.

“Uh…” The redhead leant back and licked his lips, unaccountably turned on. He made a mental note to kill himself later – or at the very least, take a scalding hot bath - but at the moment, his body didn’t much care that it was Draco Malfoy standing before him, one hand on his chest and the other inching down his scantily-clothed thigh.

“Fine legs, Weasley,” Draco commented blithely, his heated eyes belying the casual tone. It was the legs that had cinched it. He’d always imagined that they were spindly and hideously unattractive, which had done much to stave off his budding desire for the redhead since fifth year, but… Ron’s stems were, in the flesh, lean and sinewy and – fuck – so sexy. Draco really couldn’t help himself.

His fingers clenched on Ron’s thigh, bunching the thin material of the dress as well as the redhead’s boxers, revealing the pale skin almost to his hipbone.

“Malfoy,” Ron half-whimpered, sucking in a shallow breath.

Draco shifted forward and Ron instinctively parted his legs, letting the blond move in between them and pin his hips against the sink. “What happens when you’re the wench?” Draco whispered dangerously, his lips touching the sensitive shell of Ron’s ear.

Ron shivered at the hint of jealousy in the blond’s tone. “N-nothing, Malfoy. It’s just pretend.”

“Wrong, Weasley,” Draco hissed, rolling his hips, grinding his arousal with satisfaction against Ron’s rapidly growing one. “I hear things about your crew. Disturbing things. Liked to be tied up, do you?”

Ron shook his head vehemently, pressing back against Draco almost involuntarily, hard as a rock at the blond’s words. Tied up. Shit. “No,” he rasped, voice caught in his throat, then stronger, “No, Malfoy. It’s just for fun.”

Draco nipped Ron’s jaw bone and let out a wicked little laugh. “This’ll be for fun, too. Wench.”