Author: Seren/ our_innocence
Rating: T, for references to sex.
Summary: Oh, it was no great epiphany; no choir of angels came to tell of his sudden conversion to the Bisexual Side. Ron briefly touches on domestic life with one Draco Malfoy, and how things have changed since his divorce from Hermione. Ron/Draco, mentions of past Ron/Hermione and Hermione/Blaise.
A/N: For mithostiel. This story makes no sense.
I still like it.
Sometimes it just seems that life moves so quickly that every day existence is reduced to flashing streams of light.
And he's rather be home.
Ron walks down the streets of downtown London. The business day is over and truth be told, he's not a huge fan of the city. He's here for official this and mandatory that, and he'd rather not be. Oh, it's not that he's terribly worried about running into his ex-wife- he and Hermione are still terribly, terribly good friends and affectionate with one another, just not in that smashing-good-romp sort of way- or that he'll be overwhelmed by the Muggle world. Thirty-five years of friendship with Hermione Jane Granger, formerly Hermione Jane Weasley, and soon to be Hermione Jane Zabini, will prepare for you most things. And thirty-five years of friendship with Harry James Potter will take care of everything that Hermione didn't.
Well, almost everything.
He has children, now; he is (somewhat) responsible. He can drive, he has a job, and the grief of being poor (though never destitute) is mostly behind him. He has a flat with two extra bedrooms so that little Weasleys, gliding through the painful years of puberty, will have an escape. Though the divorce was mostly amicable, it's still a bit weird when Mummy's lover is over for the weekend.
Not that the excuse makes much sense, since Father's lover is here all the time, as they live with one another. Privately, he thinks Rose just loves having a go at the both of them, because the stories Hermione tells speak of no affection between Ronald Weasley and Draco Malfoy, nothing that would hint at a shared bed and bickering over tea in the morning in the most affectionate manner possible.
And it's not as if he planned for it to go this way; Ron was always rather brash and male and Very, Very Heterosexual. It was always lovely ladies, even after his and Hermione's divorce. It wasn't until Draco Malfoy, git extraordinare stumbled into his life, blindingly drunk and on the verge of separation himself, that everything changed.
Oh, it was no great epiphany; no choir of angels came to tell of his sudden conversion to the Bisexual Side. There were no sparks that first night, just a great lot of vomit as Draco slurred his way through mug after mug of beer, lamenting about a life with a wife who was as loving and responsive as a trout ten days dead and in the freezer. Ron could sympathise, and after several pints himself, he did. The night ended with the two school-rivals singing The Witch Is Back with arms around one another's shoulders. It was all very loud and amusing and, well, very Dumbledore.
Waking up the next day with Draco's hand snaked halfway down his pants was a bit of cold water on the whole situation. Of course, he could have pulled away, but all he thought was way, way too much. So all he said that day was something to the effect of Grsgnahdsis and he went back to sleep, Draco's hand still firmly creeping towards his crotch.
Thank the Lord that Hermione had the children that night.
Sometimes he doesn't know why he remembers these things, it's been so long. The first few months were awkward, with avoiding one another by day and getting absolutely, positively hammered at night, usually ending with a drunken walk to Ron's flat where someone would boldly grope or kiss or something else wildly inappropriate. Poor Rose is still recovering from walking in on a shirtless Draco trying to spank Ron's bottom after too many lemon twists.
Hermione had upbraided Ron to the high heavens for exposing Rose to that sort of behaviour, before bursting into hysterical giggles. Oddly enough, it had been Ron and Draco's relationship that had saved his friendship with Hermione; his honesty helped her move on, and helped him understand that he still had his best friend.
The night continues on as Ron, annoyed and with soaked feet, shuffles rather pathetically towards a proper Portkey point. He can't just Disapparate right then and there; he stood in the light of Buckingham and there will still tourists out and about, for some ungodly reason. All he wants his home, with Draco and hot tea with a generous amount of something alcoholic in it.
How the years fly by.
He's old enough to admit that his own thoughts don't always make sense; it's like the same song is always playing, but different people are playing it, so the rhythm is always a little off and the timing is a bit different. Time is going in every direction but the one it's supposed to. He thought that, at his age, he'd be happily married with a lot more children than he has now. But he can't imagine a life with more than his two babies (now and forever, his babies, the joy of his life and the source for all pride), with his ex-wife and his best friend and with the man that he loves, the snide, cruel, grey-eyed and black-hearted little bastard who hogs all the god damned sheets and then has the temerity to complain about Ron's cold feet. Well, his feet wouldn't be so bloody cold if someone wouldn't steal all the covers and wrap them around their bony little ass! He sniffs as he saunters towards his final destination before heading home.
The lights of the street streak before and after him, and life moves with all its frenetic glory. This is the capital, this is the heart of England; it never truly sleeps. Life goes on, with or without you, but Ron is looking for a very different life tonight. He lurches tiredly towards the rather grumpy looking stuffed cat that perches in a window; home is calling to him and his sore feet.
Time may be moving faster than he is, but it will never move faster than a pair of pale arms and a receeding hairline that welcomes him home everynight, and in that, Ronald Weasley is content.