Author: Lash_larue

Title: "Weasley really IS our King"

Pairing: Ron/? - Malfoy

Rating: M

Summary: right

Warnings:All of them

Word Count: 1240

Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling

A/N Not really good, but it couldn't be, given the bunny. Thanks to she who must not be named. Over in Scotland, I think she is...

"Weasley really IS our King..."

"Still crying, Weasley?" asked Draco Malfoy as he strutted into the Gryffindor dressing room. "I see all your teammates have left already, are you hiding out from them? Ashamed of the 18 goals you let past?"

In point of fact, Ron was hiding out. He always did. Ron Weasley never dressed, undressed, or showered with any of his teammates, roommates, or friends. He was shy, and with good reason.

"Weasley," called Draco as he wandered back towards the showers, "you can't hide in here forever you know. Sooner or later you'll get hungr…" Draco's mouth fell open, but no sound came from it anymore. Ron had not heard his approach because of the noise of the shower, and because he was busy washing… "What the fuck is that then, Weasley?" gasped Draco through lips suddenly gone dry. Ron started hugely, and whirled around. There was the slap of flesh on flesh.

"Malfoy! What the hell are you doing here?" cried Ron as he struggled in vain to cover himself.

For a moment, Malfoy had no reply at all, he was simply bug-eyed speechless. He recovered at last. "How in hell do you walk with that, let alone fly?" asked Draco incredulously. "You could put someone's eye out with that thing!"

"It's not funny, Malfoy," snapped Ron. "The damn thing gets in the way all the time. I don't dare go on a date. Why do you think I hang out with Hermione? She's the only girl in the school that doesn't wake this thing up."

Draco took a moment to imagine Ron's penis awake, and a shiver shot through his frame. "Does it have its own birth certificate?" asked Draco in wonder.

"Not that it's any of your business, but this happened after the Triwizard. Fleur Delacour broke something loose in me."

"I'll say," said Draco, licking his lips. "You know Weasley, a thing like that could open a lot of doors, so to speak." Draco could not believe he was talking like this to Ronald Weasley, blood traitor. But that was a pure-blood dream of a dong if he'd ever seen one, and he'd for sure never seen one like that.

"What do you mean?" asked Ron, forgetting for a moment to be nasty to Draco.

"Well, perhaps I should have said legs. Pansy Parkinson for one would PAY to get some of that thing. And the Parkinsons are rich," insisted Draco.

"Pansy wouldn't be caught dead with me," insisted Ron.

"Maybe not, but I'm ruddy sure she'd cough up to not get caught with you. You do fancy girls, don't you Weasleking?"

"Of course I do, you little ferret," snapped Ron, but he did notice that Draco's eyes sparkled in the lights of the shower room.

"Then just sit on that bench over there, put on a sweater, and pull it over your head. I'll be right back with something your pet alligator will really like," Draco directed.

"Is this some kind of a joke, Malfoy?"

"I can't blame you for thinking so, Weasley. But for once I'm shooting straight with you. This is business. I'll be right back. Don't you dare leave."

Ron knew better, he really did. This was Draco Malfoy, the enemy. There was no way in the world he meant Ron any good. Ron started to get up and leave, when he was halted by a gasp from a person unknown. He cowered beneath his sweater.

"Damn, Draco, you were telling the truth," said an awe-struck female voice. "Here. Now leave us alone."

Ron heard some muttered incantations, and then felt his cock being cradled by hands far softer than his own.

"I don't know who you are, and I don't want to know. Just lie back and leave everything to me, okay?" breathed Pansy. Ron complied, and the soft hands slowly stroked his suddenly very interested dong. "Merlin," Pansy said softly, "it's magnificent!" Ron felt a bit faint as the blood in his head left for other regions, but he perked up considerably when he felt a hot, wet, tongue running over his knob. His eyes fluttered closed as a hot wetness engulfed his engorged member, and nimble fingers toyed with his balls.

"Unnhhh," moaned Ron.

"Just lie there, if you liked that, you're going to love what comes next," Pansy promised. Not without some trepidation, Pansy straddled the bench and guided Ron's love missile into her heated depths. Her eyes closed, and her breath caught as her cunt adjusted to its new occupant. "Gods!" cried Pansy, "I'm going to split wide open, but it's so good!" Pansy began to move.

Ron was about to faint. Pansy Parkinson, the Slytherin Bitch, was impaling herself on him, and it was better than all the sick, perverted, dreams he had ever had of Minerva McGonagall. He blindly groped upwards, and Pansy guided his hands to her breasts. He felt the motion of Pansy's hips grow rapid, then a bit ratchety, then…

"Fuck!"screamed Pansy. Ron thought they had been. In fact, when he felt Pansy's velvet vise clamp down on him he… "Yes!" shrieked Pansy, "fill me up, you centaur!" Ron tried. He felt a few spasms deep inside Pansy, and then knew a sense of loss as the cool air hit his overheated member.

"Here you go, Draco," he heard Pansy say. "Same time tomorrow? I'll bring friends."

"Done," said Draco in a businesslike voice. "Just make sure they're discreet, or the bologna pony is history. Understand?"

"No worries," said Pansy as she left.

"Weasley, you can sit up now," said Draco.

"What was that all about, Malfoy," said a sated, but still suspicious Ron.

Draco handed him a handful of galleons. "Here's your share, Ron. I trust I can call you Ron, since we are going to be partners?"

Ron counted hastily, "30 galleons?"

"Not enough?" said Draco with a raised eyebrow.

"No, I mean yes, I mean, what's going on?" Ron sputtered.

"Simple, Weasleking. There are plenty of pureblood girls who fancy a bit of action, but the sad fact is, a lot of pureblood males are the victims of inbreeding. Bit light in the basement, if you get my drift. Said pureblood girls cannot bear to get it on with a half-blood or less, so we, with the help of that enormous bat of yours, can clean up. Might be a few boys too, if you're willing, of course, we'd charge more."

Ron was dazed. Pure-blood witches, (and wizards) pay to use this thing he'd been cursed with? "You're winding me up," Ron said flatly.

"Would I hand you 30 galleons for a joke? Malfoys never joke about gold, Weasley. By the time we finish our NEWT's, both of us will be rolling in gold."

"And why should I share it with you, Malfoy?"

"I suppose you are going to go up to a girl and say, 'Hi there, I have a monster cock, pay me to ride it?' " Draco sneered. Ron flushed; he knew that wasn't going to happen. "Besides, I do all the actual work; all you have to do is lie back and enjoy it."

That made sense to Ron. "So does that make you my…"

"Pimp, as the Muggles say, and yes, it does. I think I'll call myself, "Snakemaster Malfoy Smoove, what do you think?"

"Suppose my Mum finds out?" asked Ron querulously.

"We'll give her a discount."