Ron's POV

I knew what I wanted to give him as a 'present', so Christmas Eve after our chat, I went back into his room when he turned the light off, my heart pounding as I crawled into bed with him. I don't think he was surprised when my mouth found his bare skin. As my tongue licked his nipples and began tracing a slow path down his body, he moaned and shifted underneath me while his fingers slid into my hair to encourage me. His touch was always so certain in comparison to my virginal fumbling. He was so wise in the ways of the world.

I'd never done such a thing before nor had I had it done to me, but we'd talked about it and I'd heard other guys describe it so I knew a little. I took him in my mouth and soon my head was bobbing in rhythm with my hand that he controlled the pace of. It was amazing listening to the changes in his gasps and groans depending on what I was doing. I really didn't want to stop. It was intoxicating.

I know I'd said I wasn't attracted to men, but it wasn't his 'manliness' that held my attention and brought me back night after night. It was our…friendship?…well…whatever kind of relationship we had…it was that connection that did it. I admired him. I respected him. I cherished him and what he meant to me. And somewhere in the midst of all that, I wanted him to feel good. I wanted to pleasure him. I wanted to feel his hand grab my arm in reaction to something I was doing and hear his moans and sighs. We both deserved such contentment.

I remember after he took a few moments to clean himself off (since I didn't swallow his release), he pushed me to my back and soon his mouth was on my flesh. It was beyond bliss. It was beyond exquisite. It was also over before I could groan four times, but he didn't seem to care whether it took two minutes or ten. Obviously he'd done it before and knew exactly how to reach the goal. I remained in his mouth to the very end, and I remember thinking that I never knew pleasure and torture could exist simultaneously. Before I left that night after some time by his side in the dark just listening to him breathe, I kissed him deeply and slowly. It was the best way I could say thank you and 'Happy Christmas' without actually saying anything.

Often when I'd return to my room after an encounter with him, I'd periodically question why we did what we did. Who wouldn't? It was odd at best. We never spoke of it or acknowledged it during the day. We didn't acknowledge it at night either. When I entered the dark room, no words were ever spoken. We didn't need them. Our communication seemed to effortlessly transcend them.

We were embarrassed? Ashamed? No. There was honesty and sincerity in our caresses. So why didn't we talk? The question begged answering, I know. What purpose would it have served to talk? Did we have a relationship? No. Were we going to? No. Our unions were complicated as they were a blend of admiration, curiosity, lust, loneliness, desperation and fear. I loved my girlfriend, but she didn't meet all of my needs in the current stage of my life, to be honest.

If I loved her, how could I cheat on her, because that's essentially what I was doing, right? I asked myself that question too. It came down to that I didn't consider my actions cheating. Many would disagree, but let them step into my shoes for a few minutes to take into account the big picture.

Tomorrow was not guaranteed for any of us. People, including students, were disappearing left and right. Fear was an ominous cloud that hung over us every day. My heart belonged to Hermione and did not falter. She brought me happiness and a promise for the future; for our future. What she didn't bring me was safety, or at least the illusion of it, nor the deeper connection I was craving. Could he protect me from all harm? No. He was at much in jeopardy as I was, if not more, but yet I did feel safe with him, physically, emotionally, mentally and sexually.

We seemed to instantly understand each other's needs when everyone else was oblivious. He needed to connect with people. He couldn't leave the house, for crying out loud. Sure, he'd escaped Azkaban, but he was still in prison, wasn't he? He was lonely with much fire still in him. So why did he not spend time with Remus? Or Snape? Because I needed him. He needed to be needed. They didn't need him like I did.

I needed someone to hold me. I needed reassurance. I sound like a girl, I know, but I was fucking scared. I could have died. Even the bravest can crumble with death in front of them, yeah? I had to be the 'strong one' for Hermione. Who was the 'strong one' for me? My dad? Hardly. My brothers? Not quite.

He treated me like a young man and a treasured friend. He didn't explain things to me like I was five, as others did. He talked to me the same way he talked to Remus. I recognized the similarity in his tone of voice. I used to think it was the same way he talked to Harry, but there was a protectiveness only present when he spoke to his godson. That's the way it should have been really.

I felt respected and he felt needed. Was that so wrong?

You know the drill...go see the beautifully intricate banner I made...note the sarcasm LOL...nonetheless...go check it out...and if you read...leave me a message, k? Just two more and this little romp will be over. (Lucius and Ginny are sitting over in the corner pouting...)