Happy Springsmut, ria_awesome!
Author: gala_apples
Recipient: arcadian_dream
Title: Needs and Wants
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Ron/Neville, with brief mention of past relationships
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Ron has dozens of reasons to be straight, but one reason to be queer.
Warnings: homophobia, hurtful Weasleys and Hermione.
Word Count: ~3,500
Author's Notes: I tried to add as many of your likes as possible. This centres around hurt/comfort, with desperation, and messiness featured, and slight mentions of bondage and foodsex. My original Ginny/Luna/Neville failed miserably, I couldn't write the het of it. I hope you like this just as much.



Ron's always been unlucky in love. Krum fell in love with his best friend, Fleur mocked him, Terry only wanted sex, and Hermione went mad. So it's really not surprising that once again his needs are opposed to his wants.

The last thing Ron would ever want to do is to hurt Neville, but if this doesn't stop, they'll have to stop. Neville is always acting inappropriately. Like now, for instance. Ron casually moves his left hand from the table to his thigh. He clamps his hand around Neville's fingers, which are playing with the bulge of his crotch under his robes. Neville looks at him briefly, Ron shakes his head slightly. No words are exchanged because Harry is right across the table, completely oblivious. Harry's so out of the loop he thinks Ron and Hermione had merely had a really bad breakup. It's true, but he doesn't need to know the underlying reason, and he doesn't know everything else.

Neville is constantly nearly outing them, and it has to stop. Ron needs to be closeted because he has more to lose. Neville's parents are gone and his gran is elderly and will die soon. Ron's already lost his family because of Hermione's big fucking mouth; he can't afford to lose his friends. Harry most of all.

Ron tries to bring it up later, but it's hard to get private time with nine people in the seventh year dorm room. All the younger years had moved up a year like normal with slightly modified classes, whilst the seventh years who wanted to graduate had to repeat their year. It's odd having eight roommates instead of four. At the same time, it comes as a relief. Ginny and Hermione sharing a room is a perfect excuse for them spending time only with each other, completely ignoring him. Harry is able to come up with his own reasons, at one point even trying to console him by telling him that no little sisters want to hang out with their older brothers. It's false, Ginny loves her family, but it's a reason that stops Harry from looking deeper, which is exactly what Ron wants.

After a few aborted attempts, he waits until night. Ron listens carefully, only getting up after hearing the variety of tones in snoring and grumbling and grinding teeth that means everyone in the room is asleep. He stands at the foot of his bed, trying to remember the landscape of discarded books and clothes. The thud of kicking something, or the crash of slipping on a scarf and falling would wake everyone up, which is exactly what he doesn't need.

When he can envision a safe path, he inches his way across the room and climbs into Neville's four poster. He closes the curtains around them. It doesn't surprise Ron that he's awake, Neville doesn't sleep much anymore.

"Neville, you know I love you." His throat closes on the word love, but it's true.

Neville only frowns at this first declaration. "That can't be good."

"What?" He looks in confusion at Neville, who sighs and puts his book down. Percy would cry at the splayed book, complaining about cracked spines and structural integrity. But Ron doesn't care for two reasons; it's not the kind of thing he would care about normally, and Percy will never have a conversation with him again, about books or anything else.

"Ron, don't try to tell me there wasn't a 'but'."

"Wasn't a but. It was just a... bugger, I don't know. Plea? I can't be caught." He smiles painfully and crawls forwards towards Neville, putting his hands on his shoulders. "I. Love. You" He says each word with emphasis. He wants the words so strong they drill into Neville's soul, he wants it impossible to deny the truth of the words. "But I need to be silent, to be single for everyone else. And if you can't have a boyfriend that can't be a boyfriend, I guess I understand," he bites his lip. He can't do this; he wants Neville to say everything will be okay. He needs the comfort and love of the man in front of him.

After a torturous silence, Neville cups his face and pulls him closer. The kiss is deep, open mouthed with no tongue, more for reassurance then passion.

"I love you too, and part of the you that I love is that you hide. I don't know the future, but now we're fine. Go back to bed. Unless you want to stay and I'll wake you up before everyone else?" Since Alecto and Amycus and hiding in the room of requirement, Neville's gained the ability to wake up nearly on cue.

The offer is tempting. The few times they've slept together, Neville's held him. There's a sense of safety, of peace that infiltrates when he can fall asleep with his back pressed against someone so warm and strong. He never dreams of Harry's death when Neville is holding him. But it's late, and he's tired, and it's so risky. Neville might not wake up, and then Jack will find them together and the last safe part of his world collapses too.

"I've gotta go back," spoken like the distance is countries away, not five beds over. He stands, but his fingers linger on the flannel sheets before he leaves.

****

It's not that he blames Harry for being alone. Harry's only gone to talk to Hermione and Ginny. Ron knows that it must be hard for Harry to all of a sudden have to choose sides between his almost-girlfriend and best mate, and other best mate. That's not to say that Ron isn't pleased to see for the most part his side's been winning.

It's just... it's lonely to be sitting on the corner of the couch. No one is facing him, failing miserably at chess. No one is beside him, frantically studying and writing notes for a class the professor gives notes for anyway. No one is paying any attention to him at all, and Ron hates it when that happens.

As he's about to stand and challenge Seamus to a game of exploding snap, Neville sits down. The larger boy is practically in his lap, and while it sends a surge of unconditional love through him, it also brings on panic. He can't even hiss at Neville to stop, because those words would attract the attention of others. Instead he scoots as far as he can into the armrest, and shoves at Neville a bit while laughing. Laughing in the Gryffindor common room shouldn't attract attention.

Neville responds by putting his head on Ron's left shoulder, and Ron nearly dies. Didn't Neville hear a word he said the night before last? He shudders away.

"Stop. It's alright." Before Ron can contradict his boyfriend, Neville whisks something over them. It takes him a second to realise the reason the world now has silvery streaks is because the Invisibility Cloak is draped over them.

"Where'd you?" After years of conditioning with Harry and risk, his voice automatically drops to a whisper as soon as he's wearing the cloak. Mind you, this is no less risky, what Neville is doing.

"Where do you think?" Neville whispers into his ear. "I took it from his trunk. He won't miss it."

And there are many reasons why this is a bad idea, not the least of which is that someone might sit down where they are, in what looks like an empty seat. Sitting on their entangled bodies would out them, not to mention let the Gryffindors know about the cloak. Yet somehow all of that doesn't matter, because Neville's warm breath is making his ear tingle. When Neville bites down lightly Ron squirms and pulls at Neville. He scoots closer, and with the fire bouncing off dozens of people, turning their faces golden, they sit beneath the silver streaks that keep them safe and touch each other.

***

It's been months since he's spoken to his family. The despondent part of him thinks he might never talk to them again. After all, Ginny's been feet away at times, and she can't strum up the kindness to start a conversation. How could Ron expect any other member to take time out of their day to try?

So when an owl swoops down in front of Ginny with a letter, a knot forms in his stomach. He knows he's not going to get anything, and he knows Ginny won't let him read her letter. It hurts how much he misses his family. He thunks his spoon into his porridge and stirs it around absently, tuning out from Harry's commentary. The man is reading letters to the editor from Quidditch Monthly, constantly interrupting himself to make snide remarks or add points to the argument.

To Ron's surprise the owl flaps it's wings down the table, and stops in front of him. With shaking hands he unties the letter, and gives the owl a strip of bacon. It ruffles its wings and takes off. He stares at the innocent looking envelope. He doesn't want to open it, but the longer it takes him, the more likely Harry will realise something is off. He might even want to read it.

Still, he can't bring himself to tear at the seal until Neville kicks him beneath the table.

Dear Ron,

The last time I saw you... now that was quite a debacle, wasn't it? I know you think you play for the other team, but think about it a moment. You love Hermione, you snogged that bird, and God knows you would have had sex with my wife if she'd have wanted to. You're not actually queer. The sooner you come to your senses, the better off everyone is. Do it before Christmas, wouldn't want to miss George putting exploding coal in the stockings.

Love Always,
Bill

Ron clamps down, stuffing the letter into his pocket. Keeping his voice level he's able to get out, "forgot my potions book" at Harry. Harry offers to share his, but Ron is already halfway to the door.

The moment he's out the Great Hall doors, he bursts into a run. He's seen Jack and Andrew and Geoffrey at breakfast, and Seamus and Dean had morning detention. And though he hasn't actually seen Ritchie, the boy would rather eat his own arm then miss breakfast. As the list of his dorm mates runs through his head, Ron they're all checked off, and that means it's safe. He takes the stairs two at a time, and rips the curtains closed with great enthusiasm.

Once he's surrounded by silence and darkness, it's easy to let go. Ron starts crying, quiet at first. But it's like a train, his tears build up to an unstoppable momentum. He gets louder as his gasps of air get harder to suck in until he's quaking with each sob. His pillow is going to be damp tonight, unless he tells a house-elf to fix it.

He'd always known that Charlie would react with ugliness. There was no room for poncy qualities in a dragon reserve. Sure enough, Charlie hadn't disappointed him, calling him every cruel name under the sun, seemingly to the delight of Hermione. Ginny had joined in, a surprise. He'd suspected too that Percy would think homosexuality illogical. There was a ten child breeder if ever a Weasley was. Ron'd heard from Seamus that some Christians thought wasting sperm was evil, Percy'd fit right in that religion.

On the other hand, George and Fred and Bill were supposed to be his supporters. But Fred was gone, and George had turned harder without his presence. Though he hadn't made the remarks, he hadn't said anything to prevent it. Nor had Bill. Turning their backs was the kindest response he had gotten.

And now? Bill's idea of reaching out was just telling him he wasn't what he was. It was bullshit, and it was horrible, and Ron was alone. For the first time in his life, he had absolutely no support.

He hears the door open, and he bolts upright. Ron grabs for his wand, though he doesn't know why — it's not like he's going to Obliviate someone for seeing him cry. He might not be a man anymore, according to Charlie, but there's no need to over-compensate and get violent.

"Ron?" After seven years, it's impossible to not recognise that voice. Still, he doesn't respond. His voice goes strange when he cries, Neville will notice in a second flat.

It doesn't matter anyway. He hears Neville's muttered swears as he kicks Jack's cauldron, and then his curtains open. He can't hide his tears, even if he wiped them away his face is still red and his eyes are probably pink. Neville doesn't say anything, only climbs on his bed. He lays down and pulls at Ron's limbs until Ron falls back. He collapses onto Neville, shaggy red hair spread across the clean white landscape of Neville's shirt. His hand strokes down Ron's arm in a slow soothing rhythm. They're both big men, but Ron is taller while Neville is thicker, and Neville has larger hands. It wouldn't surprise him if Neville still had soil under his nails. That he loves nature is one of the things Ron loves about him.

Still, Ron cries. He cries because he's not sure if he can ever stop, not sure that he won't always be crying on the inside from now evermore. But it's a different sort of crying then it had been a minute ago. Now he cries knowing it's safe, that Neville will do his best to save him. After Fred, Ron's aware that not everyone can survive. But Neville will try.

***

When he wakes up, it's much later. The sun bleeds through the closed curtains, making their scene burgundy. The inside of his mouth tastes awful, and his left arm is completely numb. As he shifts his weight to get the blood circulating again, Neville sighs deeply and moves. Ron sits. Neville tugs his horrendously creased shirt down as if trying to pull out the wrinkles. It's cute enough that Ron snaps.

He twists his body, and again pins Neville to the bed. This time it's thighs on thighs, not head on chest. He's hard, he always wakes up hard, whether it's a ten minute cat nap or a twelve hour crash. He thrusts against Neville in a rhythm all of his own; any ideas of being a thoughtful reciprocating partner negated by need and desire. Three fast rutting thrusts, followed by two steady presses like his groin is trying to crawl inside Neville's.

He adjusts his balance, moving over so his cock is pressing against Neville's right leg instead of the V between them. Ron rests belly against belly, down Neville's body far enough that their noses meet. His nails scratch along the smooth cotton of Neville's sides, black robes pooled on either side of his accepting body. He must look like a turtle trying in vain to flip itself to its right side, rocking back and forth like he is. He doesn't care.

It doesn't take long for Ron to come, soaking his pants and trousers, and probably Neville's as well. Feverishly he gropes his boyfriend outside his trousers. He's only half hard, but with Ron massaging him it's a quick trip to fully erect, and only a few motions beyond that to a dark stain.

It's then that Ron realises he hadn't actually asked Neville if he wanted to have sex. Ron opens his mouth to apologise, but Neville nudges his head up the few inches and kisses him silent. "It's alright, it was the emotion. I love you."

"I love you, too."

***

It's a bit awkward to be standing here, like nothing's changed. They used to use the Room of Requirement for better training in Defence, and whilst there were good times in Dumbledore's Army, watching half-strangers accomplish a Patronus then hugging another half-stranger with glee, it always had an undercurrent of seriousness. To want to use the room in such a frivolous way almost seems... disrespectful. Ron imagines it's even worse for Neville, having used the room as a safe haven in dark times to use it for play.

But it can't be helped. There's just no where else that's available. And if they don't fuck soon, Ron is going to die.

They both have the same intention, but Neville stands aside as Ron paces in front of the room. 'I need to find somewhere to ravish Neville. I need somewhere to ravish Neville. I need somewhere to ravish Neville.' Almost as if Neville can hear his thoughts, when he looks behind him, the man is blushing.

A door appears in the wall, and for that Ron's bollocks are forever grateful. He reaches behind him and grabs Neville's hand with his left, turning the knob with his right. It's almost like Christmas morning, the room like some gigantic present, never sure what you're going to get.

On the other hand, sometimes the room knows you a little too well. This time it's small, a king sized bed taking up most of the room. That's normal, only to be expected. Ron would be surprised if Neville's pacing wouldn't call up the same thing. The candles hovering at different heights, the fireplace... well, maybe he's a little romantic, but whomever said that was a bad thing? What's different is the choice of accessories the room has. There's a side table with what looks like the full set of ingredients for a Florean Fortescue sundae. Under the table is a wicker basket full of sex toys, the kind of thing he's only thought about. He's wary about using them, because just because his imagination thinks something would work well, doesn't mean they won't hurt like hell if he tries them out.

Worst of all, the wall has shackles on it, like he's borrowed an idea or two from Filch. It's his turn to go red, surely Neville will think him a total deviant. Next time (if there is a next time, if you haven't scared him off a cruel voice that sounds so much like Hermione adds) Neville's going to open the damned room.

Neville stands near the closed door, just looking. Ron is hard as hell; he's been hard half the day — that was the point of coming here. And somehow the humiliation of Neville knowing what he really wants makes him harder. He pictures Neville bending him over his knee. His free hand unconsciously rubs across his trousers.

Neville pulls away, hand leaving his. The air sticks in Ron's lungs, but Neville walks forward, not back through the door. He goes towards the wall with the cuffs, Ron follows after a moment. If he has to explain, body contact and eye contact will help the I'm Not A Pervert side of the argument.

But Neville stands with his back against the wall. His arms are in the air, wrists lightly resting along the metal curve of the open manacles. Ron breathes in, more a gasp of awe then anything else. In all his imaginings, he'd always been the one tied down, chained to the wall, legs locked together. Seeing Neville like that- the one coherent word Ron comes up with is potential. He surges forward and presses Neville hard against the wall, kissing him with a passion he's not sure he's ever felt. Neville's arms come down then wrap around his stomach, fingers dancing on his back.

Ron pulls away, pushes Neville's arms back up. "No. Keep them up." he murmurs, before going at that spot on Neville's neck that makes him moan. He wonders what expression Neville's got — is he smirking at him, or creeped out, or — but can't be arsed to move away enough to see.

It doesn't take long for Ron to think better of things and drop to his knees. Neville's wearing trousers under his robes. It seems to take a terribly long time for Ron to unhook the four buttons and pull the trousers and pants down. Once down, he just looks for a moment. Sex smells, something that the horrendously embarrassing talks from parents and siblings don't mention. There's a girl smell, and a boy smell, and Ron quite likes the boy smell. Likes Neville's in particular of course, but could spend ages with his nose against a man's groin, just breathing.

Having a cock in his mouth is distracting, of course. Or rather, having something to focus on makes all his constantly buzzing thoughts fade away. But when he's crawling a few inches back, wiping the come off his mouth, the thoughts come back, one above all others. Having this is worth having Ginny hate him. He finally understands Percy's 'betrayal', understands how there are some things that are so meaningful to your life that you have to be willing to sacrifice all others.