Challenge: EWE 5. The trio go on holiday. “Well, this is just like when we were hunting those horcruxes, except it’s a five star hotel, it’s warm, and we’re honest about wanting to fuck each other now.”
Title: Holiday Delight
Summary: The Trio celebrate ten years without Voldemort.
Word Count: 2,025
Notes: None of the Trio cooperated with the writing of this one. You’d think they’d know better by now.
“Ron!” I huff, though I can feel myself blush. I know he’s right but that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell him that.
I cross the room to set my computer bag on the desk under the window. Opening the curtains, I smile as I look out over the water. It’s a gorgeous view.
“You know he’s right, Mione,” Harry says.
I grimace slightly. The boys know I do not like nicknames, but pointed out to me, with examples, that “Hermione” can be too many syllables to call out in the middle of lovemaking. They’ve recently taken to using the nickname outside the bedroom as well, much to my dismay. Glaring at them doesn’t seem to make them stop.
A knock at the door distracts us. Harry answers it, then directs the bellhop as to where to place our bags. The bellhop gives us a small tour of our suite before Harry tips him hugely and all but shoves him out the door. Leaning back against it to close it, he grins at us.
“Shall we christen the room or have dinner?”
I roll my eyes again. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m starving. I vote for dinner.”
Ron sighs. “If you insist.”
Harry laughs. “If we’d known years ago that sex would overcome food in your hierarchy of priorities, we might have shagged you then.”
“Bastard,” Ron retorts without heat. Harry’s grin widens.
“Promises, promises,” I tease. “I’m going to shower, then dress for dinner.” Ron groans and Harry raises an eyebrow. “Formal dining.” Harry groans as well.
I grin and enter the bathroom. It’s huge, easily the size of my bedroom growing up. There is a shower stall separate from the bathtub that might accommodate all three of us. We’ll have to try before we leave for our next assignment.
Given the bitter winter gripping England, it seems almost divine providence to be in Cape Town for our investigation. The artifacts we seek are worth the expense of our travel here to our current employer for as many days as we require – which means a short holiday before we start. And being private investigators suits the way the three of us work together and our alternate lifestyle.
Stripping off, I climb into the shower. Washing my hair with a special magical shampoo is the only concession I make to taming it with products. Most of the time it’s coiled tightly in a bun. The boys prefer that because it arouses them when I let my hair down later. I don’t understand it, but I appreciate the results. Humming, I shave my legs. I could use the same depilatory charm on them that I do on my genitalia, but shaving leaves my legs smoother than the charm.
I exit the shower, casting drying spells on myself and the floor. Another thirty minutes of work and my hair is piled atop my head in what looks like careless, but neat, abandon. Curling tendrils caress my ears. Now to dress.
Fishing the Time-Turner from under my towel, I flip it once, then quickly exit the bathroom as my other self enters the shower.
“I’ll never get used to that,” Ron mutters.
Harry peels himself from the door to kiss me, but I hold up a hand to stave him off.
“I must dress,” I tell him as I enter the walk-in closet. I can hear them cursing until time catches up once again and they enter the bathroom together.
We’ve timed this portion of our routine fairly well: I go first, then dress and primp while they shower and shave. On nights like tonight, the use of our Time-Turner helps.
I enlarge my bag and pull out one of my evening gowns. Given our occupation, we never know where we might have to visit, so we carry a variety of clothing from formal evening wear to beach casual in shrunken cases inside our main luggage.
When I realize the boys will be wearing either their Armani suits or their tuxes tonight, I have to bite back a moan. As Ginny once told me upon the sight of Harry and Ron in their tuxes, “I don’t care if he is my brother, the two of them are fucking hot.” I couldn’t chastise her since I was thinking the same thing.
I’m just wiggling into my dress as the boys open the closet door. Ron dried his hair and is gloriously naked – he’s really a bit of an exhibitionist – but Harry’s hair is still damp and he’s clutching a towel around his waist.
Ron’s eyes meet mine in the full-length mirror. His grin is lecherous. “She’s wearing the red dress, Harry.”
“Really?” he asks, peering around Ron. “Fuck.” The last is a drawn-out curse. “And a black lace merrywidow.”
I should not be surprised he remembers the name of my foundation garments, I really shouldn’t.
Ron’s voice is an octave lower when he asks, “Will you wear stockings, too?” I nod. “With suspenders?” Grinning, I nod again. “I changed my mind, sex first.”
Harry smacks the back of his head. “I’m looking forward to dinner and a bottle of wine. Stop thinking with your cock.”
Ron pouts a bit, watching hungrily as I pull my dress into place. Without prompting, he steps forward to zip me up. The dress is a sleeveless red silk bustier with a flouncy skirt that falls just above my knees. It’s the boys’ favorite, though I don’t know why. Come to think of it, there are several things I wear that arouse them for reasons I don’t understand.
I turn away from the mirror only to find myself pinned between the two of them. Though I brace my hands on Harry’s chest to push him away, he captures my mouth with his own easily. I don’t whimper until Ron begins nibbling the back of my neck where it’s exposed by my up-do.
“No,” I protest weakly. “I’m hungry.”
“I have something you can eat,” Harry murmurs. I open my eyes and glare at him.
Smacking his shoulder, even as Ron snickers, I pull away and exit the closet. “That was crude, even for you, Harry,” I huff. He laughs.
It takes another fifteen minutes for us to finish dressing. Ron whimpers as I adjust my last suspender. He has a real fetish for me in stockings. I won’t tell him I’m not wearing knickers.
My breath catches when I see them. More than ten years after that awful year of Horcrux hunting when we were perpetually hungry, both of them have now filled out. When he can, Ron does weight-training, making use of any gym or hotel fitness center he can find, usually at dawn. Harry does light weights, but his preference is running, whether it be outside or on a treadmill. Their regimens have made them even more gorgeous, and their suits are tailored to exploit that fact. For Ron, it emphasizes his broad shoulders and muscular torso; for Harry, it emphasizes his sleek build and narrow waist.
Maybe we should skip dinner, I think briefly. Then my stomach growls.
“Dinner,” Harry murmurs.
We exit the room, Harry leading the way. Ron and I follow, Ron’s hand at the small of my back. I choose to ignore the way his hand is suggestively stroking my back.
One of the boys apparently made reservations for us earlier because Harry gives his name and we’re seated after only a moment. Ron holds my chair for me as Harry peruses the wine list. He orders before I can look, so I know he’s ordered something expensive. I sigh, making him turn and grin at me.
Dinner proceeds smoothly, despite the tension between us. At separate times, both Ron’s and Harry’s toes trail up and down my legs, as their hands find their way to my thighs.
Then Ron orders dessert to go. He knows chocolate mousse is my favorite, so I’m sure he has something planned. Wait – they both have something planned. They usher me out of the restaurant before I can ask about it. Bastards.
I allow myself to be led back to the room by Harry. He releases my hand to open the door, standing aside for me to enter. Ron enters just behind me, easing around the two of us. Harry lets him by with a glare, but closes the door without a word.
Then he snags me by the waist, backing me up against the door, and kisses me.
Overwhelmed, I clutch Harry’s shoulders. He deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue into my mouth, driving one hand into my hair, loosening it from its up-do.
I whimper. At least, I think I whimper. There is a whimper and it doesn’t sound like Harry.
He slides one hand up my thigh, shifting the two of us so my leg is around his waist. His gasp when he discovers I’m not wearing knickers breaks our kiss.
“Damn, Mione,” he murmurs, fingers straying over my clit.
Ron asks, “Did she forget her knickers again?”
“Seems that way,” Harry answers. Turning his attention back to me, he says, “You’re a naughty girl, Hermione.”
“Yes, I am,” I reply, pulling his head back down until our lips nearly touch. “What are you going to do about it?”
His wicked grin is all the warning I have before he hefts me onto his shoulder.
He flings me onto the bed, where I bounce once, my skirt flipping up over my waist. I don’t even get the chance to protest before Ron ranges himself over me.
I don’t know when he stripped off, but he’s now nude. My moan as he enters me is swallowed by his kiss. His thrusts are slow and deliberate, matched by the way he sucks on my tongue. All protest leaves me as I melt.
But then Ron stops. Opening my eyes, I see Harry over Ron’s shoulder. I match his grin at Ron’s moan when Harry enters him.
“Imagine how warm we would have been in that damn tent if we’d done this,” Ron pants.
“All those nights wasted,” Harry adds, groaning.
“Shut up and fuck me,” I demand.
Boy my boys grin, and Ron says, “Yes, ma’am.”
Sunlight streaming through the open window wakes me. Ron’s arm is slung across my stomach as he spoons behind me, but Harry is nowhere to be seen.
Easing out from under Ron’s arm, I check the cavernous bathroom first. Empty. He could have gone for a run, but he usually leaves a note in that case and there is no note.
Then I see that the door leading to the deck is open. I see a mop of messy black hair and know Harry is in one of the chaise lounges. Though I try to sneak up on him, since the chaise is at an angle and his back is mostly to the door, it doesn’t work.
“Good morning, Hermione,” he says, turning so he can see me.
I straddle his lap, admiring and appreciating the fact he’s wearing only boxers.
“Have we had sex outdoors recently?” I murmur, bending to lick the cord of his neck.
He gasps and arches upward, his hardening cock teasing me. “Ron’s comments about The Year From Hell making you think?”
Pulling back, I smile. “We may have to go camping soon.” Then, freeing his cock, I sink onto him.
“If it’s going to make you this horny, we might,” he replies.
We both startle when Ron adds from the doorway, “I’ll buy the tent. No manky smells this time.”
Harry beckons him over and, as Ron nibbles the back of my neck and Harry flexes inside me, I know there is nowhere else I would rather be.