I have an Illudium PU-36 Explosive Space Modulator (simons_flower) wrote in triofqf,
I have an Illudium PU-36 Explosive Space Modulator

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FIC: Room 7609 | NC-17 | simons_flower

Author:  simons_flower
Challenge:  EWE 9. Ron and Hermione are together and they find something missing from their relationship – Harry.
Title:  Room 7609
Summary:  Harry knows that, for the sake of friendship, he should resist this Mr and Mrs Weasley, but when they decide to make a meal of him one night, how is he supposed to say no?
Warning:  UST, voyeurism, dirty talk, RST, blow jobs, masturbation
Word Count:  9,475
Rating:  NC-17
Notes:  The title is from the chorus of a very old Duran Duran song and I couldn’t resist using it here.
     The length of this shocks me.  Harry wouldn’t let go then Ron wouldn’t shut up.  I hate when characters have their way with the author.

Room 7609

After the end of the war, Harry Potter became a chain-smoker in times of stress.  Though he knew it was a terrible habit – and Hermione, Ginny and Molly felt it their duty to remind him of such every chance they got – he wasn’t going to be stopping any time soon.  He’d been killed by Voldemort, so dying by lung cancer didn’t frighten him.

Presently, he stood outside the Dorchester Hotel a distance away from the front doors.  The glares of entering guests the doorman only amused him as he lit another fag.

Though he’d spent time earlier taming the persistently unruly mop of hair on his head, he drove a hand through his hair, a habit too far engrained for an hour of grooming to stop the tendency.  Leaning back against the wall, he bent a leg at the knee, bracing his foot against the brick façade.

After another drag, he growled to himself.  There was absolutely no reason for him to be jealous, he told himself.  None at all.  They were married and he was the bystander.  He hadn’t felt jealous at their wedding five years ago.  Indeed, he’d felt happy then at the sense of normality.

Since then, he’d realized he was bisexual.  His dreams and fantasies, now about both men and women, tormented him as much as the Wizarding press did by following him on every date.  He’d only dated women in the Wizarding world, not wanting yet another reason to be infamous; he confined his dates with men to the Muggle world.

Then, inevitably, thoughts about his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger-Weasley, had crept slowly and traitorously into his head.  His fantasies had become more vivid, drowning out even his real-life encounters.  He snorted in disgusted amusement to himself, drawing a sharp glance from the doorman again.  If the last man he’d been to bed with was anything to go by, Ron and Hermione had his complete attention even when his cock was inside someone else.

This evening had caused him silent torment.  Hermione’s mother had decided to celebrate her sixtieth birthday in grand style, renting the ballroom of a posh hotel and requiring formal dress from the attendees.  Hermione, in turn, had invited Harry.

Harry didn’t mind the tuxedo on himself.  Seeing Ron in a tux made his heart stutter.  Seeing Hermione in a candlelight-colored, off-the-shoulder formal dress – combined with the frustration of watching Ron in his tux – made him on edge enough to growl at the last man who’d interrupted his dance with her.  Hermione had smacked the back of his head and sent him outside like a scolded puppy.

Harry muttered a curse under his breath, viciously grinding out one fag then lighting another.

He didn’t want to feel this way, especially after so many years of platonic friendship between them.  Yet he did and there didn’t seem to be much he could do about it.  Seeing Ron and Hermione, dressed spectacularly and so happy with each other, was destroying his sanity.  He needed to get away from them, he concluded.  After tonight, he’d take a holiday and straighten himself out.

“Why are you hiding out here?” Ron demanded.

Harry choked on the drag he’d just taken, coughing violently.  Ron crossed his arms over his chest, pulling the shoulders of his tux tight, and raised an eyebrow at Harry.  Harry said nothing, puffing on the cigarette as if Ron had never asked a question.

“Do I have to send Hermione out here?” Ron asked, filling the tense silence between them.

“Hell no,” Harry muttered.  The last thing he wanted was to have Hermione after him in a huff, which meant she’d prop her hands on her hips, emphasizing her low-cut neckline, and he was just tall enough to have a spectacular view when he looked straight down her dress.  He told himself it was natural that he couldn’t stop himself from looking.

Ron tipped his head to one side, studying Harry.  Harry shifted nervously, sucking the fag down to the filter in an effort not to either attack Ron to kiss him or attack Ron to tell him to go to the fuck away.

“Come upstairs with us and get pissed,” Ron offered at last.  “It’s better than smoking yourself to death out here.  It’s bloody cold.”

Harry snorted at that.  His blood was too hot to notice the February chill.  Turning to face Ron, he ground out his fag before stuffing his hands into his pockets.  Ron’s arms were still crossed, the fabric of his jacket taut over his shoulders and biceps.

Harry raised an eyebrow at him.  “Hermione’s going to get pissed?”

A half-smile lifted one corner of Ron’s mouth.  “Maybe we can convince her.”

The idea that Hermione would get pissed with him and Ron was almost more than Harry could wrap his mind around.  She had always steadfastly refused to drink, preferring instead to taunt the two of them the next morning on the nights Harry stayed over in their guest room with what seemed to be the only two bottles of sobering potion.  In fact, the first time he’d fantasized about Hermione and Ron simultaneously in bed with him was on one of those nights he was sleeping it off in their guest room and their silencing charms had failed.

Harry said nothing, merely jerked his head toward the door.  Ron smiled and led the way.  The doorman held the door for Ron but gave Harry a cool look and let the door go.  Harry scurried through so it didn’t hit him, muttering yet another curse under his breath.

Hermione stood outside the ballroom, biting her lip and twisting a napkin in her hands.  Her shoulders visibly relaxed as she saw Ron and Harry, a smile brightening her face.

Harry questioned the wisdom of drinking with the two of them in their room when he was already feeling despondent.  Then again, he thought, if anyone could make him feel better, it was them.

Resigning himself to self-inflicted torment for the remainder of the evening, he followed Ron and Hermione into the lift.  They stood at the back, leaving Harry in front of them to face the doors. He nearly jumped when Hermione leaned forward, brushing a hand against his arse, to push the button for their floor.

“Forgot,” she murmured.  Harry blinked, glancing over his shoulder at her.  She smiled sheepishly, but he couldn’t help but think that the copped feel was deliberate.

What is she playing at?  It disconcerted him, threw him even more off balance than he already was.  The lines of relationship between the three of them were clearly defined.  In the last couple years, whenever those lines began to blur, Harry made sure to draw them clearly again, thereby preserving his peace of mind.

How was he supposed to handle Hermione starting something?  For that matter, why would she be doing that?  Even if Harry thought, at the wildest extremes of imagination and fantasy, Hermione would do anything with him, he wouldn’t do that to Ron.  And, if it were Ron he was reading these mixed signals from, he wouldn’t do that to Hermione.

Then again, he could be blowing the whole thing out of proportion.

The lift dinged at their floor and slid to a stop.  When the doors opened, Ron took a step forward, rested a hand at the small of Harry’s back and guided him out the door.  Harry thought nothing of it until Ron twisted his wrist, allowing his fingers to brush Harry’s arse before pulling his hand away all together to open the hotel room door.

Now they’re just fucking with my mind.  Harry was annoyed, but he wasn’t sure if he had the right to be.  Both could have been innocent touches blown out of proportion by his maddening desire for them both.  Besides, Ron was straight.  He had to be straight or Harry’s fantasies would be the death of him.

Hermione passed them, pulled the keycard from a small purse at her wrist Harry thought must have had charms on it akin to that moleskin pouch on his dresser at home.  Harry leaned against the wall beside the door, his stance relaxed until Ron took a half-step forward to ruthlessly violate his personal space.

In truth, the space should have meant nothing between them, given everything they’d been through as friends, but Harry was oversensitive to Ron and Hermione’s presences, especially tonight.  He grit his teeth and stomped into the hotel room behind Hermione.  He went straight to the mini-bar.

“There’s something better,” Ron murmured, lifting a bottle from the dresser to show it to Harry.

Harry closed the door to the min-bar, straightening – and wondering if Hermione really had been admiring his arse, given where her eyes lingered.  He raised his eyebrows at the bottle.  It was one of the most premium whiskies in the Wizarding world, one that would have cost Ron a half-year’s salary in his current position.

“Celebrating something?” Harry asked, sinking into one of the chairs in the small sitting area of their suite.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look, and then Ron nodded briefly.  Hermione took a deep breath and smiled tremulously.

Harry settled back, seething quietly.  If they were going to have a conversation, the least they could do is include him.  He chose to forget the times he and Hermione could communicate like that, as well as the times he and Ron could..  He rested his arms on the arms of the chair, raising his right foot to prop it on his left knee.

When Hermione turned to fully face him, she took another deep breath, her breasts threatening to spill out the top of her dress.  Harry tightened his grip on the arms of the chair as if bracing himself.  Though his hormones wanted her breasts to spill from her dress, his mind told him that was a horrible thing, especially given that Hermione was the wife of his best friend and that Ron was sitting right there.  He knew he was losing the fight for nobility to the baser urges of his hormones.

Hermione shot another quick look at Ron, who was grinning, then turned to Harry and said, “We want you in our bed.”

Ron snorted.  “Merlin, Hermione, I let you say it because I thought you’d have some tact.”

Harry froze, glancing between the two of them.  This had to be a joke, some elaborate prank orchestrated by George and Ginny, who must be stepping in for Fred’s absence and taking the opportunity to punish Harry for rejecting her.  It was the only thing that made sense, the only thing his mind would accept.  His hormones rejoiced and, at the urge to stand and strip off, he had to remind himself he was thirty years old and far too old for such behavior.

Hermione began twisting her hands again, now biting her lip as well.

“Harry?” Ron began.  “Aren’t you going to answer?”

That released the hold shock had placed on him.  He sprang from the chair, intent on escaping through the door and waiting out whatever Polyjuice these two were under or compulsion they were suffering.  That offer could not have come from his best friends.  Ron didn’t share well and Hermione had never shown much interest in him.

The thought held until he grabbed for the doorknob and found himself pressed face-first into the door instead.  Ron grabbed both his hands and pinned them flat to the door on either side of his head.  A quick kick at his ankles while Harry was still stunned allowed Ron to separate Harry’s legs far enough to wedge his knee between them.

Shock and annoyance faded into arousal as Ron did nothing but hold him there, body pressed tightly against his.  Harry slowly became aware of just how much bigger Ron was than him, both in height and breadth.  Ron was a half-head taller, his breath hot against the back of Harry’s head.  Ron’s shoulders were broad enough to make Harry feel engulfed between them.

He shifted slightly – then froze.  Ron was hard and that hard cock was nestled just between his arse and lower back.  He bit his lower lip, willing himself not to moan.

Harry didn’t want his surrender to be that easy.  Yes, he was suddenly aroused beyond all belief; yes, he thought he could rut a few times against the door and stain his tux trousers as he came; yes, he wanted to melt against Ron and allow himself to be taken.  But if they’d been planning to seduce him – and he’d apparently not picked up any of those clues, despite, or maybe because of, his own lust for them – he wasn’t going to make his seduction easy.

Instead, he swallowed hard and injected annoyance into his voice.  “What are you doing, Ron?”

He closed his eyes as Ron shifted against him, rubbed against him, and whispered in his ear, “We told you we wanted you in our bed.”

“And?”  Harry willed himself to project insolence, channeling his fifteen-year-old self for a moment.

Ron pressed his lips right against Harry’s ear, close enough that Harry thought condensation might be gathering on his skin.  “Both of us wanted you.”

Harry exhaled sharply to avoid shuddering in delight.  He opened his mouth to respond with a sarcastic remark, only to be cut short by Ron again.

“Look, Harry,” he murmured.

Harry couldn’t seem to stop himself.  He opened his eyes – and his jaw nearly dropped.  Hermione had shed the dress she’d almost fallen out of to reveal a candlelight-colored silk and lace corset, tiny knickers barely more than a scrap of lace, suspenders, pale stockings and the same three-inch heels she’d worn all night but now given a more sinister personality by her lack of attire.

The moan escaped his throat before he could stop himself.  Hermione smiled in return, the expression surprisingly predatory.  Though he thought he should just take their words, and physical overtures, at face value, he still didn’t allow his arousal free reign.  He tried his best to ignore how well Ron fit against him, how well Hermione’s curves fit into that corset and how the heels emphasized her legs.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked as calmly as he could.

Hermione glanced briefly up at Ron, her smile widening.  She crossed to the door.  Harry bit his lip, forcing back his moan at the scent of her, lightly floral and vanilla spiked with feminine arousal.  She raised her hand to cup his jaw, tugging his lower lip free with her thumb.

“Because we’ve talked about our life together and realized we’re missing one thing...”

“...you,” Ron concluded.

Nearly equal parts hope and bitterness leeched through him.  “The two of you were meant to be together,” he ground out.

Ron shifted again, is arousal undiminished.  “But not without you, mate.”

Hermione spread her fingers over his cheek.  “Never without you, Harry.”

He had no idea what to say.  He wanted desperately to take what they were offering, but still resisted.  If what they were offering was going to destroy their friendship, he would walk away from this room on this night and never speak of it again.

“It’s been five years,” he ground out.  “Why now?”

Hermione shuddered with a sigh even as Ron took a half-step back, loosening his hold on Harry.

“We’ve been talking about having children,” Hermione began.

“And we talked about other things we felt were lacking,” Ron continued, no sarcasm in his voice despite the subject matter.

“And about fantasies.”  A delicate blush colored Hermione’s cheeks with her words.

“Hermione has always wanted a threesome.”  Ron shifted with his next words, pressing tightly against Harry.  “And I admitted I wanted another man.”  He bent so his lips were against Harry’s ear and murmured, “You, Harry.”

Harry closed his eyes.  “What about tomorrow?  Or next week?”

He felt Hermione’s left hand on his other cheek, her wedding ring a warm metal divider on her fourth finger.  “It wouldn’t be just tonight, Harry.  We want you for however long you’ll have us.”

“Why?”  The question was torn from him before he could stop the words.

“Because we love you, of course,” Hermione answered, her tone stating as clearly as her words that the answer should be obvious.

Harry opened his eyes, meeting Hermione’s tentatively until he saw she believed what she was telling him.  Even though he couldn’t understand it, to her, the words were honest truth, which meant she spoke for Ron as well.

He wasn’t sure what to do with the information.  His hormones wanted to press Hermione to the bed, driving into her, while Ron fucked him from behind.  His rational mind, the one he’d forced to rein in his hormones for the last year, told him he should walk away because no matter how much Ron and Hermione thought they might want to do this, it could never work.

A small smile blossoming on his face, he let slip the reins on his hormones.  Not as much as he wanted, but enough to enjoy himself.

He tipped his head back, moaning appreciatively when Ron took the hint to kiss him.  Ron released his right hand so he could tangle his own right hand in Harry’s hair, tugging his head back, holding Harry in place to ravage his mouth.

Harry didn’t know kissing Ron could be like that, so wanton and possessive at the same time.  He was suddenly ecstatic at the pressure of Ron’s body against his because he thought it might be the only thing keeping him upright.

“Don’t forget to share,” Hermione said.

Ron released Harry’s mouth with a soft moan.  Harry’s eyes fluttered open slowly.  He was simply too dazed by his reaction to Ron’s kiss to think about how feminine his fluttering eyes were until after they were open.  The near-swooning reaction annoyed him.  Was it just Ron that made him feel that way or was it that he’d been kissing a man?  He’d never had that reaction before despite the half-dozen or so men he’d taken to bed.

He tugged himself free of Ron, who was no longer pressing him tightly to the door but just holding him.  He told himself kissing Hermione would be for comparison’s sake, but he knew he was lying to himself.

He covered the space between them in one long step.  Meeting her eyes, he brought his hands to her neck, sliding them into her hair to hold her head in place.  He’d meant to be gentle, but she mimicked his motion, gripping his head with much more force than he’d done with her, and pulled his head down.

Their lips met in a frantic clash.  Harry had the image of Hermione attempting to devour him – then thought about her mouth wrapped around his cock, devouring him – and moaned.  Hermione drove a hand deep into Harry’s hair, her fingernails scraping against his scalp with erotic promise.  He slid one hand from her hair down her spine, pulling her against him.  She wiggled, the bones of her corset rubbing against his cock.  When he gasped, they broke their kiss, panting slightly.

So it wasn’t just Ron, Harry thought to himself.

He glanced over at Ron.  Ron sat on the edge of the bed, shoes and socks lying on the floor next to his foot, one leg bent next to him on the bed.  Something about Ron’s bare feet was distractingly erotic.

It occurred to him that he might have let his hormones have a longer leash than he’d originally thought if Ron’s feet were erotic to him.

He felt Hermione’s hands at his shoulders and allowed her to pull his tux jacket off.  Ron’s eyes seemed locked on his shoulders, making Harry smirk.  At least he wasn’t the only one distracted.  Her small hands smoothed his white shirt over his back, making him close his eyes.  The sensation set his nerves on fire, made him want to do something rather than stand there and take it.  But he didn’t move, fearing she’d stop.

“I’ve always loved your shoulders and back, Harry,” Hermione murmured.  Harry stilled further, unwilling to risk breaking whatever spell she was weaving around him with her touch.  “I especially loved how you looked in a Quidditch uniform.”

Harry’s eyes shot open but before he could say anything, Ron groaned, flopping back on the bed.  “Don’t remind me about the damn uniforms.”

“You both... really?  Uniforms?”  Harry frowned in surprise, wondering why his uniforms turned them on.

“Your Auror uniform is pretty fucking hot, too,” Ron added.  His voice deepening with arousal, he continued, “And you walk with more authority in your Auror uniform.  You have no idea how many people fuck you with their eyes as you walk by.”  Harry wasn’t sure what to say to that.

Hermione reached around and began to undo the buttons of Harry’s shirt while he was stunned immobile.  He tried to help, only to have his hands slapped away.  Hermione’s nails accidentally scratched his stomach, making exhale sharply with a slight moan.  She paused, then deliberately did it again.  Harry shuddered, his stomach muscles contracting under her fingers.  She began humming softly to herself as she continued, now liberally using her fingernails on him in varying amounts of pressure.

“Ticklish?” Ron asked.  Blinking, Harry looked up from watching Hermione’s hands.  Ron had propped his upper body up on his arms, watching his wife and his best friend hungrily.  Harry shook his head.  Ron grinned and Harry nearly shivered under the predatory leer in Ron’s expression.

Ron held Harry’s gaze until Hermione finished the buttons at the front of Harry’s shirt.  She pulled it from his shoulders, but not his arms, leaving him partially tangled, his shirt encasing his biceps.  Ron licked his lips hungrily, his eyes devouring Harry.  Harry wanted to blush under the scrutiny, but thought he might be eyeing Ron the same way and, in that case, a blush would seem hypocritical.

Hermione, still humming, slipped under Harry’s right arm to stand in front of him.  After looking up at him demurely, she bent her head to the task of unfastening his cuffs.  He thought he might be trembling slightly from the amount of restraint it took not to attack her.  The combination of innocent looks and debauched dress was wearing him down.

When she moved to his left wrist, he noted the tip of her tongue caught between her lips.  He had to close his eyes, a hissing breath caught between gritted teeth as he fought to keep control of himself.

She straightened after unfastening his second cuff, taking a half-step back as if to study her work.  Tipping her head to one side, exposing the cords of her neck, she tempted Harry mercilessly.  He wanted to feast on her, knowing Ron was watching.  He wanted to share her with Ron, passing her between them as if she were a toy.  He wanted her utterly to himself, keeping her awake until dawn and beyond to satisfy her every desire.

Instead, he clenched his fists and resisted the urge to touch her.

She looked up at him, an amused smirk on her face, before stroking the back of his hand urging him to relax it.  Then she drew his sleeve down, pulling his shirt off on one side.  She repeated the motions on the other side until his shirt lay on the floor, leaving him in only his trousers, socks and shoes.

Ron sat up, tugging his own coat off and throwing it to the side.  Hermione sighed, but said nothing.  Locking eyes with Harry, he then pulled off his shirt almost as slowly as Hermione had removed Harry’s.

Rising to the balls of her feet, Hermione wound her arms around the back of Harry’s neck and pulled his head down.  He had only a moment to note the feel of boning and lace against his chest before he was drowning in her kiss.  His hands tangled restlessly in her hair again, her mouth stifling his moan as she scored his back with her fingernails.

“I love when she does that to me, too,” Ron whispered in his ear.  He startled for a moment before losing himself between them.

Ron pressed shoulder-to-groin against his back and reached around to pull Hermione against his front, sandwiching him between them.  He felt light-headed from the blood rushing to his cock.  As if sensing the depth of Harry’s arousal, Ron began to slowly grind himself against Harry’s arse.  Sweat beaded on his skin, especially where Ron’s bare chest was pressed against his back.

Hermione broke their kiss, gasping.  Harry, eyes still closed, moaned.  Ron released his wife, moving his hands to Harry’s chest, as she pressed kisses down Harry’s throat before moving lower.  Her lips trailed over one nipple, gently tugging it with her teeth until Harry growled for her to stop.  Laving it with her tongue in apology, she then slid further down over his stomach until she eventually sank to her knees in front of him.

Her hands on his trouser fastenings, she looked up, meeting Harry’s arousal-darkened gaze.  Then she shifted slightly, meeting Ron’s eyes.  With a smile, she asked her husband, “Do you want to stay there or watch?”

Harry could feel Ron’s smile against the back of his neck, making him shiver.  Ron’s voice was huskier than he’d ever heard when he answered, “I’ll watch next time.”

Hermione smiled knowingly even as Harry’s thoughts stuttered.  Next time?

She slowly unfastened his trousers, taking care not to touch his cock, even by accident.  Harry wanted to demand she hurry, that he was dying, but he just grit his teeth, breathing labored as he fought to stay in control.  When she slipped the last button, she looked up, holding Harry’s gaze as she tugged his trousers and black silk boxers down in one motion.

If Ron’s cock weren’t hard and nestled against his arse, Harry might have blushed at Hermione’s appreciative reaction, but he could tell that he and Ron were about the same size despite the difference in physical size otherwise, so he read her expression as finally discovering what he looked like and knowing what to do with him.

“I told you,” Ron murmured, making Harry jolt in shock.

“What?” he hissed.

Ron chuckled, the sound resonating in his chest.  “I’ve studied you a time or two in the changing room, especially at the Academy.”

Once again Ron had rendered him speechless.  Harry had done his best not to eye his best friends – either of them – since admitting to himself he was in love with them, but Ron apparently had been eyeing him for years.

“You were right,” Hermione said softly, looking up at both of them.  “May I continue?”

“Please,” Harry choked out.  He’d grill Ron later.

Hermione smiled, then bent her head to her task:  devouring Harry.  He could only assume she’d developed her technique with Ron because she had no hesitation about taking him in her mouth to the root.

His eyes rolled back when he felt the head of his cock slip into her throat.

“She’s very good at that,” Ron whispered in his ear.  Harry shuddered.  Tangling a hand in Harry’s hair once again, Ron pulled Harry’s head to one side, kissing and sucking at the cords of Harry’s neck.  “She’s been quite eager to practice since we decided to seduce you.  Demands to give me a blow job any time she feels the need.”  He bit Harry’s earlobe.  Harry shuddered again.  “It’s been a real challenge.  Your office has some damn good soundproofing charms.”

My office?  They did this in my office?

“Fuck,” Harry groaned.  He knew he should be annoyed, but annoyance required more focus than he had at that moment.

Then Hermione began to move.  Harry, now panting, carded his fingers through her hair, tangling in and tugging on the strands.  She hummed in approval, the sensation nearly making Harry come.

He didn’t want to come yet.  He was thirty and his recovery time was a lot longer now than when he’d lost his virginity at eighteen and was able to come five times in the four hours he and Ginny had the Burrow to themselves.  If he were lucky, he’d get three times for the whole night.  He didn’t want the first of those to be in Hermione’s mouth.  Third, maybe, but not first.

He pulled at her hair until she released him, looking up questioningly.  He licked his suddenly-dry lips and said, “I don’t want to come yet.”

He felt Ron’s smile against his neck.  “That close?”

“What the fuck do you think?” he responded with a growl.

Ron, laughing softly, released him and stepped back so he could undress.  He watched Harry as Harry sat on the edge of the bed, allowing Hermione to help pull his shoes, socks and trousers off until he was naked.  Then Ron shed his trousers, revealing he’d been wearing nothing underneath.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Harry muttered.  Ron merely grinned.

Hermione straightened, hands on her cinched-in hips, gaze flickering between the two men.  “Do I get a show first or does Harry need to take the edge off?”

He marveled that his head hadn’t exploded like something from the Monty Python movies Hermione had hooked him and Ron on to.  He really wanted them simultaneously, but he didn’t think he’d survive.  Not only was this his first threesome, but it was Ron and Hermione.

“What – ”  He stopped when his voice cracked.  Clearing his throat, he tried again.  “What do you want?”

He didn’t realize Ron had moved until he felt him skin-to-skin at his back once again.

“This night’s for you, Harry,” Ron purred in his ear.  Harry closed his eyes and bit back a moan.  “What do you want?  We have the room all weekend and there’s always room service.  I like room service.”  Harry could hear Ron’s smile in his last words.

“I don’t know what I want first,” Harry answered.  He felt as overwhelmed as a prisoner suddenly released from a life sentence.  There were too many choices and he was drowning in them.

Hermione grinned, the same lascivious grin that hat undone him earlier.  “If you can’t choose, then I will.”  She sat on the ottoman between the two chairs in the sitting area, primly crossed her legs, laced her fingers together on her upraised knee and said, “I want a show.”

Harry groaned, whether from arousal or relief he wasn’t entirely sure.

“In that case,” Ron began, wrapping his arms around Harry and pulling him back, “who are we to deny the lady?”

“Lady?” Harry teased.  Hermione huffed, feigning annoyance even as Ron murmured, “Don’t insult my wife or I won’t let you fuck her.”

A dark thrill shot through Harry at Ron’s words.  Part of the reason he’d been willing to remove himself from not only Britain, but their lives, was that they were married, committed to each other.  Now they wanted him to be part of that, something he’d wished for but never expected.  The idea he could have them, together or separately, was almost as enticing as the reality of it.

“Do you bottom or top, Harry?” Hermione asked.  She’d uncrossed her legs, but still had them pressed tightly together, her hands on her thighs.  “I’m not sure which Ron would prefer since he’s only done this once.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, looking back over his shoulder at Ron.  “You have?  With who?”

Ron slid a hand down to Harry’s hip even as he blushed faintly and scowled.  “I should never have told Hermione.”

“Mmm, but you really enjoyed yourself,” she murmured in reply.

“So did you!”

“Who was it?” Harry repeated.  He was wildly curious now that he knew he wasn’t the first for them.

Ron mumbled something under his breath, but before Harry could demand he repeat it, she said, “It was Viktor Krum.”

Harry was, once again, speechless.  Viktor?  They’d had a threesome with Viktor?

Ron and Hermione were still glaring at each other when Harry found his voice again.  “The two of you and Viktor?”  Hermione nodded defiantly while Ron was silent.  “I’m noticing a trend.”

Ron snorted.  “Quidditch makes for a firm, fuckable arse?”

Harry grinned.  “I hadn’t noticed.”

“For a Seeker,” Hermione added.  “Beaters have great upper body definition.”

“Have you made your way through a Quidditch team?” Harry asked, astonished.  He hadn’t thought they were that adventurous.

“No, Viktor took us into the changing room after a game.”  Hermione’s tone was prim and demure again in contrast to what her words implied.

Ron curved a hand around Harry’s hip, using his other to pinch a nipple.  Harry jolted in surprise, the arousal that had receded as they talked suddenly demanding his attention again.

“Top or bottom, Harry?” Ron growled.

Harry had done both and didn’t have a general preference.  Whether he wanted to penetrate or be penetrated depended upon his mood.

“Did you give or receive for Viktor?”

“Receive,” Ron replied almost shyly.  Hermione moaned at the memory.

Harry glanced up at her – he hadn’t even realized he’d been watching ron’s hand trace idle patters on his chest – and felt heat flash through him.  She’d removed her tiny knickers at some point, though with her legs closed, he could see only a dark shadow at the apex of her thighs.

She waited until he lifted his eyes to hers before smiling and spreading her thighs wide.

“Fuck,” Harry hissed.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Ron asked quietly.  Harry nodded sharply.  He’d known for a long time that Hermione was beautiful, but had denied himself the right to appreciate it once she and Ron became a couple.  Now the knowledge and desire had returned full-force.  “You should see her tits.”

“Ron!” Hermione reprimanded, blushing.  “They’re called breasts.”

“Not among men, Know-It-All.”  She huffed.  To Harry, he said, “They really are amazing.”

Hermione closed her legs again and, glaring, crossed her arms over her chest.  “I still haven’t seen a show, boys.”

“Harry still hasn’t answered the question,” Ron retorted.

Harry swallowed audibly and said, “I’ll bottom.”

Ron wasted no time, turning Harry and bending him over the dresser, meeting Harry’s eyes in the mirror.  Harry had expected to see that his eyes had darkened to a forest green; he hadn’t expected to see that Ron’s eyes had darkened to sapphires around pupils dilated with arousal.

“If I’d said I’d topped Viktor, would your answer have been the same?” he asked.

Harry nodded.  He’d dreamt of Ron taking him for a year now and wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity.  Though, had he said he’d topped Viktor, Harry would have insisted on both top and bottom in one night.  He smiled.  He might still get both in one night.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione walk toward them with a small tube in her hands.  Their eyes met in the mirror as well and she smiled, especially when Harry’s eyes tracked downward.  What he wanted to see was hidden by the shadow of the dresser and, by her expression, she knew it.

She handed the tube to Ron, who immediately began spreading some on his fingers.  Holding Harry’s gaze, she slowly undid the laces of her corset.  His only distraction was when Ron began stroking his arse with his lubed fingers.

Harry’s attention fragmented when Ron slid a finger into him.  He gasped and closed his eyes, biting his lower lip to stifle a deep moan.

“Everything all right?” Ron asked.  Harry nodded decisively, exhaling sharply when Ron twisted his finger and added a second.

“You have no idea how good that looks,” Hermione said, lips against Harry’s ear.  Before he could respond, he felt her slip under his left arm, insinuating herself between him and the dresser.

He didn’t need to open his eyes to know she’s removed her corset – her nipples were tight and hard against his shoulder.  Given how Ron had bent him toward the dresser, he could have taken one of Hermione’s nipples into his mouth without difficulty.

When she began wiggling, he opened his eyes.  He met Ron’s eyes briefly in the mirror – his responding grin sent Harry’s arousal spiraling higher – before focusing on Hermione.

She now sat on the dresser.  She’d left her suspenders and stockings on, but her heels lay discarded on the floor.

“Damn, Hermione,” Harry muttered.  She smiled serenely before kicking his arms aside and spreading her legs wide.

“I think she’s offering you a feast,” Ron murmured, bending low over Harry’s back.

Harry did nothing, overwhelmed for the moment.  Ron pulled his fingers from Harry, wiping them on a cloth Hermione had apparently provided earlier with the lube.  Harry braced himself once again.

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair, using pressure on the back of his head to drawn him closer.  The scent of her was making his cock throb, every beat of his heart making it jump, leaving a damp, sticking spot on his abdomen.

He thought he’d be prepared for Ron.  He wasn’t.  The blunt head of Ron’s cock felt immense as Ron positioned himself to enter him.  He couldn’t remember having a partner Ron’s size, so had never been breached by a cock as large.  He wanted this so much that it nearly drowned the need to taste Hermione.

Ron gripped Harry’s hip tightly with his right hand, leaving his left to guide his cock.  Ron pushed in with a swift thrust, burying nearly half his length at once.

Harry gasped, only to have Hermione shove her fingers, coated with her arousal, into his mouth.  As Ron continued to push in, Harry sucked all the dampness from Hermione’s fingers, swirling his tongue around them, seeking every remnant of her taste.

When Harry felt Ron’s sac against his, Ron groaned.

“Is it different than me?” Hermione asked.  Harry’s eyes shot upward, meeting Hermione’s.  She grinned then turned her attention back to Ron.

The idea Ron and Hermione had anal sex did something more to Harry’s perception fo them.  Their sex life was adventurous, even beyond their previous threesome.  It liberated some of his lingering guilt.

“Even tighter... not as well... fuck, yeah, it’s different.”  Ron’s worse were broken by moans as he began to thrust in earnest.

Harry knew then that he wouldn’t last long just from Ron’s attentions.  Add Hermione to the mix and he felt eighteen again and not in a way he could appreciate.

Bracing his hands on Hermione’s thighs, he bent his head to taste her.  She moaned deeply, fingers tightening on his hair as she slid forward on the dresser.

Harry feasted.  Delighting in the tug and pull of Hermione’s hands in his hair, he buried his face between her thighs.  She was very wet, wet enough to coat his nose as he nuzzled her clit and wet enough to coat his chin as he slid his tongue inside her.

“Harry,” she groaned.  He liked hearing his name on her lips as if it was dragged from her.

Before he could focus too thoroughly on Hermione, though, Ron reached around to his cock and began to stroke it in time with his thrusts.  Already light-headed from arousal, Harry could only moan, those vibrations, in turn, driving Hermione closer to the edge.

A few moments later, Ron tightened his grip on both Harry’s cock and hip, grunted as he drove deep, and came.  He thrust fully inside with each wave, stilling on his fourth and final.  Harry desperately wanted Hermione to come first, but feeling Ron come meant he was a hairsbreadth from coming.  Shifting a hand, he began rubbing her clit with this thumb as he fucked her with his tongue.

When she came a few moments later, she arched so hard that she banged her head on the mirror atop the dresser.  It wobbled, one small crack crazing its surface from behind her head.  She was unfazed until the last of her orgasm faded and she pushed his head away.

He met her eyes just in time for Ron to stroke him again, this time to completion.  A white haze settled over his eyes as his orgasm washed over him.

Lost in the afterglow, he barely noticed Ron pulling out and moving him to the bed.  He heard a few spells to fix the mirror and clean the carpet but couldn’t concentrate to actually figure out what the spells were.

He smiled when he felt the bed sink on either side of him.

“So... for a while?” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” Ron replied.

It was the last thing he heard before falling asleep.


He woke to a mouth around his cock.  Opening his eyes with a gasp, he discovered it still dark.  Driving a hand downward, he was shocked when the hair he encountered was short, not long, meaning Ron was giving him a blow job, not Hermione.

“Ron,” he moaned, arching into his mouth.  Ron hummed acknowledgment, making Harry writhe.

He opened his eyes, not realizing he’d closed them again, when a light came on.  Bleary-eyed since his glasses lay on the side table, he saw Hermione as slightly out-of-focus sitting next to him on the bed. As he watched, she wriggled downward until she was parallel to him.

She leaned over and whispered, “He’s been waiting to do that, you know.”

“For – ”  Harry stopped when his voice cracked.  Clearing his throat twice allowed him to start again.  “For how long?”

Even without his glasses, she was close enough to see her grin.  “Years, but not as long as me.”

Ron did something with his tongue just under the head of Harry’s cock, making him gasp and arch again.  Then Hermione descended, kissing him until he thought oxygen starvation might be a problem.

Distracted completely by the two of them, he lost himself.  Ron continued to suck his cock, his oral fixation put to good use.  Hermione shifted, straddling Harry’s waist, rubbing herself from breast to thigh against him, coating his stomach with her renewed arousal.

He broke her kiss and pushed her upward.  Before she could protest, he cupped her breasts.  She whimpered, arching into his hands, her own hands linked behind her head.  Delighting in her response, he smiled.  When he shifted to thumb her nipples, her responding shudder made him ache even more.

Ron released his cock, still stroking it with a hand but not mouth, and moved downward.  Shoving Harry’s thighs apart, he sucked Harry’s balls into his mouth.  Harry had never had someone do that before and was suddenly on the precipice of coming once again.  He stilled his hands and froze to attempt to gain some control over his body.  Since Hermione continued to wriggle atop him and Ron didn’t stop, he realized it as a futile gesture.

“Ron, stop,” Harry gasped, sighing in relief when Ron pulled his mouth away.

“Didn’t you like that?”

“Too much,” Harry admitted.  Ron moved up the bed onto his knees, rising behind Hermione.  “I want to come inside Hermione, not into your fist again.”

Ron grinned at both Harry’s words and Hermione’s low moan of agreement, then murmured, “By all means, fuck my wife.”

“Ron,” Hermione chastised, but it was said with such breathlessness that neither Ron nor Harry thought it was a serious admonition.

Ron moved back, pulling Hermione with him.  One of his hands on her hip, he used the other to grip Harry’s cock and guide it inside Hermione.  As she descended on his cock, Harry began panting.  The sensation was enough – the tightness, the wetness, the heat – to make him climax long before he was ready.  She trembled, leaning forward to brace her hands on his shoulders, her fingernails digging crescents into his skin.  Her moan nearly drowned his.

“How does he feel?” Ron asked, lips on her neck.  She merely closed her eyes, dropping her head back against Ron’s shoulder.  He gave the juncture of her neck and shoulder a bite before turning his attention to Harry.  “How does she feel?”

“Fucking brilliant,” he groaned, teeth gritted to try to hold back his orgasm.

He nearly had control of himself when Hermione began clenching around his cock, caressing it from base to tip and back again.

“Hermione,” he hissed.  “If you want me to last, stop.”

She turned the corners of her mouth upward in a small smile.  “We have the whole weekend.”  And, with that, she continued caressing him, raising and lowering herself on him at random intervals.

His breathing sped.  To stop himself from grabbing her, flipping them over and pounding mercilessly into her, he reached over his head for the headboard.  Gripping it tightly, he began thrusting upward.  He knew he wouldn’t last but he wanted to try his best to make her come before he did.

His eyes shot open when he felt Ron’s knuckles against his lower belly.  Ron’s answering smirk was wicked.  Ron held Harry’s gaze as he rubbed Hermione’s clit – Harry noted she made the most interesting gasping noises at that – and fondled one breast with the other hand.

There was some part of Harry that was beyond aroused, was utterly mindless, at the knowledge he was fucking his best friend’s wife with his best friend’s permission and assistant – just as he’d been fucked by his best friend’s husband with her assistance.  It made what they were doing seem wickedly dirty even as it felt like he finally belonged.

Hermione shuddered, a guttural moan escaping, and clamped down around Harry’s cock.  She tried to arch back once again, but Ron braced her.

“Beautiful when she comes, too, isn’t she?” Ron asked, still smirking.

Harry drove upward, hard, grunting in his climax.  He’d barely finished his last wave when Ron pulled Hermione upward and drove into her.  She fell forward, panting against Harry’s sweat-slicked neck.  Ron came inside her in less than a minute – and that knowledge nearly aroused Harry to hardness again, but he was too exhausted.

“Cleaning charm?” he murmured.

Hermione wiggled away, leaving Ron lying mostly atop Harry.  A moment later, wand in hand, she performed several cleaning charms and whispered a good night.

“Sleep?” Harry mumbled.

“Sex wakes her up,” Ron replied, words nearly slurred from his own sleepiness.  “We sleep.  Round three.”

Harry slept.


Sunlight on his face, a heavy arm around his waist and a soft breast in one hand greeted Harry several hours later.  Shifting slightly earned him a grunt and tug from Ron and a sleepy moan from Hermione.

Last night really happened, he thought.  He’d begun to think it had been an elaborate fantasy, but Ron and Hermione were real.  And naked on either side of me.  And Ron and I have morning wood.

He eased out from under Ron’s arm, gently rolling Hermione onto her back as he did so.  He eased her legs apart, pausing when she sighed – and parted them further.  He thought about tasting her again, waking her as she’d woken him in the middle of the night, but he wanted something more leisurely.

After sliding two fingers into her to test her readiness and discovering her soaking wet again, he bit his lower lip.  Though both Ron and Hermione had used him last night, with his permission, he felt unsure about taking this liberty.

“Go ahead,” Ron whispered, watching him with sleepy-sexy eyes.

Harry started, surprised.  Ron said nothing else, merely pushed the blankets down and began languidly stroking himself.  Blinking once, Harry returned Ron’s lazy smile.

Returning his attention to Hermione, he leaned down, bracing himself with one hand on the mattress near her right breast, the other hand wrapped around his own cock.  He rubbed the head through her folds, coating himself in her wetness, before positioning himself.  Shifting so he was braced on his elbows, he drove fully into her in one thrust.

Hermione moaned, still mostly asleep, and arched upward.  Harry bent his head to suckle her, something she’d taunted him with but he hadn’t done yet.  Ron was right, her breasts were amazing.  He began thrusting leisurely, wanting to savor this rather than have the unrelenting demands of his body overwhelm him as it did overnight.

He could tell when Hermione began to wake, rather than float in the half-state she had been, by the change in her breathing.  It sped as she came to full consciousness, gasping with Harry’s next thrust.

He released her breast, resting his chin between them on her chest and looking up.  “Good morning.”

“Oh, fuck,” she muttered, shuddered, and came.

Harry gritted his teeth, willing his own arousal back as she clenched around him.  Her fingernails scoring his back didn’t help; that was one kink he didn’t find enough women to indulge.  He liked things a bit rougher than they did, usually, meaning he only got to indulge himself with men on that front.  He rode out her aftershocks, waiting until she could concentrate again.

Her eyes fluttered open a few minutes later.  She glanced to her left at her husband before looking at Harry.  Licking her lips, which nearly made Harry moan, she said, “Good morning to you, too.”

A self-satisfied grin on his face, Harry repositioned himself onto his forearms and began to thrust again.  Hermione wrapped one leg around the small of his back and raked her fingernails from there to his shoulders.  He now moaned, earning a smile from Hermione.

They rocked together for several minutes until Harry felt the tell-tale trembling begin in Hermione’s leg again.  Rising, he braced himself on his hands, giving a deeper angle to his thrusts.  Hermione arched upward, wrapping her other leg around him, clutching him tightly to encourage him.  His breath hissed from between his teeth, then expelled in a rush when he looked over at Ron.

Ron was now actively fucking his hand, watching his wife and best friend with a hooded expression.

“You need to come, Hermione,” Harry growled.

“Yes, yes,” she chanted, head rolling on the pillow.

Each of Harry’s thrusts was now accompanied by the wet slap of skin.  He wanted to roll his eyes back into his head and pour himself into her, but only after she came.

Despite his best efforts, he was overwhelmed.  Grunting, he came, thrusting wildly into her four times before sagging.

“Close,” she whimpered.  He pried her legs from his waist and, pulling out, slid down.  Pulling her legs on to his shoulders, he buried his face between her thighs once again.  He used two fingers to toy with her clit until she shoved them away to do it herself.  With that, he slid his hands under her arse, lifting her slightly, and driving his tongue deep.

“Harry,” she panted, fingers moving in tightening circles.  He thrust his tongue in and out, not minding their combined taste, wiggling and thrusting.

“You know, Hermione,” Ron began, leaning toward her, “he’s eating his own come from you.”

She made an incoherent noise somewhere between a scream and moan, dug her heels into Harry’s back, and came.  Her thighs tightened around his head so much that he had to tip his head back to breathe.  Her shudders seemed to last forever, but she finally went limp.

Ron helped him pull her legs from his shoulders.  She was sound asleep.

“Thought you said sex woke her up,” Harry said, smiling.

“Not always,” Ron said.  “Care for a shower?”

Harry, startled, pulled his eyes from Hermione’s sleeping form to stare at Ron.  Ron gestured to his still-hard cock.  A lascivious grin now on his face, Harry jumped from the bed and headed into the bath.

The shower stall there was big enough for two people, let alone the separate bathtub that might have fit all three of them.  Ron slipped around him and started the water.  Each of them emptied their bladders, then entered the shower.

“Have you and Hermione christened this?” Harry asked, ducking his head under the spray, only to gasp and sputter when Ron bore him back against the wall.

Ron seemed to be all hands and tongue and teeth, fastening his mouth upon Harry’s for a possessive kiss as one hand roamed lower to stroke Harry’s limp cock.

“Before her mother’s party,” Ron answered between kisses.  When he bit Harry’s lower lip, eliciting a guttural moan, he asked, “Like it rough?”

“A bit,” Harry admitted.  If this relationship with them continued, he might have to get Hermione to wear those heels in bed and wrap her legs around him, digging them into his back.

Ron backed away far enough to spin Harry face-first against the wall of the shower, much as he had pressed him into the door hours earlier.  He crowded Harry against the cold, wet tile, making him shudder at the contrast of sensations.

“How rough?”  He nibbled at Harry’s shoulder taking harder and more forceful bites each time until Harry hissed in pain.  “How much prep do you really need?”

“Not much,” he gasped, trying to rub his cock against the tile for some friction.  It was too wet and slick to help, but that didn’t stop him from trying.  “Enough lube to ease in.”

He could feel Ron’s fierce grin against his shoulder.  “Stay there,” Ron growled, stepping back to grab one of the complimentary hair care bottles, knocking the other to the ground.

By the consistency, when Ron moved him further down the wall and out of the direct spray of water that would wash it all away, to product was conditioner.  He jerked Harry’s hips back far enough to give him a bit of an angle to rub the conditioner against his entrance, sliding a finger in to spread it around.  Harry braced his folded forearms against the tile then pillowed his forehead on them.  He desperately wanted to wank, to make himself as hard as he had been for Hermione, but he thought he might have hit his limit.  His mind was willing, but his body wasn’t exactly cooperative.

That didn’t matter to Ron.  Harry heard the bottle hit the floor of the shower, joining its partner, just before Ron gripped his hips, aligned his cock, and relentlessly pushed inside.  Harry shifted, dipping his back lower, in an attempt to ease Ron’s entry.  There was a burn as he entered, but it was one Harry relished.

At last, Ron was buried fully once again.  He leaned forward, head resting on Harry’s shoulder.

“This shouldn’t feel so damn good,” Ron murmured.

“Why not?”  Ron slid out and thrust in again.  “Because I’m a man?”

“Partly,” Ron admitted.  He said nothing else for several minutes, concentrating instead on Harry.  His hands caressed Harry, toyed with his nipples, stroked his cock, fondled his balls.

Ron’s thrusts became more erratic as he approached his climax.  Harry took a step toward the wall so he could be flat against it rather than bang his head on the tile when Ron sped his thrusts.  He nearly hardened again when Ron’s grunts reached a crescendo in his ear before Ron came.

They stayed like that for a moment as if frozen until Ron licked the back of Harry’s neck.  He trembled once, before groaning.  “I think I’ve hit my limit for now.”

“The other is that it there should be some law against buggering your best mate,” Ron muttered.

Harry frowned, puzzled, before remembering the earlier thread of conversation.  “You’ve buggered Hermione and she’s your best mate, too.”

Ron laughed.  “True, but it’s not the same.  She has soft bits, too.”  He pulled out of Harry, stepping back far enough to run a bar of soap over his back.  “We should clean up before Hermione wakes up.”

“We... we didn’t hurt her, did we?” Harry asked, suddenly worried.  He’d never had a woman climax like that before.

“Nah, not at all.  She’ll thank you when she wakes up.”  At the doubtful look Harry shot over his shoulder, Ron continued, “Trust me on this one.”

Harry sighed.  It was all he could do.  Then he grinned at the ideas he had for punishment if Hermione were so inclined.

“Let’s order room service,” Harry suggested.

Harry thought the responding grin on Ron’s face should be illegal.  “Food and sex, what more could I ask for?”

Harry turned and, standing on the balls of his feet, reached up to kiss Ron.  “Best friends.”

“Funny how all three are in the same room.”

Harry felt like curling into him like a cat, content and sated for the first time in a long while.  “Yes, but convenient.”
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