They say you never forget your first time.
Neville vividly recalls his first kiss; laying in the grass, watching butterflies with Luna on a sunny, spring day. She was informing him about their relation to a new species of Wrackspurts when he leaned over and pressed his lips against hers. She smelled like roses; sweet and pure. When he pulled back she smiled at him and patted his hand kindly, eyes piercing into his as if she knew something he didn't. Maybe she did.
Neville also remembers his sexual experience. He let Harry drag him to a muggle club, timidly sitting at the bar as Harry danced among the other men before wandering off with a familiar looking blond. A handsome man approached him, bought him a drink and soon enough Neville found himself in the loo, gasping as he spilled himself into some stranger's mouth. He went home that night feeling dissatisfied, hollow. He stared into the mirror, his reflection looking back solemnly as if it held some secret. Maybe it did.
The first time Neville made love his heart nearly burst from his chest. Charlie was a considerate lover, pressing soft kisses to Neville's shoulder blade as he pressed inside him. Neville shuddered under Charlie, nerves alight with desire and bliss as he spent himself all over the sheets. Charlie held him afterwards, murmuring sweet words into his ear. Months later and the intensity never faded, each time felt as new and exciting as the one before it. And when Charlie asked Neville if he knew just how ardently and completely he loved him, Neville could only nod his head in response. Maybe, just maybe, he did.