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Summary
It’s not exactly how Ron thought his shift would go—getting stuck in a greenhouse with Draco Malfoy and a load of lust pollen.
He’s on fire from the inside, blood a lava stream of want coursing through his veins. It’s only worse when he looks in Draco’s direction, at that rosy bud of an exposed nipple and the bump in the heft of his trousers where he already knows Draco’s hard. He desperately needs some air.
Fingers quick at his waistband, Ron pulls the hem of his shirt from where it’s tucked into his trousers. He wafts the material, encouraging any sort of circulation to his over-heated skin, but it’s no use. It’s just pushing more sultry air up over his sweat-slicked stomach. He drops the hem, and starts on the buttons instead.
Draco’s eyes flare as the top few buttons are unthreaded. “Weasley—”