Author name: prurient_badger
Summary: In which Ron Weasley gets stuck in a cave, has sex, and waits for jam. He'd laugh, if it wasn't so depressing.
Author notes: Thanks to momebie for the beta: what would I do without you?!
vii. The light across the walls is smeared and dull, casting Ron's face in inky shadows.
It's cold and damp and Ron is so hungry. He eyes a shelf of rock covetously, and wonders if it'd be crunchy. He could lick the moss on the walls, maybe…if that wasn't completely disgusting and god, what is wrong with him? Forty eight hours without food and he's gone batshit insane.
There's movement at the mouth of the cave and Neville shuffles into view. He's dirty and exhausted with two days worth of stubble and Ron wants to eat his leg, he's that starving. Neville drops down beside him, holding himself carefully. The sickly light of their feeble lumos flickers over the dark smudges under his eyes and blossoming across his ribs. Something painful spikes under Ron's breastbone: Neville looks worn out and defeated and Ron knows they're not getting out just yet.
But when they do, Ron's going to have a sandwich. Then he's going to kill everyone.
v. Seamus had this joke.
"A scientist and a pilot walk into a bar..."
Ron's heard it over twenty times, at least one of which made him almost sick with laughter, but he can never remember it properly.
He knows it's something about space and a wormhole and an intergalactic prostitute. And gay sex, possibly.
Seamus is dead, now. And it's just Ron and Neville in a cave, waiting to be found. He's not sure it matters by which side, at this point.
ii. "Uhh," said Ron.
"Uhh," agreed Harry.
Harry goes one way, Ron goes another, and Ron sees Remus flash into the clearing, catch Harry under the arms and apparate away. Ron's so relieved that he almost doesn't notice that now it's just him and Neville alone in the dark surrounded by psychopaths. His wand spits feeble sparks and makes a noise like a dying seagull.
vi. Ron misses jam. Which is a stupid thing to miss. Like, if he got to pick one thing to bring in here with them, it wouldn't be jam. It'd be more wands, or water, or an invisibility cloak, or just a really big knife. With a thick handle and a slicing blade and a layer of hope shining slick across the surface. He shifts slightly, restless in their enforced stillness, feeling the muscles of Neville's back shift against his as he moves. Back to back in a cave and really, how much more buddy action movie cliché could they be right now? He has to stop letting Harry make him watch those films, it just leads to problems in crisis situations. Ron moves again, feels the stretch and burn of abused flesh in all sorts of unexpected places (and a few totally predictable ones) and figures, well, he's gonna be paying for this big time anyway - aches and bruises from here to next month - so he might as well make it count. He reaches blindly behind him until his groping hand catches on a warm thigh. He hears Neville's breath hitch in his throat as he stokes an awkward thumb along an inseam, before he turns, half-blind in the dim light, and brushes high across Neville's cheekbone with his lips. Up close, Neville's pupils are huge in his wand's weak radiance, mouth still swollen and biteable. So Ron does, and Neville sighs softly into his mouth and sags towards him. Ron goes down with him until they're flat out on the rough ground, touching carefully, fingers skimming over cuts and scrapes and bone-deep bruises. Neville's kissing him soft and slow and easy, and Ron thinks maybe, maybe it'll be alright.
iv. Ron's stretched out on the floor, head tipped back awkwardly, waiting for the next drop of water to gather. There's a rock poking him in the small of his back and another under his heel, but he's been lying there for fifteen minutes and he's just starting to feel like there's not a desert taking up permanent residence in the back of his throat, so he's damned if he's moving now. He opens his mouth wide for the next tiny trickle of water and resigns himself to another half an hour of rocks to the spine.
It's been twenty five minutes – according to his watch, which he's pretty sure is either running slow or conspiring against him – before his foot starts to cramp up and he just has to move before he goes insane and tries to break out using only his trousers. He shakes the pins and needles out of his foot before sliding across to where Neville's sitting, hunched against a wall, a tight ball of misery. Ron's never been fabulous with words (well, duh), so he pats Neville on the shoulder in a manly, reassuring fashion, and tries not to think about how the water made him hungry again.
Neville looks up at him and jesus, even his eyes look bruised. Ron tries to turn the shoulder pat into a hug – if he looks closely, he can still see the imprints his fingers left on Neville's arms when Ron was shaking and crying and fighting to get out and kill something. Anything - but their positions are all wrong and he ends up with his nose in Neville's neck and a hand splayed across his back. And godammit, Ron can't even hug properly, and he's about to pull back and engage in a bit of hunched despair himself when Neville makes a noise in the back of his throat and bites him. So Ron bites him back because, fuck, why not and he's so hungry and tired and pissed off and cold and bored and he's pretty sure they're going to die in this depressing hole. And then his back's against the wall and Neville's pushing against him and Ron bites at his mouth and scratches a hand across his neck and shoves a thigh between his legs. They're panting in tandem now and Ron kisses Neville again, hard, to keep them both silent, because getting caught by the Death Eaters is one thing, but getting caught during sex would just suck. Neville rocks against him and makes a strangled noise against Ron's lips as he comes in stutters and jerks, and Ron wraps an arm around Neville's solid shoulders and spectacularly fails at being quiet.
iii. Harry's gone, not that his broken wand would do shit anyway. Seamus is dead and Ron and Neville are left eyeing each other across a clearing, almost dead wands hanging from their fingers. A stick cracks under a boot as the masked figures move to circle them and Ron catches Neville under the arms and runs until his heart is hammering in his throat. It's Neville who sees the opening, hidden behind a shield of scrubby ferns, and Neville who pushes Ron inside and uses what's left of his wand to cast an ailing lumos. And Neville who pats Ron's back and offers stumbling comfort when Ron clutches at Neville's arms and rants a whispered tirade against Seamus' killers.
viii. They're dozing uneasily, startling awake at the scratch of a leaf across the ground, when a sudden burst of sound outside their hide out jerks them awake. Voices, and a burst of light so dazzling Ron's blinded. He gropes for Neville's hand, twisting their fingers together, and turns his face towards the brightness.
i. Neville and Ron and Seamus are on a routine supply run, foraging for fruit and catching the occasional rabbit – and who would have thought it would come to this? – only, when they apparate to the drop spot Harry's there too. Stubborn bugger, never would listen to all the people who told him and told him to stay in the camp. Ron's one of them, actually, but he can't resist the pathetic eyes of stir crazy boredom, so he lets Harry wander off into the woods with Seamus. Neville smiles at him as they head for the apple trees, and Ron grins back. It's nice to get the simple assignments, sometimes.
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