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Chapter Text

The pale, December sun was fast lowering into its cradle for the evening, chased by encroaching shadows and bitter winds. An unnatural hush fell over the hills all around as small mammals scurried to their burrows and wild owls into their tree hollows to escape the winter's growing chill.

A storm was coming on this, the longest night of the year, and from the looming black clouds overhead, it looked to be a rather nasty one.

From the cave entrance, for the first time in his life, Harry noted the world's subtle changes with eyes unobstructed. The corrective LASIK surgery had been a brilliant success, and now he could see without the aid of his spectacles. It was an adjustment, though, letting them go; he'd grown familiar and comfortable with those thin, wiry frames and those two shards of glass standing between him and the world, but in the end, they were just camouflage against the world, like the creeping darkness outside. It was time to shed their influence and become something new, like the dawn breaking over a horizon.

He let his gaze sweep over the substantial briar patch lining the path outside the cave. Illuminated by the rising moon, its twisting, snow-covered branches and oversized, razor-sharp thorns were made somehow even more sinister by the semi-darkness.

'How very 'Grimm's fairy tales', Harry thought with some amusement. Now all they needed was a cannibalistic wicked witch to show up…

"It's a clever trap," he noted aloud to his pacing companion, feeling his way around the wall of magic that had effectively imprisoned him and Ron inside the wind-swept sandstone cave hidden deep within the Dane Hills of Leicestershire. "I think it's the same spell as they use on Azkaban. If so, we're not getting out without the original caster unraveling them or someone from the outside taking the wards down."

Ron cast a Blasting Spell at the opposite wall, with the same negated effect as all his earlier attempts. His magic skipped off target, dispersing in crackling, forking tendrils that lit up the room briefly. "You think?" he asked, a tad sarcastic. "I reckon we're stuck here until someone comes for us, so we might as well get comfy."

Harry was inclined to agree. The wards nullified all but the most benign of spells. Clearly, it had been designed to keep trespassers from escaping until the cave's resident witch returned to confront the intruders on her terms—which could be hours, day, weeks, even months, given their host's eccentricity.

The shield had been created using powerful, old magic, Harry knew, for he could feel its seductive pull upon him, calling to the tiny, remaining piece of his mother's sacrificial magic still lingering within his heart. Reverently, he placed his palms flat against the ward, closed his eyes, and stretched out his magical senses, seeking the edges of the spell. He was awed by the returning echo of power that thrummed through him, and by the feel of the seamless enclosure all around, extending far above their heads and deep beneath their feet. There would be no escape by bringing down the roof or by digging into the earth.

"Her magic's sort-of familiar, like it's a resonance I almost recognise, but at the same time, it's like nothing I've ever felt," he whispered, impressed. "It almost feels… masculine, but layered with the feminine."

Ron snorted. "She's Black Annis—the oldest surviving hag in history. Probably gets her strength from all those children she eats." His big frame shuddered. "We're lucky we're not already skinned and roasting over an open flame."

Harry turned away from the inviting pull of the magic around him, and decided to take a seat on the floor, leaning against a flat-topped rock in the centre of the room instead. His feet were tired from all the walking it had taken to get to this unlucky location, and he'd been exhausting himself for too many months between taking on extra assignments at work and moving into a new flat and… other pursuits involving Dennis Creevey, on occasion. He wasn't a teenager anymore—hadn't been for almost a decade. Burning his candle at both ends was beginning to wear on him. He needed a break.

He glanced around quickly, assuring before he shut his eyes that there were no lurking dangers in the shadows. There weren't, of course. It might be a dry, cold cave, but at least the hag who supposedly lived here on occasion kept it neat, he thought as he lowered himself to the ground. There were no gnawed or blackened bones lining the floor, no natty cobwebs hanging in the rounded corners. It was empty, without even a single signature of homesteading to it, but the floor was as meticulously clean as he kept his flat's hardwood floor back in London.

…Which wasn't saying much, since his top-floor, des res apartment overlooking the Thames was cared for once a day by a Squib maid and resembled one of those perfectly respectable, spotless Scandinavian home showrooms, filled with black, white, and grey occasional furniture that was embellished with burnished silver trim. It was a very modern apartment with minimal decoration, giving the impression that its owner was stylish, sophisticated, upwardly-mobile…and as frigid as the wind howling just then through the cave.

"You live in a posh version of Azkaban, Harry," Hermione had once remarked to him. "It's very high off the ground and… rather grey… and somewhat bleak, don't you think? Why don't you move back to Grimmauld? You seemed much happier there."

She'd been right, as usual. Once upon a time, Harry had been happy to reside at Sirius' former home. But then he'd hit twenty-six and he'd seen the gleaming hope of marriage in Ginny's eye, and he'd come face-to-face with the fact that he wasn't the man he'd been pretending to be for so long. Admitting he'd liked men more than women had been a difficult thing for him to do, but that summer, he'd come out at long last, before things became even more complicated… and everything had changed as a result.

He'd lost Ginny, but in trade he'd finally been able to admit the greatest secret of his heart, which had lain camouflaged under the veneer of friendship for years. And for a while, in the right person's arms, he'd finally felt as if he was wearing the right skin, as if he'd found a proper home.

But then, nothing good had ever lasted for Harry. He'd learned way back in his childhood that some people simply weren't meant to have what they most wanted, and he least of all.

After that, he couldn't stomach sitting on that antique couch in the Living Room of Grimmauld, where he'd lost a different kind of virginity, or lying in that soft, queen-sized bed upstairs, with its silky green sheets and its fluffy pillows, or eating at that long, kitchen table where he'd once experienced the ultimate pleasure bent over its sturdy, wooden frame. It was the bittersweet memories the place conjured that had proved too painful to continually confront as he walked through Number Twelve's silent hallways in the aftermath. That's really why he'd closed up the townhouse and had moved without taking a scrap of its furniture with him. He'd wanted no remembrances of those life-altering days and nights.

So, now he lived in Muggle London, in a sterile flat that had been given special dispensation for Apparition and an open Floo—as far away from Grimmauld Place as he could reasonably suffer. He lived in a black and white space that had no deeper feelings or ghosts attached to it, as cold inside as it was out.

Just like this cave.

He drew his knees to his chest, and leaned his head back against the rock, closing his eyes.

"You're napping—now?" Ron asked, exasperated.

"I'm tired," Harry mumbled, feeling his brain trying to shut down. Just fifteen minutes, that's all he'd need.

His companion's bitter laugh was laced with an accusatory sneer. "Yeah, I'll just bet you are."

Harry peeked through the fringe of his lashes and stared over at Ron. "What's that supposed to mean?"

But Ron had retreated, doing that thing he'd regularly done since they were boys whenever they had a fight: look away and clench his jaw, sulking until pushed to his limits. Normally, Harry would shake his head and walk away, either that or confront Ron until they were both shouting their hurt feelings to the sky. Now, though, his heart just wasn't up to the game any longer. The weight of his hidden sorrow suddenly seemed too much to bear alone.

"I miss you."

Ron's head turned in his direction, but he still wouldn't look at him.

"I think about you all the time, about the summer before last—how you were the only good thing in all that mess." He took a shuddering breath. "I ruined our friendship and what we had, and I'm sorry for it."

His former best friend's eyes narrowed. "Yeah?" He bitterly smirked. "Good."

Harry dropped his head into his hands, leaning his forehead against his palms. "Why can't you forgive me?"

"You turned you back on me and you walked away, like a gutless coward," Ron cruelly reminded him.

Harry's heart gave a violent squeeze. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry! But it's been a year and a half since then, Ron!" He slammed his hands down on either side of him, and his palms made a fleshy smacking noise as they hit solid rock. "You and Hermione… I know you weren't dating anymore when we… I know it, but she still had feelings for you, and I thought about what she would say if she found out about us, and how hurt she'd be. It felt wrong to do that to her, especially over a… a summer fling."

Ron growled, unwinding and smoothly rising to his feet. For a man that powerfully built and that tall, he managed a kind of grace that left Harry breathless—and once again reminded him that they were no longer clumsy, awkward teenagers, but fully grown men who had both come into their own. Ron's temper was still as volatile as it had been back then, however. His clenched fists and trembling wand bespoke of a need to unleash a torrential anger, but he stayed on his side of the cavern, restrained in taking action, if barely.

"A summer fling? You spineless–" He seemed to wrestle with himself to keep from screaming. "It was more than that and you know it! It was everything!"

Now it was Harry's turn to rise and confront this long-simmering hurt between them. He shook from head to toe, this confrontation long overdue, but painful nonetheless. "Then why did you act as if it was just something to do? As if you were just experimenting while waiting for Hermione to take you back?"

"That is so bullshit!" Ron pointed an angry finger at him. "You knew how I felt about you! Yes, I loved 'Mione and I wouldn't have wanted to hurt her either, but the truth is I would have given anything to stay with you. You knew that!"

No, honestly, he hadn't.

"How could I have? You never said a word!" Harry defended himself. "You were so casual about the whole thing!"

"We were best friends, Harry! You knew my heart better than I knew it myself! You knew."

Harry holstered his wand and firmly shook his head at that nonsensical argument. He was no mind-reader. The truth was he'd always been shite at Legilimency, both then and now. Ron should have said something, if that's how he'd really felt. If he had, things would have turned out much different, perhaps. "What I knew, Ron, was you and Hermione had dated for eight years, and even though you'd broken it off with her the month before my birthday, those kinds of feelings don't just drift away. Face it, I was a rebound for you while on the rebound myself, something completely different for us both, but safe. We were… curious."

It wasn't true, but it was giving Ron an 'out', just in case.

Ron, of course, didn't take it. "Curious. Is that what you've decided to label it? We shared a rash of curiosity for cock one summer, that it?" He ran a hand through his thick, red hair. "Christ, Harry, you make it sound like it was a disease."

Hearing the word 'cock' uttered in Ron's husky growl made Harry's throat convulse. "That's not what I meant," he argued. "I… I treasure the memory of us. I do!" He made to push his glasses back up his nose, but realised he wasn't wearing them anymore, and instead quickly changed direction, rubbing the back of his neck instead. "But I'm also a realist, Ron. And I was right, wasn't I? You were back with Hermione by Christmas."

Ron barked a bitter laugh. "Yeah? And we were good and bloody done by Valentine's this year. Know why? Because I couldn't forget you and what we'd had! I wanted it back." He blew out a frustrated breath and his blue eyes glazed over as he turned inward, seeing things Harry could not. "I never told her about you and me, but you know what? She knew. It was the way she looked at me, like she could read between the lines every time I refused to talk about you. I broke her heart because I wanted you more than her!" He looked away, the pain of regret flashing across his handsome features. "And now look what's happened: she went 'round the bend after we split, and she's never come down." He shook his head and glanced sideways at Harry. "Do you know she recently hooked up with that tosspot, Malfoy?"

Another regret to pile upon all the others, Harry thought, but this time he wouldn't be saddled with the responsibility for it. He had enough guilt over unintentionally leading Ginny on when he'd known in his heart for years that he was a closeted homosexual. He didn't think he could take on the weight of Hermione's unhappiness, too. Besides, it wasn't really fair of Ron to put the blame for things entirely out of his control upon his shoulders. Hermione was a big girl, and she'd made her choices. "Look, Ron, I'm sorry for Hermione being hurt by the fact that people's feelings change over time, but neither of us is responsible for that or for where her life is now. She's an adult, and being with Malfoy is her decision. Her life is what she's made it, same as any of us. And maybe she doesn't think he's as bad as you do. Maybe where she's at is exactly what she wants to be. Who are we to judge?"

Ron's expression was cynical. "She's going to get burned by him, just like you burned me." He slumped against the wall and looked away, obvious hurting.

Harry sighed, suddenly feeling much older than his years. "I'm sorry."

Bristling, Ron shouted, "Stop saying that!"

"Why? It's true," Harry countered. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I thought I was doing what was right and, yes, okay, I admit that I was protecting myself, too. I thought you and me—that what we were didn't mean as much to you as it did to me, and I didn't want to turn to you one day and hear you say that." He looked back at the warded cave entrance, almost wishing for Black Annis to appear like a sinister shadow haunting the breach. At least then the identity of the real bad guy in the room wouldn't be in question. "I… I was a coward, you're right, and I've been running away ever since. Maybe Hermione and I are exactly alike in this case. Maybe we've both been trying to get over you in our own ways, because you're… you're really hard let go of, Ron."

"Really? Didn't seem to take you long at all, from what I hear." Ron crossed his arms, and the muscles under his tight, hand-knit jumper flexed, drawing Harry's eye and reminding him of what it had felt like to be surrounded by such strength. "What was it, a week before you were fucking Finch-Fletchley?"

Quickly, Harry looked away again, mortified by his past behaviour. He'd gone on a bender for three months after leaving Ron, fucking anything male that had moved, really. He'd also become a heavy drinker and smoker. It had taken him six additional months to purge his pain and get his shite straight. "I regret when I walked away from you, and everything that came after, too." Admitting it was tougher than Harry had thought it would be. His throat nearly closed over the shame. "Please, won't you forgive me for being so stupid?"

Ron slid back down the wall and gathered his long legs up until his knees pressed against his chest in a protective gesture. He wrapped his arms around them in a tight hold, as if that were all that was keeping him together right then. "I… I want to, Harry. I mean, I thought I could if you ever said 'sorry' to me, but now… I'm not so sure. Forgiving you is as painful as hating you."

Turning his back, Harry wiped at the moisture gathered in his eyes. "I get it," he said. "I do."

That wasn't just lip service, either. He did understand Ron's hesitancy. Harry knew he wasn't an easy person to befriend—never had been. There were always dangerous conditions that were attached to caring for him. No one walked away from him unscathed.

Chapter Text

A storm hit with fury sometime within that next hour, piling snow at the cave entrance at a rate that was sure to trap Harry and his tight-lipped companion come morning if it continued at its current rate. Fortunately, the wards around the opening prevented both wind and weather from coming in, so the environmental stability of their current prison was assured.

Harry and Ron were still on opposite sides of the cave, casting Warming Charms in succession every hour or so to keep the temperature inside a comfortable twenty-one C. It was hot enough for Harry to shed his heavy Muggle coat. Ron had done likewise, he noted.

"Is it okay to ask you a question?" Harry asked.

It had been more than an hour that they'd sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, surrounded by mutually shared pain, and Harry had finally had enough of mentally tearing himself up. Sitting across from him was the one who held all the answers to every one of his burning questions, and he was now more determined than ever to take advantage of this opportunity to get at them. Then, maybe, they could both have some closure.

Ron shrugged, but his expression wasn't hostile. "Depends."

Although that answer was a step in the right direction, it still cut Harry to the quick. There had been a time when he and Ron had been so close that his former best friend wouldn't have had a condition to his answering Harry's questions. Still, Harry would take what he could get. "Fair enough," he conceded with a nod and was careful when asking, "Was it you or was it Hermione who ended things?"

Twirling his wand between his fingers like a baton artist had been a skill Ron had honed when they'd been Auror partners fresh out of Hogwarts. Long hours on stake-outs waiting for their prey to make a move had been difficult for his best friend, given his restless impulse for action in the wake of the war. Harry had suggested one night that he burn off some of that nervous energy with a quiet hobby, and within a fortnight, Ron had been able to expertly weave his new wand from Ollivanders between his nimble fingers.

As he began twirling his wand now, Harry felt a familiar, warm sensation flood his chest, but it was quickly chased away by a stronger, sickening, hollow sensation in his gut as he realised that Ron wasn't talking… and that such a simple, small gesture was his former best friend's inadvertent way of telling him how discomfited he was in Harry's presence and in the conversation returning to extremely personal matters.

Was it too late to recapture what they'd once had, then? Was there no possibility of friendship reconciliation, at least?

The silence stretched so long that Harry had decided that Ron wouldn't be answering so private a question, at least not to him. Disheartened, he sighed and leaned his head back against the stone, staring up at the smooth rock ceiling above, noting the rich, earthy striations of colour interspersed with the occasional finger of some darker, more solid rock's face. It was camouflage for the milky-white quartzite cobbles underneath it, according to the discarded leaflet he'd earlier found while tromping across the grass towards the cave. He'd given the thing a cursory once-over before tossing it into the nearest rubbish-bin, not seeing as how it would help him locate the cave itself. That, he'd eventually found by performing a Point Me spell, after a frustrating two-hour exploration of the area.

God, he was tired. Maybe he would just close his eyes and take that nap after all.

Ron's explanation interrupted Harry just as he'd shut his eyes.

"She said she felt we were being pushed into marriage by everyone—friends, family, the entire bloody wizarding world, and that she wasn't ready. She still had things she wanted to accomplish before settling down and raising a family." Ron shrugged those bulky shoulders of his, implying disinterest, but Harry knew from past experience that the gesture was another way for Ron to cover up the fact that he'd been hurt. "It was a hint—her way of giving me an out. I took it. Told her I agreed, and that we should take a break from each other, so we could both get things done that we wanted to do. I left the door open, but we both knew there was no going back. Things had changed. We were done."

So it had been Ron who'd walked away first. Interesting.

Harry shook off his tiredness and dared to step further into the thorns of Ron's past, insanely curious for any scrap of information his former friend might share. "So, it was amicable?"

Ron snorted. "At the time, yeah, but she wouldn't speak to me until June, though. Guess she couldn't face me either." He stopped twirling and started tapping his wand against his knee instead, his gaze pinning Harry with its intensity. "When she started dating Terry Boot last summer, she calmed down some. We went out to lunch a few times, just friends. It was better. Not the same, but at least we were talking again. Then, suddenly she and Boot break up and she hooks up with Malfoy. We stopped meeting. Then there were no more Owls or Floo-calls either. She just dropped me for that git." He made a face, as if he'd tasted something bitter and inedible. "She's his 'sub' now, or whatever."

"Submissive," Harry gently explained. "It means‒"

"I know what it means, Harry."

Ron's tone was prickly. Clearly, he didn't want Hermione in that way anymore, but he didn't like what she was doing with their former childhood rival in the bedroom, either.

They were silent again for a while, before Harry simply offered, "I'm sorry it didn't work out."

What more could he say? He felt off-kilter, and worried of putting his foot in his mouth. Suddenly, he was taken back to fourth year at school, when Ron was angry with him for the Tri-Wizard Tournament thing. Neither of them knew how to talk to each other then, and it was a bit odd after the unspoken apologies. This right now was like that back then.

Again, Ron shrugged. "Me, too. I only want good things for her, even if… you know, I'm not in love with her anymore."

They were quiet again for a bit after that, and Harry groped in his mind for the next topic of conversation, unsure what was a 'safe' subject versus what might be a 'taboo' one.

Ron beat him to the punch. "I see Robards is grooming you."

Yes, work seemed harmless enough, Harry thought. "Yeah, between you and me, the old man's finally going to retire in January. It's not official yet, but he's let me know he's petitioning Kingsley for me to take his spot."

"Is that why you came out here? One last chance to showboat for the captain, making sure you 'seal the deal', just in case there was any doubt?"

Harry frowned at him, not appreciating the sarcasm or the implication that he was a ruthless political animal. "I came out here because Ginny said you'd gone missing and I was worried."

Ron glanced at him sideways. "Yeah? How worried were you?"

Glaring at his former lover, Harry replied, "Enough to walk into an obvious trap to get to you."

A bitter twist of Ron's lips told Harry what his companion thought of such reckless bravery. "That proves it then, I s'pose—you must really love me."

Harry wanted to scream and rage at his best friend for being so dense. He wanted to shout to the skies that, yes, what he felt for Ron was love. No, it was much more than that, in fact! There wasn't a word yet invented to describe what Ron meant to him. They'd been brotherly best friends and loyal Housemates, Quidditch teammates and Order soldiers. They'd been Auror partners, guarding each other's backs, and for the tail end of a summer, they'd been lovers. They'd swapped clothes, celebrated holidays, and shared their darkest secrets. They'd cheated off each other's homework, and covered for each other against Snape and Umbridge and McGonagall, and sometimes they'd traded wands just to see how it felt to touch someone else's magic. They'd said good-bye to people they'd loved and faced their demons while safely tucked within the circle of each other's embrace. They'd kissed with passion, and explored each other's bodies without shame, and for a short time, they'd reveled in how good it all felt without regret. They'd chased the wind, and sunrises, and sunsets, and each other over the most important years of their lives. They'd gone beyond love.

How could he explain those feelings, though? It seemed impossible, overwhelming.

So, instead, with his heart pounding hard in his chest, Harry simply admitted, "I do."

Chapter Text

Ron had been staring at him in silence since Harry's un-reciprocated confession. He hadn't uttered a single sound, not even a grunt when he'd accidentally brushed up against the cave's wards and given himself a small shock, his lips sealed shut by stubbornness and eyes growing increasingly hostile as the minutes ticked by without Harry saying or doing anything more. He looked as if he was waiting for the next line in some imaginary script to be delivered so he could speak his part, but Harry hadn't a clue as to what he should or shouldn't say.

On edge and supremely frustrated, feeling as if he were missing some vital piece of information that could solve all of the problems between him and Ron, but having been trained in the Dursley household years ago to repress, repress, repress as much as possible, Harry wasn't sure what was the right move now.

Should he explain his confession, or would that somehow make Ron angrier with him, knowing that Harry fully understood what he'd thrown away a year and a half ago?

Should he apologise again, or would that just make him appear to be a whiny, begging, pathetic meat sack, much as Peter Pettigrew had often appeared?

Or should he cross the room and let Ron take a swing at him, so at least some of this tension could be eased?

He wasn't certain any of those things were the right move, so he simply leaned against the cave wall and stared back. Surely, eventually, Ron would say something to chime him in.

That 'something' came exactly thirty-three minutes after his declaration.

"You really don't have a clue, do you?" Ron asked with a sigh.

Harry shook his head. He knew he had trouble relating to others on an intimate level—always had. Maybe all those years living under the oppression of his aunt and uncle had fucked him up, or maybe it had been his one-time connection to Voldemort that had twisted his soul in some manner, or maybe he'd just been wired wrong at birth. Whatever sixth sense allowed him to be so astute about the motives of complete strangers, to guess their next move before they even knew it themselves, was an utterly useless super power when it came to wading through the feelings of his loved ones. In divulging their needs and interpreting their thoughts, he seemed to continually fail.

"No, obviously, I don't," he agreed. "All I know is that I want to make it right between us, even if… if we go our separate ways once we get out of here. So, tell me what you expect me to say or do and I'll do it."

Ron's expression softened for a moment. He looked suddenly sad, pitying almost. A beat later, however, his jaw clenched, his lips tightened, and his eyes hardened. Squaring his shoulders and with fists clenched, he crossed to Harry, a determined glint in his gaze.

This was it, then. Harry was going to get punched in the face, just as he deserved.

He straightened from the wall and lifted his chin, ready to accept whatever pain Ron would dole out. This would make them even, and then it would be done.

Ron surprised him by gripping the back of his hair and pulling Harry into him instead. His other arm banded around Harry's waist like a vice, and with a yank, his skull was pulled back so he was forced to meet Ron's eyes. A small whimper of surprise and instant, flaring need escaped Harry's lips as he felt the rigid lines and sumptuous heat of his former lover's body pressed so intimately to his once more.

Ron smirked, and the triumph in his eyes made Harry shake, not with fear, but with growing arousal.

"Still like it rough, huh?"

He tugged Harry's hair harder, causing Harry to gasp in pleasure. His jeans were suddenly too tight as his cock swelled to full prominence behind the rough denim.

"Tell me, Harry, how many men have you fucked wishing it were me?"

It took Harry a moment to gather enough moisture across his tongue to speak. "All of them," he finally admitted in a forlorn whisper. His shaking intensified as he stared into Ron's face and dropped all his defences, giving what he hoped was the right answer. It was certainly an honest one. "I never see them—only you."

A slow, dark smile tilted Ron's lips and his lids narrowed with a smug satisfaction. "Good."

Ron stepped forward, forcing Harry back until he collided with the cavern's smooth wall. Boxed in, with nowhere to go, Harry waited on the precipice, head tilted at the perfect angle to accept Ron's kiss if he would only bestow it.

Please, he silently begged. Just do it.

Ron lowered his mouth, but not to Harry's lips. He tilted at the last minute and latched on to Harry's throat instead, where he began sucking on the tender skin, biting over his thrumming pulse. A moan escaped Harry's lips and he went slack, turning his neck to give Ron better access.

Over the last year and a half, Harry had refused to bottom for anyone else, as that had been a vulnerability he'd only ever allowed Ron to have. He'd dominated his partners instead, taking them roughly, and had adamantly refused to let anyone ever have that piece of him again. Now, back in Ron's arms, Harry felt himself easily sliding into their usual pattern, the one that had been so natural to both of them back during that wild, intense summer.

He kept his hands at his sides, waiting for Ron to tell him what he wanted him to do.

"Touch me," his best friend instructed him, as if reading his mind, and suddenly Harry's hands had a will of their own.

Shoving under Ron's jumper, they slid over the soft cotton of the tee he wore underneath, pressing over tight, tense muscles. When that caress wasn't enough for either of them, Harry's fingers burrowed under the shirt, too, seeking out Ron's warm skin and the fur across his chest. Breath hitched as Harry explored, finding spike-hard nipples and solid pecs. He wished he could see that lightly freckled skin again, to press his nose into those crisp hairs and breathe in Ron's scent.

Ron's teeth clamped down over his pulse, and Harry's lower body jerked forward in response, sliding his rock-hard erection against Ron's. They moaned in unison, and Ron's fingers dug into Harry's hips, pulling them so tightly together that there was little room to manoeuver.

"I'm going to have you," Ron told him, very confident of that fact. "I'm going to fuck you until we both see stars." He pulled back the slightest bit, breathing hard, and his eyes were as hard and cold as blue ice. "And when it's done, Harry, I'll let you go."

Harry whimpered again, but hung his head, accepting the terms. Just to have Ron one more time, to be given the chance to have a final memory was more than he'd ever dared hope. He'd take the deal, fully knowing the fallout was going to hurt afterwards.

No, not just hurt. It would slay him.

"Say 'yes'," Ron urged him, wanting to make it clear this was Harry's decision and consent had been given. There would be no chance for misunderstandings between them later.

"Y-yes," Harry reluctantly agreed.

"Good. You know what comes next, then."

In the past, Ron had always cued Harry in such a way, so Harry would know to start undressing him. Unwrapping the gift, so to speak. Peeling away the camouflage of their clothing to get to bare skin and complete vulnerability.

He jumped on the unspoken command this time as well, unbuckling Ron's belt with trembling fingers, his heart beating fast under his ribs as the leather slid free of its metal constraint. He unbuttoned and unzipped him, too, and taking greater initiative, reached into the opening to stroke over the solid, hot length he'd craved for so long. His fingers explored, his thumb rubbing a circular pattern over the engorged head until it grew sticky and moist with pre-cum. It throbbed in his palm, stiff and delirious with want.

"On your knees," Ron directed him, pushing on Harry's shoulders. "I want that talented mouth of yours around me again."

Harry did as bade, dropping to the ground, yanking Ron's jeans down with him. Freed at last, Ron's prick jerked, bumping against his lower belly, and Harry took it immediately in hand, his mouth watering for a taste. As Ron shucked his jumper and shirt, pulling them quickly over his head, Harry opened his mouth and engulfed that gorgeous cock in a single swallow, taking him deep, reveling in the knowledge that his lover was hard and willing for him.

He glanced up through the fan of his dark lashes as Ron swore under his breath as his prick disappeared between Harry's lips, and the sound was pained, almost a protest. Yet, despite that, Ron's hips jerked forward for more and Harry almost smiled. No matter how much Ron's body language and every word spit anger and disdain for him, deep down he still wanted Harry, still felt their chemistry, and still craved their physical connection, and that made Harry's heart soar.

Harry's own cock throbbed in protest against its captivity, desperate for freedom as well, but he ignored it, consumed instead with the taste and feel of his best friend and of giving Ron the blow of his life. Possessively, he reached up and cupped Ron's arse, pulling him even deeper into his throat and he let the muscles there close around Ron's shaft, milking it as he convulsively swallowed.

Ron cried out. Reaching for Harry's hair, he buried his fingers into the dark, messy mass and held on. "Bloody hell, I love this!" his friend growled. He tilted his head back and groaned with pleasure, pulling back until only the tip remained between Harry's lips, before slowly gliding back in. "I love you sucking my cock, Harry. Fucking incredible!"

In an out, Ron slid his length to a slow, deliberate rhythm, and Harry feasted upon him as a man long denied and hungry for every inch. Ron's taste flooded his mouth, his scent imprinted within his nose, and the sounds of Ron's pleasure coaxed him onward.

Behind his ribs, Harry's heart hammered out a violent rhythm. He never thought he'd get this opportunity again, never imagined how wonderful it would make him feel… even as his chest caved, knowing this would be their last time.

Ron's moans filled the cave. His thrusts began to accelerate, and the hold on Harry's hair was so tight, it bordered on pain. "Harry, you… oh, yeah… you're so bloody… fuuuuck… you undo me every fucking time!" Ron panted, and Harry was electrified by the praise, relishing the power he had in that moment to make his best friend come apart for him.

Ron surged forward one more time and then gave a final, frustrated groan as he pulled free. His cock dripped with Harry's saliva mixed with the sweet dew of pre-cum. "I'm not gonna last if we keep at that, and I want to be inside you when I come."

He pulled Harry to his feet and spun him towards the wall.

Chapter Text

Forehead pressed against the back of his hands, Harry waited, knees knocking and body jerking with impatience as Ron quickly undressed him.

His jumper and tee were shoved up and over his head first, and then tossed to the side once they'd cleared. Next went his jeans and pants. They hit his ankles a moment after his belt had been unbuckled. A delicious chill ran up his naked spine as the cooler air hit his naked skin.

Ron's hands were a little slick with sweat and rough with calluses from years of riding a broom, but as they slid over Harry's bare back and around his hips to grip him, they felt good enough to give Harry goose bumps.

"Spread your legs for me and arch forward."

Harry obeyed, already so hard and so desperate to be filled again that he had to clench his jaw and set his back teeth to keep from whimpering and begging like a whipped submissive. It had been too long since he'd last been in this position, and he was so desperate to recall how it was to be fucked. More than that, though, it would be Ron having him, his first male lover back inside him at long last, feeding his hunger for cock and making Harry his once more. The thought made Harry's stomach flutter and made him flush with heat from head to toe.

For a brief moment, he wondered how many men Ron had fucked since their separation, and if he'd thought of Harry at all during those interludes, too, but he couldn't make himself ask as Ron had asked him. The only appeal he made was for his partner to cast an Anti-Disease Charm. He might be desperate to have his best friend again, and he knew he was clean himself, but he wouldn't allow for any accidents.

With a wave of his wand, Ron did as requested. Harry heard the words properly enunciated, saw the tell-tale flash of orange signaling the spell's successful casting, and felt the warm glow down to his bones. He fully relaxed then, and let Ron have what he wanted.

Another spell was cast, however, and Harry felt the chilly, slick feel of lubricant unexpectedly fill him. His breath hitched and he gasped at the delicious sensation, and he closed his eyes, shivering.

Ron didn't bother prepping him aside from that, and honestly, Harry didn't want to wait any longer. Leaning forward, thighs spread, he offered himself up… and Ron took his submission as his due. Hands grasping his hips, the head of his wet cock pressed up into Harry's hole, and with a small push, Harry was being stretched open again, filled for the first time since that mad summer.

"Oh, my God!" he cried out, arching so far forward that his chest touched the wall, feeling every inch slide inside him. "Oh, Ron!"

Ron was moaning with pleasure as he slowly sank his prick in nice and deep, bottoming out with a final push. "Bloody hell," he groaned, his voice pained. "I've missed this."

He held them there, face pressed into the lee of Harry's throat, both of them shaking with repressed desire mingled with fear.

This was familiar, it was like coming home, and it felt too good to let go of again. It was unspoken between them, but Harry could sense it. They both liked it too much, regardless of any deals made in advance.

As if sensing he was letting things get too close to a sharp edge, Ron pulled away. He maintained a tight hold on Harry's hips as he started moving, but there was no kissing or nuzzling, no affectionate gestures. Harry winced as his lover moved off, but tried not to be too hurt by the rejection, focussing instead on the physical moment. They'd never agreed to love-making. This was sex as closure, he reminded himself as Ron moved, sliding in and out to an easy rhythm. This was good-bye.

He closed his eyes, fought off the tears, and gripped his erection with one hand to keep it hard.

"You strokin' yourself?" Ron asked, a bit breathless as he pushed in deep once more.

"Uhnnn! Yes."

"I wanna feel you come."

"You will."

Soon, Harry thought, knowing he wouldn't last long.

God, it was too good. It was sublime pleasure, being fucked, feeling the burn. Harry gave himself over to it, using the wall to support his weight and the angle to keep him on his feet as his wrist jerked back and forth over his slickening length. His pre-cum was slippery between his fingers, just the right amount of sticky and moist, and he squeezed harder over the head with each pass.

"Take me," he begged, wanting it rough, needing it to blow his mind. "Please—please!"

Ron did as requested, his hips no longer rolling, but thrusting. Faster and faster, deeper and harder, until at last their flesh met with meaty slaps and their moans grew louder, more pronounced, filling the cave with the sounds of their mutual pleasure. The heat and pressure within Harry reached a crescendo, and from there, there was only one place for it to go. Fisting his cock until the wide head bloomed purple and strained for release, Harry's breath sawed from his lungs as his whole body drew up as tight as a bowstring.

"I'm coming," he gasped, and then his whole world shattered.

As the first burst of his seed was drawn from him in an explosion that made him go super-nova hot and tight, Ron's was suddenly there with him, fully in the moment rather than remaining separate from it. One arm wrapped around Harry's middle and held him in a protective embrace, as the other clasped over Harry's hand on his prick and helped to jerk him to completion. Back to chest they stood, with Ron thrust as deep as he could get into Harry's body, connected to him in a way they'd never been before. Harry tossed his head back onto his lover's shoulder and shouted with relief as his whole body shook from the released tension. Warm, creamy come flowed over their entwined fingers, linking them so intimately the sight of it drew tears from Harry's eyes.

The most intense, most remarkable orgasm of his life lasted only seconds, but Harry knew he'd never, ever forget it. The loss of this would haunt him to the end of his days.

When he was exhausted, it was Ron's turn to find his ending. To Harry's surprise, his lover didn't let go of him. Instead, he relinquished Harry's exhausted cock and wrapped his other arm around his waist, keeping Harry close as he rocked his hips forwards and backwards with slow, shallow thrusts. His prick was so deep and their bodies locked together so tightly, Harry was lifted to his toes by the unusual rhythm and the angle. Concentrating, he squeezed his inner muscles, rippling around Ron's leisurely surging length.

A deep, lusty gasp was drawn from Ron's throat. "Oh, fuck," he whispered with awe, his whole body jerking in response. "Don't… don't stop doing that."

Harry closed his eyes and focussed all his attention on assuring Ron's pleasure, wanting more than anything to make this moment between them as unforgettable for his best friend as it already was for him. Pinned as he was in place, he clenched and released his backside in rhythmic waves, letting his body draw in Ron's prick, only to let it go over and over. The silken glide of that thick, hot flesh through the tight tunnel he'd created soon had him moaning, too. His own cock hung heavy and spent between his parted legs, a sensual weight he was never more aware of than in that moment. At the heft where it met his core and in the blunt, exposed head, it now tingled with renewed arousal. He longed to grip that thick shaft in his palm and stroke again, but didn't dare let go of his hold on Ron's hips and arse. To do so would separate them, and that he couldn't bear to do just yet.

No, not yet, he repeated to himself. Stay with me a little longer.

The muscles of Ron's thighs tensed under his fingers as he reached back to hold onto his lover, reminding him of Ron's great strength, and how easy it was to overlook it until it was powering into him, owning him so completely.

God, he'd missed this—missed his best friend so much! Why had he ever walked away from him?

It didn't take long before Ron was panting in his ear, "I'm coming." He tensed and his mouth was pressed to Harry's throat as he finally let go. His moans of pleasure muffled against Harry's skin as he bottomed out and emptied his release into him.

"I feel you," Harry murmured, his backwards grip on Ron's hips pressing harder to keep them together during this moment.

When Ron's body finally stilled, he whispered Harry's name—just once, so softly—and buried his face in the lee of Harry's throat. There was pain here, and regret and fear, too, and Harry could ignore none of it, for it called to the same emotions held tightly in his own heart. Reaching back over his shoulders this time, he let his hands run through Ron's thick, soft hair.

"You're the only one who's had me like this," he confessed in a low voice, turning his cheek into Ron and affectionately rubbing against him. "No one else, just you."

Ron's arms tightened around Harry, holding him as if he'd never let him go.

The lovers stood like that for a while, until finally Ron softened enough to easily pull out of Harry's body. When they separated, Ron took a step back… and suddenly Harry felt the vulnerability of his nakedness. He shivered with the loss of Ron's heat, with an odd dread as uncertainty and insecurity once more settled into his belly, with the hopelessness that accompanied those feelings. One last time, that's all Ron had wanted, and now Harry was left with a profound desire for it not to end, but unable to articulate such, afraid he'd be shunned. Silently, he bent to gather his clothes from the ground, where they'd been haphazardly tossed, and began redressing. He needed his camouflage back in place.

As he pulled his jeans back on and hastily re-buckled his belt, he could feel Ron's gaze on him, accusatory once more. That confused Harry even more.

Ron was almost put right by the time Harry had managed to get his jeans up and over his sore, aching hips and was zipping up. He finally gathered enough courage to look up and over at what his lover was doing… just in time for Ron to turn his back on him and head over to the entrance to the cave. He stopped before the wards and looked out at the snow coming down.

The storm seemed to have somewhat abated; it was no longer a white-out condition, at least.

"Did you mean it?" his best friend asked him, his focus on the falling snow outside, despite the fact Harry knew Ron's attention was wholly on him. "That you imagined all those others were me and that no one else has topped you, or was that just heat of the moment crike?"

Harry sighed, pulling his long-sleeved Henley over his head. Sometimes, he hated the fact that he'd gotten a reputation for those few months after he and Ron had gone their separate ways and he'd gone a little mad in an attempt to get over his failed summer romance. He hadn't been that bad a slag since. In fact, the only sex he'd had this year, aside from what he'd just done with Ron, was with Dennis Creevey, and that had been only a few times to ease the loneliness.

"Yeah, I meant it," he said, desperately in need of that nap now. "I've never lied to you, Ron. Not ever."

"No," Ron replied, sounding just as tired and defeated, "you haven't." He turned his head to look over his shoulder at Harry, and his gaze was flat, emotionless, unfathomable, which Harry thought was even worse than critical or angry. "You didn't need to. You drove me away with honesty instead."

Chapter Text

They were on opposite sides of the room again, casting longing glances at each other, both too stubborn to try closing the distance that had grown between them once more.

It had been hours since they'd fucked, and neither of them had uttered a single word to the other in all that time. Harry almost wanted to shout, just to break up to monotony, to demand of Ron what more he wanted to make things right between them. Would it take Harry almost being disemboweled, roasted, and eaten alive by a dragon again for Ron to come to his senses this time, too?

He glanced at the cave entrance, noting that the snow continued to fall, albeit with half the strength of earlier, during the worst of the storm. It was definitely approaching midnight, although how close to the witching hour it was, Harry couldn't say. The snow was now seriously piled up in front of the entrance, brought up short by the magical warding. If the spell faltered, they'd be wading in snow up to their hips to get out. Wet jeans were the worst to try and get off, Harry knew, and they were practically useless when it came to keeping out the cold. He lamented leaving his flat this morning without his thermals on underneath…

A sudden thought occurred to him that hadn't before, and he looked over at Ron's outfit, noting that both he and his best friend were dressed similarly in casual jeans and jumpers—clothing unintended for long-term exposure to the weather. However, where Harry had been wearing a hat and scarf and gloves in addition to a thick, Muggle snow jacket (all of which he'd removed when the air in the cave had become too stifling), Ron wasn't armed with any of those things aside from a woolen jacket to protect him from the winter's bitter wind. Even if he hadn't heard about the storm coming, Harry thought his friend might have at least known better then to head towards an uncharted cave without proper environmental protection.

"Why were you out here anyway?" he asked, finally breaking through the obstinate hush while considering what he knew of the situation. "You're not on assignment this week, according to the work roster. I checked it before I left. And Ginny's note hinted that you were out here for a personal reason."

Ron glanced down at his boots. "Does it matter? We're not partners anymore. You don't have to concern yourself‒"

Now it was Harry's turn to snap, the awkwardness and tension boiling over, coming to a head. "Bin the bullshit, will you? You claimed that I should have known your heart enough to know how you felt about me, well that goes both ways."

Ron frowned. "What's that mean?"

"It means I'll worry about you until the end of my days, work partners or not!"

"Why?"

"Why?" Harry ran a frustrated hand through his messy hair again, unsure if yanking it out might prove a good stress relief or not. Ron was really pushing his buttons now. "How can you even ask that after what we just did not an hour ago?"

"But you do that with a lot of men. Maybe not bottom for them, but you still fuck them."

Harry glared at him. "That wasn't fucking what we did, and you know it. Besides, you haven't been exactly celibate over the last year and a half either, from what I've heard."

Firmly, Ron shook his head. "You're the only guy I've been with."

Harry gave him a cynical look that, if he'd still had his glasses, would have been all the more dramatic. "Do you think I'm unaware that there's a whole other gender out there you've been happily sniffing your way through since March, according to the gossip rags?"

Ron flushed, clamped his lips shut, and looked away.

They were quiet for a bit after that. Harry was silently turning things over in his head, like he would a case, and Ron was using his wand to burn scribbles into the cave's stone flooring, much as he used to do in the margins of his books back during their school days.

After a sufficient amount of time had passed, Harry decided he'd let Ron dodge his initial question long enough. The Auror in him took charge. "I'll ask you one more time: why were you out here? What were you looking for in Black Annis' hide-out?"

His companion mumbled something indecipherable.

"What?" Harry shook his head. "I didn't catch that way over here."

"I said," Ron repeated, louder and a little belligerent, too, "that this isn't her cave."

That floored him. Not Black Annis' hide-out? But weren't they in the Dane Hills, where she was rumoured to live? And wasn't this the only cave around, as far as Harry could tell? "Well, then… where the hell are we?"

Ron shrugged. "A cave Ginny and I found by accident when I we were kids, exploring. My family once picnicked at Sheet Hedges Wood nearby, and we stumbled across it. Black Annis closed up her cave on the other side of the hills a long time ago. She moved to the moors in Somerset instead. Likes the weather there better. She and Mum are old friends."

A small headache was beginning to bloom behind Harry's eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose to attempt to stave it off. "So, you didn't come here to try to make some sort of deal with the world's most dangerous cannibal Hag?"

"Nope."

"Then what the hell are we doing here?"

Ron glanced up at him with those brilliant baby blues that could melt Harry into the floor. "Figuring our shite out."

At first, Harry didn't understand what it was Ron was trying to tell him—the words behind the words eluded him. Then, he considered the situation from the angle of solving a crime, rather than solving an emotional minefield, and like one of those optical-bending 3-D stereograms, he began to see the background image through the foreground noise… and to fathom its importance.

He slowly climbed to his feet, astonished by the level of deceit in Ron's planning. He wouldn't have thought his best friend capable of such Slytherin-like manoeuvering.

"You set me up! You had Ginny send me that note, telling me you'd gone out in the middle of the night to chase after Annis for some goddamned unknown reason, and that you hadn't come home and that she worried you'd done something stupid. It was all to lure me out here, so you could get me alone, locked in a place I couldn't escape." He glanced towards the cave entrance. "The wards… I should have known. All Aurors serve a stretch as an Azkaban guard. No wonder they're so familiar—and why the magic was both feminine and masculine. Ginny helped you, didn't she?"

"It was all her idea, actually," Ron admitted, and Harry thought that much more likely than Ron suddenly adopting serpent-like tendencies. "She knew I still fancied you, and was tired of seeing me moping around."

Harry's eyebrow twitched with surprise at that. "She knew? About you and me being… intimate, I mean."

Ron's sniffed, amused. "She told me she thinks the reason you couldn't love her was 'cause you already, you know."

"Loved you," Harry finished for him, unashamed of that fact.

"She said that's why you two hooked up to begin with—'cause you were trying to replace me with a girl version."

Harry blew out a heavy breath, his brain still a bit fuzzy from the endorphin rush he'd earlier experienced. Coupled with his exhaustion, it was difficult for Harry to rally any real anger. He knew he should be roaring mad at being duped, but honestly, being lured here had given him and Ron this chance. No matter what happened, he'd never regret what they'd earlier shared.

"I think your sister's right," he admitted. "What I felt for her was never what I'd felt for you. She's beautiful and… and an amazing woman, but she just couldn't replace you in my life, no matter how hard I tried to shove her into your spot and make her fit."

Ron nodded in understanding. "It was the same for 'Mione. I wanted her to be something she couldn't be." He glanced up at Harry through thick, dark crimson lashes. "There's only one you, Harry, and you're… irreplaceable to me."

And there it was: Ron's capitulation.

Harry didn't know what had allowed such a miracle to occur, whether it had been something he'd finally said right or perhaps what they'd done earlier had slowly broken down walls, but he wasn't looking this gift horse in the mouth, either. He slipped his wand back into his belt holster and crossed the room to stand over Ron.

"I was stupid."

"Yeah, you were," his best friend agreed, his voice a little hoarse, as if it were difficult for him to find the breath to squeeze through his vocal chords.

Harry knew how that felt, because right then, his chest was a cage for his slamming heart. "I want you back."

"In… in what way?" Ron looked very unsure of a sudden.

Harry squared his shoulders and told him very succinctly, "In every way."

Ron's throat bobbed and he stared up at Harry as if he dare not believe his good fortune. "What about Creevey?"

Harry's world tilted a bit. He didn't know Ron knew about his occasional lover, as he hadn't seen a sniff of a mention of it in the papers, but perhaps Ron had his own ways of finding things out. He was still an Auror, after all. "We're not together," he explained. "We saw each other occasionally, but… it was just something for both of us to do. No emotional ties. You're the only one I've ever felt something more substantial for, Ron—something deeper."

He held a hand out to the man he'd known he'd loved since they were fifteen, when Ron had stood up for him against their dormitory mates, backing Harry's word on Voldemort's resurrection and facing down Seamus Finnigan over it. In that moment, Harry's soul had trembled, and he'd felt not just gratitude wash over him, but a distinct and shiny kind of warmth that had blanketed him from head to toe, pushing out the chill that had taken over his bones at Finnigan's accusations. It had taken quite a few more years and tribulations to put that feeling into grown-up words, but the sensation of it resonating inside him had existed from that day onward.

"Let me prove it to you," he offered.

Still, Ron stared at him as if he were afraid to close the gap and take the leap right along with Harry. "You'd better not be wanking me, mate, 'cause I don't think I can do this again. The fighting and you pushing me away, I mean."

Harry chuckled. "Ron, I'm sure we'll fight until we're old and grey. That's who we are, you and me. We bicker like fools on occasion, we act all stubborn about who goes first when it comes to apologising, but eventually, we make up. We've been that way since we were eleven." Harry's fingers twitched, urging Ron to take them in his own hand. "But I promise you, if you take my hand right now, no matter how hard we rage at each other, I'll never let you go again."

A breath, that's all the time there was between the end of Harry's proposal and Ron leaping like a lion for him. His best friend's wand clattered to the stone ground as he dropped it, and their palms met with a definitive smack, and then Harry was yanked into Ron's arms. Their hungry mouths met a beat later, sealing the deal with heat and promise.

"I want you again," Ron growled around their kisses, already tearing at Harry's belt. "Right now."

Harry's hands burrowed under Ron's shirt again, feeling the smooth skin and the crisp hairs on his chest. "I know the feeling. God, I can't believe– Every day I watched you at work, assigned to other partners, and it hurt how you ignored me, but I still hoped for this chance again." His fingers shook as he started on Ron's belt and fly. "I prayed for it."

Ron captured his mouth to shut him up. "No more. We only go forward from here."

Harry nodded, silently agreeing. Their break-up was the past. There was the future to look forward to now.

He whimpered into another deep kiss as he pulled Ron's jumper up to his neck, trying to get it over his lover's head without breaking apart. Alas, it proved an impossible task. As their mouths separated, Harry tugged the jumper up and off, and then tossed it aside without thought. Immediately, their lips came together once more.

"Damn it," Ron suddenly swore, ripping the jeans from Harry's hips with eagerness. "Get these bloody things off, will you? They make your arse look great, but they're too tight unless you lay back or stand up."

Harry performed a tuck and half-roll out of Ron's lap and onto the ground. He lifted one leg into the air so he could reach his boots and started untying them. Ron took care of the remaining boot for him. Once they'd cleared with his socks, his jeans and pants were easy to remove. The floor was a bit cool against his back and his arse, and a little rough, so Harry made a nest of his and Ron's jackets and jumpers as Ron pulled his own jeans to his knees, baring his hard, stiff cock. He picked up his wand.

"Lay back and spread your legs for me."

Harry did as he was bade, and then he felt Ron's spell tingle up his spine, followed by the cool, slick feeling of lubricant inside him once more. He tilted his head back and sighed with pleasure.

"Merlin, that's so good."

Ron's hands came down on either side of Harry's body and he lowered his hips into the cradle of Harry's thighs. Their pricks rubbed together, soft and warm, and both very erect, despite what they'd already done once tonight. It felt amazing.

"Put me in," Ron whispered, and Harry reached between them, tilting his hips up.

He gripped Ron's cock and pressed it against his hole. "Push," he instructed, and Ron did, while Harry held the rigid shaft, guiding it straight and true. "Oh, Godric, yes," he hissed as his lover slowly opened him back up. When he could hold on no longer, he reached up to grip Ron's muscular shoulders and he let himself go loose, welcoming his best friend into him again. The easy slide contained a hint of burn, and it was again perfect. "I love this part best."

Ron grunted, his jaw clenched, his forehead creased with concentration. He was watching himself sink into Harry by inches. When he was finally seated as far in as he could go in this position, he let out a heavy breath. Lashes fluttering as he fought off his orgasm, he stilled, waiting for his body to back off from the edge.

Lowering himself, he pressed his whole body to Harry's, and brought their mouths together once more. "I love you," he murmured around tender, sweet kisses.

Harry held onto Ron as his lover began moving in him, murmuring a return sentiment in Ron's ear, then against his lips, and a third time into the hollow of his throat as he nipped and licked every inch of skin he could reach. He pulled his knees in tight, raising his heels and hips off the floor to give Ron even deeper access.

Ron's face was pressed into Harry's shoulder, his pelvic movements incrementally speeding up until he was pounding... pounding so hard Harry was seeing stars again.

"Harry," Ron whined in warning, his body tensing, preparing to spill. "I can't... I'm coming!"

"Yes, come for me," he urged his best friend. Even though he wasn't going to make it over the edge himself this time, his body's exhaustion finally catching up, Harry tightened his inner muscles, creating the perfect friction to send his lover tumbling off the cliff into bliss.

"Oh, fuck!"

As Ron cried out, his hips jerking as he spurted his hot seed into the slick fist of Harry's arse, Harry held his best friend tightly in his arms, so thankful for being given this second chance. And Ron was right there with him, holding him close as if he never wanted to be parted from him again. Harry's heart turned over in his chest in happiness. He didn't even care that he hadn't had an orgasm. Everything he'd ever wanted was right here, right now. The rest was just... bonus.

Weakly, Ron pulled out of him and rolled them onto their sides. He wrapped his arms around Harry, pulling him in tight enough for Harry to lay his head down on Ron's chest and for their hips to remain close enough for their tired cocks to rest against each other.

Harry nuzzled the crisp, auburn hair rubbing against his cheek, liking the way it tickled his sensitive skin.

"You didn't... Want me to–" Ron lazily reached between Harry's legs and touched his partially-erect, wet length.

"No. S'okay," Harry told him, entwining their fingers instead. "We're both too tired. Consider it my penance for time wasted when we could have been doing this instead."

Ron glanced down at him. "You sure?"

Harry nodded.

"'Kay. Later, then. I'll suck you off. I've missed doing that."

The idea had Harry's slowly flagging cock rallying once more, but he suddenly felt another wave of tiredness wash over him. "Shit, so have I, but… later, yeah." He buried a yawn against Ron's chest. "Damn. I wish we could just stay here forever. I could sleep for the next thousand years right here."

Ron chuckled. "Yeah, I s'pose it's not a bad place, as far as caves go." He sighed. "Still, the storm spell Ginny cast over the area will only last 'til dawn. After that, the snow stops falling. We should probably vacate long before then, before the Witch of Wookey Hole shows up. It's Winter Solstice and time for her annual move-in." He gave a great yawn and stretched. "Getting caught by the likes of her would be bad. She's not a very nice hag, according to Mum."

It took Harry's foggy brain a few moments to process what Ron had said.

"Er… Isn't Wookey Hole part of the Mendip Hills in Somerset—a hundred and fifty miles from here?"

"Well, yeah," Ron replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "but this is her winter hide-out. Hags are migratory, you know. They don't stay in the same place all year 'round. Keeps 'em from being harassed by the locals. The Witch of Wookey Hill sets up shop here every winter, now that Black Annis has moved away." He sat up on an elbow and looked down at Harry. "Didn't you learn anything in Binns' class?"

Harry blinked up at Ron, completely baffled. "I did, yeah, but I thought you slept through all his lectures!"

His best friend shrugged one shoulder. "'Mione always let me cheat off her, and you know how thorough she is. Bless the witch, I'd have failed so many classes without her help."

"But you remembered that ambiguous bit of information about hags from a test you plagarised over ten years ago?"

The idea was staggering. Harry couldn't remember what he'd worn yesterday without some serious thought, as it just wasn't that important to him. That Ron could recall some obscure historical fact crammed down their throats by their mind-numbing History of Magic classes over a decade ago was… well, it was fucking impressive.

"Well… yeah. I'm shite at testing and writing papers, but there's nothing wrong with my memory, Harry."

Feeling sheepish at being reminded that behind his usual air of casual nonchalance, there was actually quite a brilliant brain in his best friend's skull, Harry blushed.

"You just constantly amaze me."

Ron's smirk was slow and filled mischief. "That's a good thing, yeah?" His hand slipped between Harry's legs, stroking gently.

Harry gasped as the feathery touches that were, once more, getting him hard. "Hell, yes. But… we should go, like you said. Beat the storm, slip past the hag. Use the snow to make good our escape."

Ron skimmed down Harry's body and then stared up at him from between his thighs. "Bollocks, who needs that kind of camouflage? We're Aurors! We'll fight our way free, if need be!" His grin was positively boyish and infectious. "'Sides, we've still got a few hours 'til dawn." He took Harry in hand—as it seemed he'd always done—and began manipulating him towards a delightfully good end. "Let's make the most of Ginny's storm."

"Whatever you say," Harry gasped, once again in full agreement with his best friend.

~FIN~