Out Of Desire
Ron's not for Neville and honestly, that's fine by Neville. He's used to not getting what he wants. It's always a pleasant surprise when he gets to have the last tea cake, or someone's remembered to save back some dinner for when he's gotten off patrol. Neville's aware that this sounds pathetic, but it's nonetheless true. Really, he'd muck a good thing up if he had, so it's best that good things are not for Neville.
Ron's wet and clean, straight out of the bath, and Neville's not thinking of smearing dirt down Ron's back. A smudged line ending on the curves of Ron's not unappealing buttocks.
Neville can't have Ron as anything more than a mate, a comrade. There will be absolutely no throwing him down to the dirt floor of their sad Muggle tent and seeing what the freckles dusting his chest taste like.
Whatever they taste like, they're not for Neville. Ever.
Ron's a hero, a hero's best friend, and sometimes a heroine's boyfriend. Some day people will talk about Ronald Weasley in the same breath as the famous Harry Potter and Neville -- if he hasn't died or fallen through any inconvenient veils -- will nod and say, that's right, Ron Weasley's a hero.
And heroes and Neville don't mix.
Ron's starting to feel a bit paranoid when he comes back after patrol. Neville's not a bad sort, not at all. He's far less awkward now, as if the constant threat of real, not Snape-induced, danger has provided Neville with an intangible confidence. Not as he'd say it out loud, but after Harry and Hermione, there's no one Ron'd want by his side other than Neville. Well, perhaps Ginny, but that's only because she has a mean left hook and a way with less-than-savory curses.
No, it's not that Ron doesn't like Neville, not at all. It's just that he's been staring at Ron a lot. Hard to notice at first. Partners look out for each other, see, so Neville was just looking after his partner, making sure he hadn't fallen into a ditch or anything. But it's hard to not notice Neville's staring holes into his back. It's equally difficult to not turn around and demand to know what Neville's on about.
Ron doesn't want to embarrass Neville. And he's not about to ruin their partnership.
Besides, he's not entirely sure that he wants Neville to stop.
"I will never get this crap out of my hair." Ginny held up several gingery strands as proof, wrinkling her nose at the distinct smell of petrol that came from them.
"Didn't I say 'duck'?" Neville replied in a reasonable tone, swooping down a bit to enter the tent.
Ginny followed, gathering her bubotoober (and goodness knows what else) coated hair into a sticky, matted bun. "I was too busy preventing those two Death Eaters from murdering you. So sorry."
Neville grinned at the sarcasm. Trust Ginny to turn what had really been a bit of a close call into a minor hair emergency whilst out for a stroll. He pulled his robe off his head and pulled on the cleanest shirt he saw.
"Here, let me take care of your hair." Neville guided Ginny down to sit on his cot as he joined her. With a masterful swish and flick, Neville removed the grime from Ginny with a modified version of Scourgify that came in quite handy these days, what with the rare chances for bathing.
Ginny sighed with pleasure. "Thanks, dear. Hate having my hair mussed, makes me feel like I'm 10 again and Fred and George are using me as a guinea pig for their latest invention."
With a soft pat on her back, Neville rose from his cot. "Any time. Shall we go report to Charlie?"
She waved her hand at him. "No, let me do it. I'm sure you'd rather wait for Ronald to return." Ginny smirked. A most unbecoming smirk on a girl so pretty, Neville thought grumpily.
"I wish you wouldn't say things like that."
"Whyever not? You're perfectly mad for him and I think it's brilliant. Everyone else would to, if you'd just get off your insecurities and have your way with him."
Thoroughly involved in glaring at each other, they were startled to hear a loud "Eeeeep!" from tent flaps.
Raising up from where he'd been crouched on the ground, his wand clutched tightly in one hand, Ron stood quite still at the tent's entrance.
"Dropped my wand. Sorry."
Neville thought a humorous denial might be in order, but as he was never all that good with words, nothing came to mind. So, he said the first thing that popped up.
"Bugger."
Ron didn't mean to be standing there like an utter prat, but he was finding it tremendously difficult to move his legs. Finally, he unglued his mouth enough to mutter in his sister's direction.
"Er, get lost will you?"
She rolled her eyes, but obeyed, brushing past Ron with a quickly whispered, "Be nice."
Nice? Be NICE?? What'd she think he was going to do, beat Neville up? Perform an Unforgivable on him? He was, however, seriously considering pretending the entire thing hadn't happened. Cautiously, he moved into the tent, suddenly painfully hyper-aware of how small the damn thing was. Horrible Muggle contraption, there wasn't more than five feet between Neville's cot and his, where Ron now sat, still gripping his wand.
"Ron?"
"Yeah?"
"I appreciate the reason for it, but do you think you could possibly let go of your wand, as I'm neither a Death Eater nor about to jump you?"
Embarrassed that he still had hold if it, like he was some frightened idiot, Ron laid his wand on his pillow. Then of course he didn't have anything to do with his hands, so he gripped the edges of the cot.
"Look, Neville--"
Before Ron could truly speak, Neville interrupted."No, Ron, really, it's alright, I understand."
Understood what? Really, what was with people thinking they knew what Ron wanted? What he felt? His entire family thought that Hermione and/or Harry had tossed him over and moved on to each other. No one even considered that they'd had a sensible chat and realized that Ron and Hermione didn't quite work, but Harry and Hermione did. Ron liked girls, never boys. Ron wasn't all that smart, but was good at chess and telling Hermione off.
Ron was heartily sick of the world thinking it knew his mind.
Neville wished desperately to be elsewhere. At tea with Gran or, bloody hell, even with his parents, would be better than sitting across from Ron, who looked murderous. He'd give over his second most prized plant to know what the other man was thinking.
Ron shot up like a bolt of lightening and began to pace the tent, muttering.
"Everyone's so smart....how'd they like it if I...boys aren't so bad...bet they don't know about Seamus..."
Neville cocked his head as he stared at Ron, pacing and kicking at the dirt floor. He inched back on his cot when Ron suddenly stopped dead at Neville's feet, leaning down to stare at Neville. Feeling a bit like a mouse trapped under the cat's paw, Neville tried to roll off to one side.
The hard, hot press of Ron's lips against his stopped him. As kisses went, it wasn't much, but Ron appeared every bit as startled as Neville felt.
Ron's nostrils flared, drawing Neville's attention to the spattering of freckles decorating his nose, his cheeks, the curve of his lips.
"What about Seamus?" Was that honestly his voice, all high and whispy? Neville supposed it was. He dazedly watched Ron's eyelashes sweep up and down as he blinked. Goodness, he had nice eyelashes. Not quite as sexy as his back, but at least in the top ten of tasty Ron Weasley bits.
"We kissed. Or he kissed me. Well, you know, it was seventh year and all, so it was ages ago, but still. I'm not anyone's property but my own, and I'll kiss who I like, see?"
Neville didn't really, but Ron had his hands on his shoulders and his mouth breathing hot past Neville's ear, so saying so out loud seemed churlish.
"Right." Neville hadn't a clue what to do or say, but as Ron kissed him again, threading his fingers through Neville's short hair, he thought that perhaps he needn't say anything at all.
Neville wasn't sure how to proceed when he'd gotten exactly what he'd wanted, but as always, he would endeavor to not muck it all up.