Lonely Hearts Club by scheherezhad
Rating: PG-13 for a bit of slash
Author's Notes: This is a response to a challenge between me and the other me. Ron/Oliver; cannot involve Quidditch; must include one of the following quotes: "I want someone to rub my nipples" (must be in a non-sexual context) "Get thee to a nunnery!" or "Ahh! My cinnamon buns fell off!" You get a cookie for including all three quotes.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or other recognizable bits, nor am I making money off of this.
Feedback: Please. Praise me, criticise me, outright flame me. I don't care; I just want to know what you really think. scheherezhad@yahoo.com
"So I said, 'If you don't know who Esther Spargle is, you are missing Out.'"
Ron laughed politely as the rest of the table roared. Usually, he loved Seamus's stories, but he just wasn't feeling it tonight. He'd noticed the past few times he'd been out that these meetings with his old school friends didn't seem as fun as they used to. He found that he preferred quiet chats more than these rowdy drinking nights, and he really wanted someone he could just sit and talk with. He excused himself from the table and went to the bar to get another drink.
After getting his fresh mead, he made his way down to the shadowed end of the bar where he would be out of the way. Only one other patron sat in the dim nook, smoking and minding his own business. Ron sat down with a quiet sigh.
"Well there's a face I haven't seen in a while," the man said a few minutes later.
Ron looked up in surprise, and he squinted a bit in the darkness to make out familiar features. "Oliver Wood?" Now that was a shocker. Ron hadn't seen him since his third year, though he remembered hearing after the war that Oliver had nearly lost an arm trying to rescue a small girl from a collapsing building after a Death Eater attack.
"Hullo, Ron." Oliver shifted on his stool to face Ron. "How've you been?"
The redhead shrugged and let his gaze wander around the bar. "Well enough, eh? Got a steady job in Diagon, and I'm renting a flat in London." He toyed with his mug for a moment. "You?"
"Pretty good, I suppose. Things have been a little...different since the accident." He took a drag off his cigarette. "I'm on the Ministry's dole, for bravery, they say; and things are..." He waved his cigarette aimlessly.
"Oh. So..." Ron cast about for a safer topic. He hadn't known that Oliver had it so rough these days. "Your five year class reunion is coming up, isn't it? I think we'll have to use Mobilicorpus on Percy just to get him out of the office for it."
Oliver finished off his cigarette and lit up another, only showing a slight difficulty in using his right hand. "I don't really think I'll go," he said quietly.
"Why not?" Ron asked, genuinely surprised. Oliver had always been well-liked at Hogwarts. More well-liked by some than others, he thought, then flushed.
"I just don't see a reason to. I've kept in contact with a few people, and the rest I could give a rat's arse about; no one's been too interested in me since the war ended."
Only a supreme act of will kept Ron from uttering the words that hovered on his tongue. I have. I've been interested in you. He couldn't say it - Oliver would laugh him out of the pub if he knew that Ron had had a crush on him since his second year.
They sat silently for a few minutes, and Ron finished off his mead. The dark seemed to close in on him as he watched the other patrons talking and laughing, finally able to feel safe again. He began to feel claustrophobic, the weight of so much friendship and levity pushing on his ears, building to a roar until the bitter spice of Oliver's cigarette smoke brought him out of it.
"Oliver? Would you, ah, would you like to go back to my flat with me? We could have some coffee or something. Talk for a while," Ron offered hesitantly.
The older man's answer was interrupted by another voice.
"Ron, I want someone to rub my nipples," Seamus said, throwing an arm around the redhead's shoulders.
"Uh, Seamus, I think you're a bit drunk."
"No, really. Look." Seamus lifted his shirt to reveal that his nipples had been pierced recently. "They're all sore and achy, and I need someone to rub them."
"I don't think that--"
"Excuse us, Seamus," Oliver cut in smoothly, "but Ron and I were just leaving."
Comprehension - or what he thought to be comprehension - dawned on Seamus's face, and he grinned lasciviously. "Oh, it's like that, is it? I'd best leave you to it, then."
Oliver inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, then he pulled Ron away from the bar and out of the pub. Just before they were out of Seamus's sight, he reached down and pinched Ron's arse.
On the street, Ron turned to face him, an incredulous expression on his face. "You grabbed my arse!"
"I figured we might as well give him a bit of a show. You're not too mad, are you?"
Ron shook his head and grinned. "He was thinking it, anyway. And I see that look in your eye - I'm pure as the driven snow, so don't even think about seducing me, you lecherous fiend. Nay, get thee to a nunnery!"
They looked at one another, then burst into laughter. A couple passing on the sidewalk gave them funny looks as they were calming down, but that only set them off again. Ron ended up bracing himself on a lamppost, clutching his side.
"I haven't laughed like that in years, Ron," Oliver said as he regained his composure. "Thanks."
"Yeah. I, uh...You're welcome."
Oliver gave him a breathtaking smile. "So how about that coffee?"
"...and the next thing I know, he's gone head-over-arse off the boat, into the lake."
Ron swiped at his watering eyes as he laughed; Percy had never told him how he and Oliver had first met, but this story was priceless.
"All the other first years were absolutely howling, so I went 'Ahh! My cinnamon buns fell off!' and jumped in after him. It was my fault in the first place, after all. When we got back in our boat, he sort of smiled at me, and we've been friends ever since," Oliver said.
"Now I know why he never told me that story," Ron said, picking up his coffee mug. "And I can't believe you nicknamed him Cinnamon Buns - he never would have heard the end of it if any of us had known."
Oliver smiled and lifted his own cup for a drink. "That's exactly why he didn't tell you, on both counts," he agreed. He yawned as he set the cup back on the kitchen table, and a quick glance at the clock above the window had him grimacing. "Nearly eleven? I hadn't realized that it was so late. I ought to go, let you go to bed."
"You don't have to go, Oliver," Ron said, rising with him. "It's not all that late for me, I mean, and I've enjoyed talking. It's been nice, catching up."
"Yeah, it has, but I've taken up enough of your time tonight. I don't want to be a bother."
Ron licked his lips. Now or never, Ron. He laid a hand on Oliver's arm. "You could stay."
"Ron," Oliver began, his voice carefully measured. "Are you asking me to stay, or to stay?"
A sad expression crossed Ron's face. "I'll take what I can get. I'm used to doing that - I'm a Weasley, remember?"
He got only a glimpse of the hungry look in Oliver's eye before the other man pulled him into a kiss.
Morning arrived, dull and grey, but Ron woke feeling content and pleasantly sore. The previous night replayed itself in his mind's eye, and he smiled. Oliver had turned out to be a brilliant lover. They'd worked well together, and there had only been one slightly embarrassing moment when Oliver's bad arm had almost given out. But it had been brilliant, nonetheless. Still smiling, Ron stretched and looked to the other side of the bed.
It was empty.
The sheets were cold, and only his own clothes lay scattered on the floor.
"Oliver?" he called, vainly hoping for a reply. None was forthcoming.
Well, he'd said he would take what he could, and it looked like one night was all he got.