The sex started first, before everything else.

It was their second year and Seamus told Ron that he and Dean were Experimenting. Even with five older brothers, Ron didn't know what that meant and, although Harry didn't think it at the time, this said something about the Weasley family right from the start. Once Seamus explained, Ron gasped and glared and rushed away, shocked and appalled.

Ron stayed shocked and appalled, loud for three days. During this time, Harry became more and more depressed. Harry had been masturbating for a year when this happened and it was already obvious there was a select group of the world population he was thinking about. He'd been too nervous to ask anybody, but he'd been hoping that wizards were more open-minded about boys kissing than most muggles. It was obvious to him from Ron's reaction that this was not the case.

The night of the third day, Harry woke up to Ron sitting cross-legged at the end of his bed. Harry sat up and groped around for his glasses.

"'Lo, Harry," Ron said and stared at his hands in his lap.

"Ron," he said, "What are you doing?"

Ron looked up for barely a second. "Dunno."

"Well, alright, but, Ron. Ron, what are you doing in my bed?"

"Harry, d'you think about sex?"

"Course. What are you doing up? It must be three." Although Harry vaguely recognized that he must have seemed annoyed, harping on that Ron was talking to him in the middle of the night, but the truth was that he was hard and it wasn't going down and the only way to hide it was sitting with his knees up on either side of him and this position was making his bottom ache. He wanted Ron to tell him what the bloody hell was going on and go back to his own bed.

"I suppose." Ron let out a big sigh. It was only now that Harry noticed that Ron was just in a white shirt and boxers. Harry squirmed, wishing that his arse were more muscular. One would think it would be, what with all the sitting on a broom, but it wasn't. Or just rounder. Like Malfoy's.

Ron said, "Do you ever wake up thinking about sex?"

Harry gave a great blush, pink hot all the way down his neck. "Yes, Ron."

A bounce shot Ron across the bed, nearer to Harry. He could feel the warmth of Ron's ankle against his own, saw it as he looked down, anywhere but at Ron, little red hairs on freckled skin pulled taught against the bone. Only a thin white sheet between them. It was February, but Harry wasn't cold.

"You thinking about sex now, Harry?"

Really, he hadn't been, despite his erection, but now he was. Ron certainly was.

"What are you—"

"Dunno, Harry!" Ron moaned. "I think about it. Bloody prick pops up all the time and... well, I think... yours pops up on you too, I'll bet and... Dean and Seamus are probably perfectly... they're not... it's not. You know. It's just another hand. Seeing what we like for ourselves. Don't you think, Harry?" Looking almost fishlike with wide eyes and an open mouth, a scared, mad little fish, Ron lifted his hand, shaking, and place it on Harry's knee.


"You hard, Harry? I am." Harry's gaze was ripped down to below Ron's waist, and sure enough there was a tent in Ron's funny grey boxers with the blue stripes. Harry's mouth fell open as Ron's hand, the hand not squeezing at Harry's knee, came to his cock and started to rub. "You want to?"

Almost without thinking, Harry pushed off the sheet and then manoeuvred to pull his bottoms down to his ankles, then pulled his cock out. Ron reached for it and after a beat Harry sat forward to grab on to Ron's. It seemed to go in slow motion and, as his hand moved, Harry studied Ron's cock. It was shorter than his, and fatter, with one almost green vein down the side.

It felt hot in his palm and Harry felt the velvety skin like shocks in his stomach, down his arms, in his cock. It twitched, surprising Ron into squeezing it and Harry moaned, long and hoarse in his throat.

Just having someone else handle his cock was already twice as good as wanking usually was, but the feel of another cock in his hand practically doubled it again. If there was any doubt in his mind that he was as gay as super, very gay, every stroke served as confirmation.

He looked at Ron's face, hoping to catch his gaze, but his eyes were squeezed shut. Harry shut his eyes too. Back and forth, back and forth at different paces until they started to morph into one, moving together, faster and faster. It already took him only about five minutes to come as it was, but with Ron's help he felt that tightening in his balls all too soon. "Ron—"

"Yeah," Ron said. "Yeah. Me too."

"Fuck," he groaned out as the first spurt came. Then again, "Fuuuuuuuuuuuck. Ron!"

He opened his eyes to see Ron nodding violently. "Yes, Harry. Harry. Harry!" His voice broke at the end which made one more desperate, watery shot of come gush out of Harry's cock, this one flying all the way to land on Ron's ankle.

They sat there for a good while, their breath returning to normal, their bodies relaxing. Finally Ron opened his eyes and looked around. When their gazes met, they smiled at one another, but Ron's broke away, honing in on that last bit of Harry's come, cooling on his ankle. "Gross," he muttered and wiped it away, then grabbed his wand and flicked it with a cleaning spell.

Harry scratched at his thigh, that funny itch like dry skin from bad soap coming on where the spell took affect. "So," he said.

"Yeah," said Ron. "That was good, yeah? Better than alone."

"Yeah. Oh yeah."

"Great." Ron tucked his cock back into his trousers and hoped off Harry's bed. "G'night!" The bed curtains shut against his grinning face.

The next morning, Ron was talking to Seamus again, but it was obvious that now Seamus was not talking to Ron. As Harry walked into the toilet he heard Ron say, "Pass the—oh, blimey, Seamus! I'm sorry, all right? I was wrong to—"

Seamus shot a look at Harry. "Obviously," he said and shoved Harry out of the way of the door. Well, perhaps they hadn't been quiet the night before. Still, Harry really didn't understand why Seamus was this upset or why, for some time more Dean and Neville as well seemed quite peeved with them both.


They went on with regular hand jobs all the way through second year. It wasn't until that summer that Harry really understood that there was anything else to do.

It was still June. Aunt and Uncle were out of the house doing last minute shopping for ickle Dudleykins thirteen birthday and Dudley had Piers and Malcolm over. Passing by Dudley's room twice to get to the toilet, Harry'd noticed they were on the computer, but it wasn't until his third – this was a fine, drizzling day for tea – that he noticed how especially pink-toned the computer screen was and he actually stopped to look. Harry blinked. Yes, that was a blonde pair of naked breasts and a mouth... wrapped around a bloody enormous black cock. Harry gasped and then utterly ran for the loo.

People sucked on other people's cocks? An idea occurred to Harry and, sitting on the toilet, he experimentally leaned forward. No. Close, though. Perhaps with some stretching. Harry took a deep breath and listened for Dudley coming to pummel him. Nothing. Good.

Their first night back at Hogwarts, Harry crawled into Ron's bed and without prologue said, "Did you know we could—er. A girl might put her boyfriend's cock in her mouth? You know, and suck on it until he comes?"

Ron smiled. "Yeah, Harry. It's called a blowjob."

Harry felt his stomach sink instantly. If Ron had known about it and hadn't told him, this was going to be one of those things that was "too gay" for them to do together.

Sitting next to one another on the bed was too gay. Touching Ron's legs or his stomach while he wanked him was too gay. Kissing was too gay—way too gay, much to Harry's disappointment. Kissing seemed lovely and Ron had a very red mouth with a full upper lip.

But this... this blowjob thing was so entirely sexual, so sexual that the intimacy of it was almost blotched out, and Harry decided to press on.

"How about we do it then?"


"Too gay? Ron... it sounds fantastic. Wet and... do you have any prospects? Because I don't, not really. I think we'd be silly to not at least try it."

Ron was quiet for a long while, leaning back against his headboard and stroking himself through his boxers. Finally he sat up and nodded. "All right. I'll let you do it to me."

Harry was disappointed, at first. Obviously Ron had it set in his mind as a one-sided thing. But then, reminded that he was, in fact, gaygaygay, Harry realized giving a blowjob sounded really quite fantastic as well. He nodded and without speaking, Ron spread his legs and whispered a silencing charm as Harry stretched out in front of him.

Ron was wearing boxers that buttoned from the top half way down the front and Harry pulled the two sides apart and pulled out Ron's cock. It had gotten bigger over the summer, Harry noticed and, because of the long, warm train ride and the excitement of being back at school, Ron smelled more strongly of sweat, faintly of mushrooms, than he'd ever before. The smell rushed through Harry and he felt himself harden fully.

Although less so than his own – from a few brief conversations with some of the other Gryffindor boys, Harry'd deduced his cock was much more sensitive and receptive than normal – Ron's cock was still highly volatile and Harry figured that using his teeth was completely out of the question. Experimentally, Harry wrapped his lips around his teeth and then went forward, taking nearly all of Ron's cock in his mouth. Ron moaned loudly and Harry grinned, as well as he could.

That night he kept mostly with the basic, in and out motion, sucking and stopping a few times to press kisses against Ron's cock. After that – it was agreed silently and irrevocably that Harry would continue to suck Ron off, as he learned to call it, and Ron's mouth would never get within two feet of Harry's cock – Harry got more and more adventurous, trying out any new way for his mouth to interact with that area of Ron that came to mind and perfected his technique.

It went like this all the way through sixth year. Hand jobs and blow jobs late at night, Tuesdays and Thursdays like clockwork, no touching, no kissing, certainly no fucking, joking and talking again when the sun came up.


It was May third: the very end of their sixth year. As Harry lay back in his bed, every single muscle ached and he could feel the tension in his body so implicitly that Harry knew he was going to cry soon. His eyes stung at the inside corners and he squeezed them shut, feeling sure that every bit of his body was going to snap soon, like a guitar string wound too tight, the peg still turning. Someone would open his curtains to let him know he was going to be late for breakfast and they'd find him broken in half.

He turned over and punched his mattress, screamed into his pillow. Oh fuck. Sure, the next fight with Voldemort was upon him, but when had he become so melodramatic?

Light flowed into his bed as the curtain opened and Ron crawled in.

"'Lo, Harry," he said, smiling.

Harry felt the tear threat come back with a vengeance. Ron was fresh out of a shower after Quidditch practise and looked fresh and pink, smelled like soap and a little like baby powder. Harry'd skipped and God he reeked. Oh, but Ron was so beautiful.

"Ron," he said and, with absolutely no other options available to him, he turned away from Ron and curled into himself.

"Aw, Harry," Ron said and he could feel the shifts on the bed, towards Harry, back away from him. Hold me, he prayed. Just this once, ignore the implications, ignore your fucking good Straight existence and wrap your arms around me. Make me feel loved. Make me feel protected. Just once, ever, in my life.

It was stupid, too, that Harry felt quite sure that if they weren't having sex on a regular basis, Ron would do what's normal for a best friend and try and comfort him.

And maybe, if they weren't having sex, Harry wouldn't want him to so badly.

Fucking experimentation.

"Ron." His voice was almost too thick to be understood and he cleared his throat. "Ron, I know it's Thursday, but I don't—" Here is voice broke and he cleared his throat again. "I don't think I'm up for it tonight."

A few grossly romantic things that Ron could say rushed through Harry's head, but of course what he really said was, "Right. Tired, anyway. Oh... buck up, mate. You know you'll get him again."

Despite the utter wrongness of those words, Harry felt his heart tighten at Ron's sweet, blind trust in his abilities. The first tear of the night slid down Harry's nose and dropped off the tip, cold against his hand below his face. "Course. Thanks. Night, Ron."

"G'night, Harry," he said and slipped out of the bed, closing the curtain behind him. The bed flooded in darkness.

Harry gripped his wand too tightly in his hand and hissed out a silencing spell. He yelled out, experimentally. No one knew, no one cared.

Yes, the sex started really early on. Harry didn't fall in love with Ron until later.