Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit is being made through the writing of this, monetary or otherwise.

A/N: Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry's July Fortnight Two, Going Postal. Section 6:Postcard, setting: Quidditch Changing Rooms. This is set in the same 'universe' as "Dear Dream Diary," "Pay Attention to Me," "Like a Lost Puppy," and "A Future Not so Dark with Him By My Side" in which Ron is infatuated with Draco because of a dream that he had.

"Here, let me get that for you." Draco's hands are soft and warm, yet Ron still jerks when he places them on Ron's aching shoulders, helping him with the shoulder pads. They're bulky and heavy, and Ron can't so much as lift his hands, let alone lift them off, right now. It had been a long, close game and Ron had been hit more than once with the bludger, and one of the other team's players had hit him with a full body slam. They'd still won, but Ron was more than a little sore.

"Thanks," Ron says, closing his eyes, willing himself not to flinch when Draco's fingers brush against a particularly sensitive patch of skin once the Quidditch gear's gone.

"I'll get something from Professor Snape to help ease some of the bruising," Draco says, long, thin fingers splayed out across Ron's shoulders. When he starts to knead the knots in Ron's neck, Ron groans, head falling forward to give Draco more room to work on his neck.

"Here, sit down." Draco helps Ron sit down on the bench, and it's only after Draco's fingers have drawn a rather obscene sounding moan from him that he thinks to look around the changing rooms. They're empty.

"We're alone," Draco says, voice tight, fingers a little more harsh in their attention to the knots.

Smiling, Ron captures one of Draco's hands in his own, draws it to his mouth and presses a kiss to the palm.

"I don't care who sees us," he says, some of the exhaustion from the game leaving him at the thought of being alone in the Quidditch changing rooms with Draco and his magical fingers. "I love you and I don't care who knows."

It's the first time either of them has said those three powerful little words, and Ron holds his breath, only letting it out when Draco's lips brush against the back of his neck, and linger to kiss along his spine, making him shudder.

"I love you, too, weasel," Draco says, hopping over the bench to stand in front of Ron.

His silver eyes are glittering in the dim light. To Ron they look beautiful, hungry, and the air between them is charged with something altogether magical. Ron swallows. He can feel himself blushing when Draco puts hands on Ron's shoulders and climbs onto Ron's lap.

"This okay?" Draco asks, moving his hands to Ron's face, gently tracing a nasty bump on Ron's forehead, courtesy of a bludger gone rogue.

"Yeah," Ron says, breathless.

Ron licks his lips and nods, gaze dropping to Draco's lips, zeroing in on the pink of them and the way that Draco sucks his bottom lip between his teeth before he drags Ron into a kiss that's equal parts fire and ice. It steals his breath, his heart.

When Draco pulls back for air, Ron chases after him, not wanting their kiss to ever end. There's a startled gasp, followed by a squeaky, "Oh," but Ron doesn't let it deter him, even though he recognizes the person to whom the squeaky voice belongs to as his younger sister.

Draco's cheeks pink with embarrassment, and he hides his face against Ron's neck when Ginny utters an apology and makes a hasty retreat. Ron chuckles and runs his fingers over the tense muscles in Draco's shoulders thinking that he'd be content to stay here, on a wooden bench in the Quidditch changing rooms, forever locked in Draco's embrace.