No Longer the Lost by ellie_kat89
Feb. 27th, 2011 02:24 pmTitle: No Longer the Lost
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ellie_kat89
Pairing: Ron/Hermione/Harry
Rating: NC17
Genre: Angst/Romance
Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, angst, and smut
Word Count: 3688
Summary: If the war has taught Ron Weasley anything it’s that falling in love comes in all forms, even if its for your best friends.
Author's Note: Title comes from the Breaking Benjamin song “Give Me A Sign,” the song inspired this little fic idea of mine. Thank you so much totriomakesmehot for making this fic readable for the rest of you ;).
Artist:deathjunke
Title: "Untitled"
Rating: G
Media: pencil sketches colored in photoshop.
Artist Notes: n/a
No Longer the Lost
It’s funny sometimes how things brew beneath the surface, almost there, so very close but still untouchable. It’s strange too how people will exchange a look or a touch that speaks volumes about the true state of things, but never act on it. Ron knew that in a way he loved Harry; in a way that wasn’t just best mates, or even brothers. The protective urges towards the man he was closest to boarded on obsessive. The desire to keep Harry safe and warm from the cold hard realities of the world they lived in would creep up on him during odd hours. Ron wanted to wrap him up, to shield him, even while his mind, heart, and body he knew that he loved Hermione in the same maddening way. It was almost enough to drive him spare. He wanted to touch them, run hands over bodies and memorize every dip, curve, and plane until all that was left in the world was them.
He loved them together, as one entity. Ron didn’t pay much attention to differences in anatomy; they were the way they were, and he loved and wanted them equally. But knowing that, and actually doing something about it, were two very different things. It was scary to Ron, the things that he wanted late at night when Hermione had already snuck out of his room after a particularly intense round of snogging. Being with Hermione was everything he’d ever imagined, and more, but it always left him empty, like there was supposed to be something else, someone else. He would wonder during these times if maybe Hermione ever felt the same.
--
The war was over, a full three months passed, but very little felt different. Sure, they weren’t out in the middle of nowhere living in a tent anymore, but the feelings still remained. Many nights, Harry would wake screaming into his pillow, or Ron would wake from a nasty dream, half expecting a Snatcher to be standing over his bed. Hermione wasn’t sleeping well either, too full of nervous energy, she said. She confided in Ron that sometimes she forgot that the war had ended at all.
Ron would hold Hermione while she cried into his shoulder, the both of them stretched out on his childhood bed. God, how he wanted to fix it all, but there was nothing he could do. It ate away at him that the only comfort he could offer was to hold her. Sometimes when he’d succumb to tears himself, he’d wish that there were someone on the other side of the bed to wrap arms around him, too.
--
Everyone was asleep when it began, except for Ron, who was wide awake and staring up at his ceiling. Hermione had just left; his lips were still tingling from her departing kiss when he heard a faint noise, a stirring on the other side of wall in Harry’s room. First there were mattress springs creaking and then a faint, pained cry. Ron had been playing this same role for so long that he didn’t even think as he hurriedly rolled out of bed and grabbed his wand. It was probably just Harry like it always was, but Ron was never sure after what they’d just been forced to live through.
Ron didn’t consciously remember opening his door but, before he knew it, he was standing in front of Harry’s door. When the Burrow was hastily rebuilt after the war, the Weasleys had added rooms for Harry and Hermione, and Harry’s was right next to Ron’s. Reaching out, Ron grasped the knob and turned, the door swinging open silently. In the dim room, Ron could just make out Harry, twisted in a painfully unusual position on his bed, the covers bunched and coiled around him. He was clearly in the midst of a nightmare, straining against his mattress, huge handfuls of the sheet beneath him held tight in his fists as he struggled against an invisible enemy.
Ron’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. He went forward and stood beside Harry’s bed, reaching a freckled hand out to lay it comfortingly on the other man’s bare shoulder.
“Harry, mate—,” but before he could finish, Harry startled awake and clearly panicked. Ron had no time to react before Harry grabbed a painfully tight hold of his wrist and twisted, at the same time pushing him facedown on the bed. Harry straddled Ron’s back, all his weight bearing down and a hard, unyielding arm pressed incessantly into the back of Ron’s neck.
“Whoa! Harry, it’s okay it’s just me, it’s Ron!”
Harry didn’t seem to hear him as the blood rushed through his ears and his heart pounded. Harry’s grip changed too, fingers becoming buried in the length of Ron’s red hair, tightening hard and then pushing down. Ron’s face was smashed down firmly against Harry’s pillow.
Ron, surprised at the sudden swell of arousal coursing through his belly at the feeling of Harry’s fingers in his hair, stopped struggling. Once he’d become limp and still, compliant, it took only a few short seconds for Harry’s grip to loosen in his hair.
“Wha’ – Ron?” Harry asked, his chest heaving and his speech slurred with exertion and panic.
Now able to do so, Ron lifted his head, voice soft and careful as he spoke. “It’s alright Harry, it’s okay, you’re safe.”
Ron could feel Harry shaking against his back. “Fuck, I’m sorry, fuck….”
With another shudder, Harry clambered off of Ron, leaving him free to move. He rolled his neck back and forth, letting the tension go. Harry was only a foot away from him, hands covering his face, whole body quaking violently.
Ron swallowed and reached out to touch his shoulder again, but Harry shied away at the first feeling of Ron’s fingers.
“It’s alright, mate.”
Harry’s head shook back and forth, and his hands lowered, fingers curling into fists in his lap. His eyes were red-rimmed and shiny with tears.
“It’s not okay, Ron.” His voice was hoarse, but loud in the room and Ron flinched. “There’s… there’s something wrong with me.”
Ron grappled for words, his mouth opening and closing. “There isn’t anything wrong with you….”
Harry’s flash of anger was sudden. “Yes there is!” His head dropped and he ran unsteady hands through his hair. “There is,” he murmured softly.
Ron wished fervently that he could think of something he could say, something he could do to convince Harry that there wasn’t anything really wrong with him. Hermione had pointed out something in one of her books a few days before… something about traumatic stress with a long, detailed explanation, but Ron wasn’t really listening.
He may not know what to say, but he figured he knew what to do, if Harry would let him. Carefully, Ron lifted his arm and lowered it around Harry’s shoulders, feeling the muscles tense in Harry’s body before they suddenly relaxed. Harry’s whole body seemed to sag and without further conversation, Harry laid his head on his best friend’s freckled shoulder.
Ron’s breath caught in his chest, but he tried to let it out as casually as possible. The silence became tenser the longer they sat there together, but neither moved to change their position. Ron, no longer able to look at Harry without doing something stupid (like kissing the top of Harry’s head where it rested against his cheek), glanced around the room instead.
Their long, edgy moment continued until Harry’s head suddenly moved. “Thanks,” he whispered.
When Ron felt Harry’s lips ghost tantalizingly across his skin just below his clavicle, he thought it might be accidental. When Harry’s tongue traced the same path, Ron inhaled sharply and felt himself harden. His heart pounded and he jumped to his feet, running his hands nervously up and down his pajama trousers.
“I’ll, uh let you go back to sleep now,” Ron said quickly, wincing at the scared squeak in his voice. “I’ll see you at breakfast.” Ron hurried out of Harry’s room and back to his own, not daring to look back in his haste to prevent Harry seeing that he was so painfully turned on he couldn’t breathe properly. It never occurred to him that Harry’s tongue on his chest had to be intentional.
Ron closed his bedroom door and shakily sat on his bed, his erection pressing against the front of his trousers. And he couldn’t help himself when he shimmied out of his pajamas to wank, fantasizing all the while about Harry’s tongue on his skin.
--
Hermione noticed something was wrong with Ron the next day, but even if he wanted to explain, he didn’t think he would know how. Whenever the house became too crowded, or too loud, he and Hermione would go for a short walk. The weather had started turning cool but it wasn’t so cold yet that they couldn’t enjoy the outdoors. Holding hands, they walked through Mrs. Weasley’s garden and then out the back.
“Did Harry have a rough night last night?” she asked, glancing up at him.
He stopped abruptly, surprised at her question.
“There’s clearly something wrong, and I want to know what it is.”
Ron ran a hand down his face. “Yeah, he did.”
Hermione nodded and they sat down on the old picnic table directly behind the house. She seemed nervous all of a sudden, with her knee bouncing up and down, and he waited for her to say whatever it was she was going to say. He didn’t have to wait long.
Tucking a lock of bushy hair behind her ear, she glanced at him, her gaze holding his. “Do you ever feel like there’s something missing, you know, with us?”
Ron sighed, and glanced away, staring out towards Fred’s grave. “Yeah.”
She rested her head on his arm, the almost exactly as Harry had the night before. He turned and kissed her the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. So many things had changed in the three months that they’d been together and now that he’d gotten his chance to love her, he never wanted to go back. What if this ruined them, made it too weird?
Hermione reached out and took his hand then and squeezed it tight. “It feels like there’s an empty spot to me, that Harry’s supposed to fill.”
Ron knew it made sense, Harry had always been there, closer than any friends had ever been. It only made sense that Harry should be with them, in every way.
“Hermione, what are we going to do?”
She sighed. “Do you want to ask him?” Her voice became small here, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “Maybe he could watch.”
“Watch?”
She nodded.
His mind moved back to a conversation that they had more than a month ago, about only taking the next step when they were ready, she’d been very adamant about it. “You said you weren’t ready.”
She lifted her head and kissed his cheek. “I am now. Are you?”
He grinned. “I was born ready.”
Hermione rolled her eyes towards the sky and smacked his arm. “You’re such a man.”
“Yeah, but that’s one of the main reasons why you love me.”
Her cheeks flushed. “That is true.”
--
Harry was more than just Ron’s best friend, he was one of the most important people in Ron’s life, but that didn’t make asking Harry to join him and Hermione in a sexual encounter any less weird. It didn’t matter how often it played in his mind, or came out in his dreams, Ron just couldn’t imagine the words to let Harry know how they were feeling. He thought about it for several days, the multitude of imaginary conversations making him dizzy, but he knew would have to be the one who asked. He had to make sure that Harry wanted this, too.
Late one night, when he felt like he could really, finally do it, Ron snuck into Harry’s room. Harry was still blessedly awake, saving Ron from having to wake him. Quietly, Ron shut the door behind himself, aware that the rest of his family were already asleep and that this would be the wrong time for anyone to come investigating.
Ron shuffled his feet, and Harry glanced up, green eyes intensely focused on the red head.
“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” Harry stated, going back to the Quidditch book he’d been flipping through.
Ron shrugged and took a deep breath. “I have to talk to you about something.”
Harry’s eyebrows quirked upwards but he remained silent. Ron’s breath shuddered in his chest and he felt a weight pressing down on him. Sometimes the war, the things they had seen, felt like a brand, a burning thing pressing into his body. Being with Hermione helped that feeling, but Ron was very aware that Harry didn’t have that to help him. Ron desperately wanted to give his best friend something to chase away the demons and the nightmares that visited him regularly. Voldemort was dead, but the memory remained, and the memory was almost as damaging as the man himself. In that moment, it became clear to Ron how much Harry had changed, how much more he’d withdrawn into himself.
“Hermione and I,” he stressed, “actually need to talk to you.”
Harry looked at him quizzically but nodded anyway, following Ron out the door and up the stairs. Hermione’s room was at the very top now, and it had more privacy than probably any other place in the house.
They reached the top of the stairs and Ron opened the door to the sight of Hermione in nothing but a thread-bare t-shirt of Ron’s and her knickers.
Harry walked in behind Ron and his eyes widened. “Er… what’s going on?”
“Uh… we need to talk to you,” Ron answered.
“Talk to me about what?” Realizing that he was staring, Harry averted his gaze from Hermione’s breasts.
“Well Harry, we were thinking that we have a special situation, you know, with us. And we were wondering if you wanted to watch,” Hermione explained, strangely business like for the conversation.
Harry stilled as realization dawned on him. “You want me to watch you two shag? Are you crazy?”
“Yes, that’s what we mean, and no, we’re not crazy.”
Harry, clearly not knowing what to think sat down heavily in the chair and stared at his two best friends. “Why?” he asked, puzzled.
“We wondered if maybe you felt the same way we did… that something was missing?” Hermione asked carefully.
Harry visibly swallowed and then nodded.
Ron felt like he should say something, verbally agree with Hermione in some way, but he couldn’t find the words for what he wanted to say. Harry was looking at him, seeking confirmation, but Ron could only nod.
“What if…” Harry paused and looked down at his shoes.
“What Harry?” Ron finally spoke, before Hermione.
He scratched the back of his neck, putting off, even just for a moment, what he wanted to ask. “What if I wanted to participate?” Red crept farther up Harry’s neck.
“That’d be okay,” murmured Ron at the same time that Hermione did.
Green eyes flickered between the couple inviting him to become part of a threesome. “Any way I wanted to?”
Heat skittered up Ron’s spine at the scenarios that ran through his mind; there were so many possibilities. “Yes.”
Harry took in a nervous breath. “Alright then, I’m in.”
Hermione nodded, hands suddenly shaking with nervousness. “Okay, I guess….” Her fingers pulled off the t-shirt she’d been wearing and tossed it aside; then she hooked her thumbs in her panties and pulled those down too, leaving herself naked in front of them.
She laughed nervously. “Er, it would be good if you both took off your clothes, too.”
Both Ron and Harry were quick to comply. While they shed their clothing, Hermione climbed up on her bed, laying down on her back and waiting.
Now that they were all there, finally at that moment, Ron was suddenly unsure. What if Harry wanted to go first? Ron knew it made making love sound like throwing a Quaffle back and forth, but it had suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t know how this was going to all work.
Hermione solved the problem easily. “Come here, Ron,” she bade, patting the spot on the bed beside her.
Ron climbed up and settled next to her, reaching out to run a hand over her stomach and up to her breasts. His finger circled her nipple, watching it harden. He was acutely aware of Harry watching them, but it was okay; it felt right.
Hermione turned on her side and kissed the side of his neck, lips moving up towards his ear. “Trust it,” she whispered. “It’ll all work out.”
For a time they just snogged, like they’d been doing for the past three months, but it quickly went much further. When Hermione wrapped a small hand around his cock and started to experimentally stroke him, Ron looked past Hermione to where Harry was sitting with an excellent view of what was going on. He was stroking himself, his expression full of awe and desire… he’d been wanting this, too.
All too soon, they were there, at that moment where Hermione’s legs were spread and Ron lay between them. Supporting himself with his right arm and reached down between them. He touched her again, finding her wet and slippery and ready. He took hold of his cock and guided himself until the tip was resting at her opening.
“Ron…” she moaned, hips shifting, trying to take him in.
Distantly, Ron heard a chair scrape across the floor behind him and then soft footsteps. When he felt Harry’s hands on his hips, he jumped.
“Anything I want?” Harry asked, thumbs running over the sides of Ron’s arse.
His hands slid inward, and his fingers softly touched the inside of Ron’s cleft. Ron moaned and his cock twitched. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to come before he even had the chance to slide inside Hermione.
“Merlin, Harry,” Ron moaned, head sagging and Hermione took that opportunity to kiss him. Her hips bucked up again and the head of his cock popped inside her.
“Anything?” Harry prompted again, voice husky.
“Anything,” Ron gasped in answer, thrusting all the way inside the tightness that enveloped his dick as Hermione’s fingers dug hard into his shoulders while she winced in pain.
He cleared the dazed longing in his brain long enough to glance down at Hermione. She reached up and brushed the hair away from his eyes. “You alright?” he asked softly.
“Fine.” She smiled. “Never better.”
Carefully Ron began to move, pulling out nearly all the way before sliding back in. Harry continued touching Ron, then reached around to touch Hermione where Ron’s cock thrust in and out of her.
“Fuck, Harry,” Ron groaned, dizzy from the feeling of Harry’s fingers against his slippery cock.
Harry’s hands slid back up and squeezed. “Hermione,” Harry began, and then paused for a moment, “I’m not going to hurt him am I? I’ve never….”
“It should be okay, just use plenty of lubricant and go slow,” Hermione replied.
“Is there a charm for that?” Harry asked.
Ron, too busy reveling in the feeling of Hermione meeting his thrusts, didn’t hear her answer. When he felt Harry’s first lubed finger push into his arse, Ron knew that the spell had worked. When Harry started working a second finger in, Ron stilled, gasping for breath as sweat began to slide down his body.
Hermione, seeking a more comfortable position, shifted down and hiked her legs up higher so that her knees were at Ron’s sides. Harry pulled his fingers out and Ron heard the softly muttered spell this time as Harry spread the lube over his cock. Harry spread Ron’s cheeks apart and then lined his cock up with Ron’s hole, watching himself as he started to push forward.
Ron groaned and he fisted the sheets near Hermione’s head, clenching his eyes shut at the stretching, tight pain in his arse. Hermione peppered kisses across his face, her tongue tracing the line of his lips before Ron kissed her. Once Harry had slid in to the hilt he began to thrust, pulling Ron onto his cock by his hips. His in and out movement caused Ron to begin moving in and out of Hermione again. She moaned and tangled her fingers in Ron’s hair.
Harry, so quiet during the whole exchange, suddenly began to talk, lost in the sensation of being buried in Ron’s tight arse. He mumbled how much he loved them, needed them. His hands went from Ron’s hips to Hermione’s legs, caressing her thighs, and completing the connection. Harry rested his forehead against Ron’s sweaty back and pushed into him, pushing him more deeply into Hermione.
Ron felt Harry’s teeth on his skin and finally lost it, groaning out as he emptied himself inside Hermione. Harry came soon after, slamming home twice before orgasming.
Ron collapsed to the side, breathing hard, and Harry followed him. They lay still for several minutes before anyone moved. Ron, in the middle, grinned when Hermione threw her arm over his side and Harry did the same, trapping him in a three-way hug. All three were touching in some way.
“I think I needed that,” Harry mumbled into Ron’s skin.
Hermione laughed weekly. “We figured that.”
“Did you now?” Harry asked.
“Yes.”
Harry smiled and tightened the hold he had on Hermione’s hand. Everything would be all right now, as long as they had each other.
Yes, the war had changed them, changed that way they thought about life and the world around them. It had even changed the things they wanted, and the way they wanted them. Their love had become precious, and it always would be, no matter what form it took.
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Author:
ellie_kat89Pairing: Ron/Hermione/Harry
Rating: NC17
Genre: Angst/Romance
Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, angst, and smut
Word Count: 3688
Summary: If the war has taught Ron Weasley anything it’s that falling in love comes in all forms, even if its for your best friends.
Author's Note: Title comes from the Breaking Benjamin song “Give Me A Sign,” the song inspired this little fic idea of mine. Thank you so much to
triomakesmehot for making this fic readable for the rest of you ;). Artist:
deathjunkeTitle: "Untitled"
Rating: G
Media: pencil sketches colored in photoshop.
Artist Notes: n/a
It’s funny sometimes how things brew beneath the surface, almost there, so very close but still untouchable. It’s strange too how people will exchange a look or a touch that speaks volumes about the true state of things, but never act on it. Ron knew that in a way he loved Harry; in a way that wasn’t just best mates, or even brothers. The protective urges towards the man he was closest to boarded on obsessive. The desire to keep Harry safe and warm from the cold hard realities of the world they lived in would creep up on him during odd hours. Ron wanted to wrap him up, to shield him, even while his mind, heart, and body he knew that he loved Hermione in the same maddening way. It was almost enough to drive him spare. He wanted to touch them, run hands over bodies and memorize every dip, curve, and plane until all that was left in the world was them.
He loved them together, as one entity. Ron didn’t pay much attention to differences in anatomy; they were the way they were, and he loved and wanted them equally. But knowing that, and actually doing something about it, were two very different things. It was scary to Ron, the things that he wanted late at night when Hermione had already snuck out of his room after a particularly intense round of snogging. Being with Hermione was everything he’d ever imagined, and more, but it always left him empty, like there was supposed to be something else, someone else. He would wonder during these times if maybe Hermione ever felt the same.
--
The war was over, a full three months passed, but very little felt different. Sure, they weren’t out in the middle of nowhere living in a tent anymore, but the feelings still remained. Many nights, Harry would wake screaming into his pillow, or Ron would wake from a nasty dream, half expecting a Snatcher to be standing over his bed. Hermione wasn’t sleeping well either, too full of nervous energy, she said. She confided in Ron that sometimes she forgot that the war had ended at all.
Ron would hold Hermione while she cried into his shoulder, the both of them stretched out on his childhood bed. God, how he wanted to fix it all, but there was nothing he could do. It ate away at him that the only comfort he could offer was to hold her. Sometimes when he’d succumb to tears himself, he’d wish that there were someone on the other side of the bed to wrap arms around him, too.
--
Everyone was asleep when it began, except for Ron, who was wide awake and staring up at his ceiling. Hermione had just left; his lips were still tingling from her departing kiss when he heard a faint noise, a stirring on the other side of wall in Harry’s room. First there were mattress springs creaking and then a faint, pained cry. Ron had been playing this same role for so long that he didn’t even think as he hurriedly rolled out of bed and grabbed his wand. It was probably just Harry like it always was, but Ron was never sure after what they’d just been forced to live through.
Ron didn’t consciously remember opening his door but, before he knew it, he was standing in front of Harry’s door. When the Burrow was hastily rebuilt after the war, the Weasleys had added rooms for Harry and Hermione, and Harry’s was right next to Ron’s. Reaching out, Ron grasped the knob and turned, the door swinging open silently. In the dim room, Ron could just make out Harry, twisted in a painfully unusual position on his bed, the covers bunched and coiled around him. He was clearly in the midst of a nightmare, straining against his mattress, huge handfuls of the sheet beneath him held tight in his fists as he struggled against an invisible enemy.
Ron’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. He went forward and stood beside Harry’s bed, reaching a freckled hand out to lay it comfortingly on the other man’s bare shoulder.
“Harry, mate—,” but before he could finish, Harry startled awake and clearly panicked. Ron had no time to react before Harry grabbed a painfully tight hold of his wrist and twisted, at the same time pushing him facedown on the bed. Harry straddled Ron’s back, all his weight bearing down and a hard, unyielding arm pressed incessantly into the back of Ron’s neck.
“Whoa! Harry, it’s okay it’s just me, it’s Ron!”
Harry didn’t seem to hear him as the blood rushed through his ears and his heart pounded. Harry’s grip changed too, fingers becoming buried in the length of Ron’s red hair, tightening hard and then pushing down. Ron’s face was smashed down firmly against Harry’s pillow.
Ron, surprised at the sudden swell of arousal coursing through his belly at the feeling of Harry’s fingers in his hair, stopped struggling. Once he’d become limp and still, compliant, it took only a few short seconds for Harry’s grip to loosen in his hair.
“Wha’ – Ron?” Harry asked, his chest heaving and his speech slurred with exertion and panic.
Now able to do so, Ron lifted his head, voice soft and careful as he spoke. “It’s alright Harry, it’s okay, you’re safe.”
Ron could feel Harry shaking against his back. “Fuck, I’m sorry, fuck….”
With another shudder, Harry clambered off of Ron, leaving him free to move. He rolled his neck back and forth, letting the tension go. Harry was only a foot away from him, hands covering his face, whole body quaking violently.
Ron swallowed and reached out to touch his shoulder again, but Harry shied away at the first feeling of Ron’s fingers.
“It’s alright, mate.”
Harry’s head shook back and forth, and his hands lowered, fingers curling into fists in his lap. His eyes were red-rimmed and shiny with tears.
“It’s not okay, Ron.” His voice was hoarse, but loud in the room and Ron flinched. “There’s… there’s something wrong with me.”
Ron grappled for words, his mouth opening and closing. “There isn’t anything wrong with you….”
Harry’s flash of anger was sudden. “Yes there is!” His head dropped and he ran unsteady hands through his hair. “There is,” he murmured softly.
Ron wished fervently that he could think of something he could say, something he could do to convince Harry that there wasn’t anything really wrong with him. Hermione had pointed out something in one of her books a few days before… something about traumatic stress with a long, detailed explanation, but Ron wasn’t really listening.
He may not know what to say, but he figured he knew what to do, if Harry would let him. Carefully, Ron lifted his arm and lowered it around Harry’s shoulders, feeling the muscles tense in Harry’s body before they suddenly relaxed. Harry’s whole body seemed to sag and without further conversation, Harry laid his head on his best friend’s freckled shoulder.
Ron’s breath caught in his chest, but he tried to let it out as casually as possible. The silence became tenser the longer they sat there together, but neither moved to change their position. Ron, no longer able to look at Harry without doing something stupid (like kissing the top of Harry’s head where it rested against his cheek), glanced around the room instead.
Their long, edgy moment continued until Harry’s head suddenly moved. “Thanks,” he whispered.
When Ron felt Harry’s lips ghost tantalizingly across his skin just below his clavicle, he thought it might be accidental. When Harry’s tongue traced the same path, Ron inhaled sharply and felt himself harden. His heart pounded and he jumped to his feet, running his hands nervously up and down his pajama trousers.
“I’ll, uh let you go back to sleep now,” Ron said quickly, wincing at the scared squeak in his voice. “I’ll see you at breakfast.” Ron hurried out of Harry’s room and back to his own, not daring to look back in his haste to prevent Harry seeing that he was so painfully turned on he couldn’t breathe properly. It never occurred to him that Harry’s tongue on his chest had to be intentional.
Ron closed his bedroom door and shakily sat on his bed, his erection pressing against the front of his trousers. And he couldn’t help himself when he shimmied out of his pajamas to wank, fantasizing all the while about Harry’s tongue on his skin.
--
Hermione noticed something was wrong with Ron the next day, but even if he wanted to explain, he didn’t think he would know how. Whenever the house became too crowded, or too loud, he and Hermione would go for a short walk. The weather had started turning cool but it wasn’t so cold yet that they couldn’t enjoy the outdoors. Holding hands, they walked through Mrs. Weasley’s garden and then out the back.
“Did Harry have a rough night last night?” she asked, glancing up at him.
He stopped abruptly, surprised at her question.
“There’s clearly something wrong, and I want to know what it is.”
Ron ran a hand down his face. “Yeah, he did.”
Hermione nodded and they sat down on the old picnic table directly behind the house. She seemed nervous all of a sudden, with her knee bouncing up and down, and he waited for her to say whatever it was she was going to say. He didn’t have to wait long.
Tucking a lock of bushy hair behind her ear, she glanced at him, her gaze holding his. “Do you ever feel like there’s something missing, you know, with us?”
Ron sighed, and glanced away, staring out towards Fred’s grave. “Yeah.”
She rested her head on his arm, the almost exactly as Harry had the night before. He turned and kissed her the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. So many things had changed in the three months that they’d been together and now that he’d gotten his chance to love her, he never wanted to go back. What if this ruined them, made it too weird?
Hermione reached out and took his hand then and squeezed it tight. “It feels like there’s an empty spot to me, that Harry’s supposed to fill.”
Ron knew it made sense, Harry had always been there, closer than any friends had ever been. It only made sense that Harry should be with them, in every way.
“Hermione, what are we going to do?”
She sighed. “Do you want to ask him?” Her voice became small here, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “Maybe he could watch.”
“Watch?”
She nodded.
His mind moved back to a conversation that they had more than a month ago, about only taking the next step when they were ready, she’d been very adamant about it. “You said you weren’t ready.”
She lifted her head and kissed his cheek. “I am now. Are you?”
He grinned. “I was born ready.”
Hermione rolled her eyes towards the sky and smacked his arm. “You’re such a man.”
“Yeah, but that’s one of the main reasons why you love me.”
Her cheeks flushed. “That is true.”
--
Harry was more than just Ron’s best friend, he was one of the most important people in Ron’s life, but that didn’t make asking Harry to join him and Hermione in a sexual encounter any less weird. It didn’t matter how often it played in his mind, or came out in his dreams, Ron just couldn’t imagine the words to let Harry know how they were feeling. He thought about it for several days, the multitude of imaginary conversations making him dizzy, but he knew would have to be the one who asked. He had to make sure that Harry wanted this, too.
Late one night, when he felt like he could really, finally do it, Ron snuck into Harry’s room. Harry was still blessedly awake, saving Ron from having to wake him. Quietly, Ron shut the door behind himself, aware that the rest of his family were already asleep and that this would be the wrong time for anyone to come investigating.
Ron shuffled his feet, and Harry glanced up, green eyes intensely focused on the red head.
“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” Harry stated, going back to the Quidditch book he’d been flipping through.
Ron shrugged and took a deep breath. “I have to talk to you about something.”
Harry’s eyebrows quirked upwards but he remained silent. Ron’s breath shuddered in his chest and he felt a weight pressing down on him. Sometimes the war, the things they had seen, felt like a brand, a burning thing pressing into his body. Being with Hermione helped that feeling, but Ron was very aware that Harry didn’t have that to help him. Ron desperately wanted to give his best friend something to chase away the demons and the nightmares that visited him regularly. Voldemort was dead, but the memory remained, and the memory was almost as damaging as the man himself. In that moment, it became clear to Ron how much Harry had changed, how much more he’d withdrawn into himself.
“Hermione and I,” he stressed, “actually need to talk to you.”
Harry looked at him quizzically but nodded anyway, following Ron out the door and up the stairs. Hermione’s room was at the very top now, and it had more privacy than probably any other place in the house.
They reached the top of the stairs and Ron opened the door to the sight of Hermione in nothing but a thread-bare t-shirt of Ron’s and her knickers.
Harry walked in behind Ron and his eyes widened. “Er… what’s going on?”
“Uh… we need to talk to you,” Ron answered.
“Talk to me about what?” Realizing that he was staring, Harry averted his gaze from Hermione’s breasts.
“Well Harry, we were thinking that we have a special situation, you know, with us. And we were wondering if you wanted to watch,” Hermione explained, strangely business like for the conversation.
Harry stilled as realization dawned on him. “You want me to watch you two shag? Are you crazy?”
“Yes, that’s what we mean, and no, we’re not crazy.”
Harry, clearly not knowing what to think sat down heavily in the chair and stared at his two best friends. “Why?” he asked, puzzled.
“We wondered if maybe you felt the same way we did… that something was missing?” Hermione asked carefully.
Harry visibly swallowed and then nodded.
Ron felt like he should say something, verbally agree with Hermione in some way, but he couldn’t find the words for what he wanted to say. Harry was looking at him, seeking confirmation, but Ron could only nod.
“What if…” Harry paused and looked down at his shoes.
“What Harry?” Ron finally spoke, before Hermione.
He scratched the back of his neck, putting off, even just for a moment, what he wanted to ask. “What if I wanted to participate?” Red crept farther up Harry’s neck.
“That’d be okay,” murmured Ron at the same time that Hermione did.
Green eyes flickered between the couple inviting him to become part of a threesome. “Any way I wanted to?”
Heat skittered up Ron’s spine at the scenarios that ran through his mind; there were so many possibilities. “Yes.”
Harry took in a nervous breath. “Alright then, I’m in.”
Hermione nodded, hands suddenly shaking with nervousness. “Okay, I guess….” Her fingers pulled off the t-shirt she’d been wearing and tossed it aside; then she hooked her thumbs in her panties and pulled those down too, leaving herself naked in front of them.
She laughed nervously. “Er, it would be good if you both took off your clothes, too.”
Both Ron and Harry were quick to comply. While they shed their clothing, Hermione climbed up on her bed, laying down on her back and waiting.
Now that they were all there, finally at that moment, Ron was suddenly unsure. What if Harry wanted to go first? Ron knew it made making love sound like throwing a Quaffle back and forth, but it had suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t know how this was going to all work.
Hermione solved the problem easily. “Come here, Ron,” she bade, patting the spot on the bed beside her.
Ron climbed up and settled next to her, reaching out to run a hand over her stomach and up to her breasts. His finger circled her nipple, watching it harden. He was acutely aware of Harry watching them, but it was okay; it felt right.
Hermione turned on her side and kissed the side of his neck, lips moving up towards his ear. “Trust it,” she whispered. “It’ll all work out.”
For a time they just snogged, like they’d been doing for the past three months, but it quickly went much further. When Hermione wrapped a small hand around his cock and started to experimentally stroke him, Ron looked past Hermione to where Harry was sitting with an excellent view of what was going on. He was stroking himself, his expression full of awe and desire… he’d been wanting this, too.
All too soon, they were there, at that moment where Hermione’s legs were spread and Ron lay between them. Supporting himself with his right arm and reached down between them. He touched her again, finding her wet and slippery and ready. He took hold of his cock and guided himself until the tip was resting at her opening.
“Ron…” she moaned, hips shifting, trying to take him in.
Distantly, Ron heard a chair scrape across the floor behind him and then soft footsteps. When he felt Harry’s hands on his hips, he jumped.
“Anything I want?” Harry asked, thumbs running over the sides of Ron’s arse.
His hands slid inward, and his fingers softly touched the inside of Ron’s cleft. Ron moaned and his cock twitched. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to come before he even had the chance to slide inside Hermione.
“Merlin, Harry,” Ron moaned, head sagging and Hermione took that opportunity to kiss him. Her hips bucked up again and the head of his cock popped inside her.
“Anything?” Harry prompted again, voice husky.
“Anything,” Ron gasped in answer, thrusting all the way inside the tightness that enveloped his dick as Hermione’s fingers dug hard into his shoulders while she winced in pain.
He cleared the dazed longing in his brain long enough to glance down at Hermione. She reached up and brushed the hair away from his eyes. “You alright?” he asked softly.
“Fine.” She smiled. “Never better.”
Carefully Ron began to move, pulling out nearly all the way before sliding back in. Harry continued touching Ron, then reached around to touch Hermione where Ron’s cock thrust in and out of her.
“Fuck, Harry,” Ron groaned, dizzy from the feeling of Harry’s fingers against his slippery cock.
Harry’s hands slid back up and squeezed. “Hermione,” Harry began, and then paused for a moment, “I’m not going to hurt him am I? I’ve never….”
“It should be okay, just use plenty of lubricant and go slow,” Hermione replied.
“Is there a charm for that?” Harry asked.
Ron, too busy reveling in the feeling of Hermione meeting his thrusts, didn’t hear her answer. When he felt Harry’s first lubed finger push into his arse, Ron knew that the spell had worked. When Harry started working a second finger in, Ron stilled, gasping for breath as sweat began to slide down his body.
Hermione, seeking a more comfortable position, shifted down and hiked her legs up higher so that her knees were at Ron’s sides. Harry pulled his fingers out and Ron heard the softly muttered spell this time as Harry spread the lube over his cock. Harry spread Ron’s cheeks apart and then lined his cock up with Ron’s hole, watching himself as he started to push forward.
Ron groaned and he fisted the sheets near Hermione’s head, clenching his eyes shut at the stretching, tight pain in his arse. Hermione peppered kisses across his face, her tongue tracing the line of his lips before Ron kissed her. Once Harry had slid in to the hilt he began to thrust, pulling Ron onto his cock by his hips. His in and out movement caused Ron to begin moving in and out of Hermione again. She moaned and tangled her fingers in Ron’s hair.
Harry, so quiet during the whole exchange, suddenly began to talk, lost in the sensation of being buried in Ron’s tight arse. He mumbled how much he loved them, needed them. His hands went from Ron’s hips to Hermione’s legs, caressing her thighs, and completing the connection. Harry rested his forehead against Ron’s sweaty back and pushed into him, pushing him more deeply into Hermione.
Ron felt Harry’s teeth on his skin and finally lost it, groaning out as he emptied himself inside Hermione. Harry came soon after, slamming home twice before orgasming.
Ron collapsed to the side, breathing hard, and Harry followed him. They lay still for several minutes before anyone moved. Ron, in the middle, grinned when Hermione threw her arm over his side and Harry did the same, trapping him in a three-way hug. All three were touching in some way.
“I think I needed that,” Harry mumbled into Ron’s skin.
Hermione laughed weekly. “We figured that.”
“Did you now?” Harry asked.
“Yes.”
Harry smiled and tightened the hold he had on Hermione’s hand. Everything would be all right now, as long as they had each other.
Yes, the war had changed them, changed that way they thought about life and the world around them. It had even changed the things they wanted, and the way they wanted them. Their love had become precious, and it always would be, no matter what form it took.
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