Title: Three's Company
Author: luvscharlie
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Hermione, Harry/Hermione/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: cunnilingus
Other Warnings: voyeurism, threesome, wanking, oral. While this is a Trio fic, it focuses on Harry/Hermione for the majority of the time, so if that pairing squicks you, you were fairly warned.
Word Count: 3,170
Summary/Description: When Ron's away on an Auror mission, Harry and Hermione take the opportunity for some alone time.
Author's Notes: Originally written for the July 2010 prompt of cunnilingus on daily_deviant. Thank you ragdoll for allowing me a later posting date when I was on my third story and still trying to get something written! As well as for July 2010 at the_playwitch so you'll notice several references in here to the magazine.

Inspired by a post from abigail89 where we discussed the lack of use our Harry/Hermione icons had gotten of late.



Three's Company by Luvscharlie

Harry arrived home to discover that Grimmauld Place was dark and quiet except for the sound of muffled sobbing coming from somewhere upstairs. He sighed. This again? Honestly, it had only been a few days. Of course, after last time, he reckoned Hermione did have reason to worry, so he started up the stairs and made his way to the largest bedroom on the second floor. "Crying again?" he asked, poking his head around the corner.

Hermione immediately turned her head and began brushing away her tears. "I'm not," she said, her voice breaking.

"Course not," Harry replied. "Just like you weren't crying in your sleep last night, or crying the night before that, or…"

"Oh, shut up, Harry. I'm just worried. That's all." She sat up on their large bed, balled up her small fist and gave Harry's pillow a punch as he shed his cloak and hung it on the back of the bedroom door. "I don't know why Ron has to be away, that's all."

"Hmm," Harry said, mocking her as he pretended to ponder. "Well, I'm not as smart as you, of course," he said with a wink that earned him a glare in return. "But it probably has something to do with the fact that we–Ron and I—went off and became Aurors and there are these things called Missions and—"

"Really, Harry, just shut it. I comprehend the job description perfectly well. I just don't like it." Wiping away a stray tear that she'd missed earlier, she then began to wring her hands. "It's just that he's alone this time and we haven't heard anything and—and—"

"And you're worried about him. I get it."

"You're not there to help look after one another. The least the Minister could have done was to send you out together. I don't worry as much if you're both there to watch one another's backs. What was Minister Shacklebolt thinking anyway, sending Ron out there alone?"

Harry couldn't stop himself from chuckling, even though he knew it would only add to her annoyance. "First of all, the Minister himself rarely decides what missions we'll be assigned. Also, the last time Ron and I were on a mission together, if I remember correctly—and believe me, I do—you marched yourself into Kingsley's office sometime during Day Four and kicked him in the shin for worrying you so, demanding that we return home straight away. Must have kicked him a good one, too. Ron and I haven't gone out together since. I guess Kingsley enjoys walking around without a limp. Takes away from his sex appeal and all. He has a certain standard to uphold or they might take away his "Sexiest Minister of the Century" title at The PlayWitch."

"Don't make fun. That was a very scary time. The Prophet was reporting mass Auror casualties near Surrey, and Ron had let it slip that's where the two of you would be. I had every reason to be concerned."

"Concerned, yes. Violent? Paranoid? Probably not so much. Hermione, you of all people should know not to believe anything they print in the Prophet." Harry plopped down on the bed beside her, folded up his glasses and set them on the bedside table. "Really, you might try reading The PlayWitch a little more rather than those other rags, since I've heard the stories are about as accurate, and that the pictures are far more entertaining."

"Oh, you!" Hermione said. "You and Ron would know, I've certainly seen enough of those magazines around this house."

"Whoa-ho-ho—we were not looking at The PlayWitch. Those were totally magazines of the male variety—I mean not with males in them or—Fuck, you know what I mean. I should just quit while I'm ahead. Besides, you weren't exactly supposed to know about those. But, now that you mention it, if you could buy a few copies of that PlayWitch then Ron and I could see how we measure up, you know?"

Hermione cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "What if you find that you come up… erm… short?"

"Oi! No need for that kind of talk!" Harry was rewarded with a half-hearted snigger. "Besides, really you should be nice to me. Particularly, since I've come home with this." Harry pulled a rolled parchment from his pocket. The seal was already broken as he'd read it at the office when the owl arrived. "Ron's fine. He'll be home tomorrow."

The words had no sooner left his lips when the parchment was torn violently from his fingers.

"Watch it! That's my wand hand. I'm gonna need that later, you know!"

"You had this the whole time! Be glad it's just your hand that is getting the rough treatment." She unrolled the parchment and began to read, her eyes zooming back and forth.

Harry considered removing himself from the bed and putting his more valued parts at a greater distance from Hermione, should she choose to lash out. But he'd read the parchment, knew it contained good news, and at seeing Hermione's look of relief, he relaxed back against the pillow. "Feel better then?" he asked.

"Much," she replied. "I know you've always wanted to be Aurors, and I'm confident that you're both more than capable of taking care of yourselves; it just doesn't make the waiting any less difficult. I constantly dread the day the owl comes to say something went wrong."

"Well, we can't all have jobs in stuffy libraries, lusting over old books, can we?" He grunted as Hermione smacked him in the head with a throw pillow, but he continued on. "We know you worry. C'mere." Harry motioned that she should sit between his legs, and she crawled over scooting back against him so that her bum pressed against his crotch, making his cock twitch at the closeness. "Perhaps this will help to relieve some of your stress."

Harry grasped her shoulders, brushing her mess of hair back to gain better access and he began to knead, digging his fingers hard into her stress-tight muscles. Hermione's head lolled against him and she groaned in appreciation as he worked out the tenseness.

"Better?"

"Mmmm," was all she managed, but she was smiling and Harry's teeth grazed her neck as his hands slid past her shoulders, down her upper arms and came to rest cupping her breasts.

"This morning you mentioned that we were going out for dinner tonight. Have you changed your mind?" Hermione asked, arching her back and pressing her nipples more firmly against his palms.

Harry nipped the tender flesh of her earlobe. “This morning I didn’t realise that tomorrow I’d have to share you again. Of course, I could always do something to get them to keep Ron another day and--Oomph”

"Not funny!" Hermione’s elbow connected soundly with his ribs. “Don’t even tease about that.”

"You've got some bony elbows there." He rubbed his side. "I'm going to talk to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and see if I can't get those classified as deadly weapons."

"You're quite silly. You do know that, right?" Hermione said, a chuckle escaping behind her words.

"And you're laughing," Harry replied. "I like that far better than the alternative. All that crying gets snot on the pillows."

"Classy, Harry. Very classy."

He shrugged and his hands were back on her tits, cupping, squeezing, and kneading once more. Taking in every moan of pleasure, every groan for more, Harry read her wants and needs. They knew one another, the three of them… far too well sometimes.

"What's it like?" Harry asked. It was a question he'd never broached with her, and he wasn't sure he'd have done it now if Ron had been home.

Hermione's eyes were still closed in bliss at the things Harry's fingers were doing to her, but he stopped his ministrations to encourage her to answer his question and her eyelids popped open so she could glare up at him.

"What's what like?" She pulled away from him, pulled her jumper over her head and motioned that he should unhook her bra. Harry was convinced it was some bit of dark magic that created bra hooks, 'cause they never wanted to release for him. He reached for his wand and Hermione yelped. "On no you don't. That did not go well the last time you did it, and we will not be repeating that little incident. This is my favourite bra; I don't plan to pick up the pieces of it from the rug later."

Harry sighed and set his wand back down on the bedside table, and picked up the thread of the conversation they were having before the bra unhooking incident. "This," he said, motioning around the room. "All of this. What's it like for you being with both of us. I mean, we're okay with it, so I guess we just assumed you were, and I'm not sure either of us—me or Ron—ever took the time to ask. I mean, I know Mrs. Weasley looks at you strangely and there have been some nasty speculations printed in the Prophet, which could not have been pleasant to read… so what's this like for you. I guess that's what I was wondering."

Hermione turned towards Harry, rising up on her knees and brushing a hand across his cheek and tangling another in his ever-messy hair. She paused before she began. "It is different, no doubt, and I do wish Mrs. Weasley wouldn't look at me that way sometimes. But then, I suppose all relationships are different in some way or another. In some ways, being with the two of you, it's the best of both worlds. In others, it's only double the worry and frustration. I have the both of you to worry about getting yourselves into fixes, and the pleasure of the both of you to come home to each evening… well, each evening when the Minister isn't running you across the countryside to do his bidding. I guess in the end the bad and the good sort of cancel one another out."

"But you're happy?" he asked, and then swallowed hard, finding that he was a bit worried about her answer. "Happy here with me and Ron, I mean."

"Mmmm…"

It wasn't much of an answer, but he did like the way it sounded on her lips. Harry closed his eyes as Hermione's fingertips drifted down his face, just a ghost of a touch. "Keep your eyes closed," she whispered, and he felt her fingers working the fastenings of his robe. She cursed when one of the fastenings refused to give and in a swoosh of sound that lasted only a moment all of his clothes were missing.

"No fair! I wasn't allowed to de-bra you that way."

"I value my boobs. Last time you decimated the bra; this time, no telling what could happen."

Remembering the shambles that bra was in, he decided this wasn’t a fight he was going to win… and in fairness he was rather fond of her tits as well, so using the wand probably wasn't one of his best ideas. "May I open my ey—"

He didn't get the chance to finish his sentence because Hermione was kissing him, her tongue sliding against his, her teeth nipping at his lower lip. Harry slid his hand back behind him, searching blindly by feel until his hand closed around his wand. He aimed it towards her, concentrating hard (well, as much as one could concentrate when being kissed like this) and removed her remaining clothing with a flick.

Hermione pushed him away, "I told you—"

Cutting her off, Harry put on his most innocent look and splayed his hands wide, "What? I aimed no where near your tits. It was a totally-tit-less aim. You said nothing about other parts. Besides, I only killed a bra before. I've never destroyed your knickers… with my wand, at least."

Protesting, Hermione gave him another good shove. "You're not even wearing your glasses. You might have missed and hit poor Crookshanks. Just imagine what he would look like with no fur."

He chose not to mention that one didn't need their glasses when their eyes were closed, since apparently she hadn't noticed that his eyes were, in fact, closed. No need to bring it up; he'd keep that tidbit of information to himself. Harry looked over at the scraggly (albeit fuzzy and blurry--and was she really sure that was the cat? Wow, his eyes really were bad, maybe those glasses need a new prescription again.) cat in the doorway. "Yeah, 'cause that would have been a real shame and—"

Swatting Harry lightly on the thigh, Hermione said, "You be nice." It might have sounded harsher if she weren't looking at him with half-lidded eyes and if the fingers that had only just swatted his thigh weren't now climbing higher, making slow caressing circles that sent a shiver up his spine.

Uttering a curse under his breath, Harry pulled her to him, wrapping Hermione in his arms and tugging her down onto the bed. His lips fastened over her breast, drawing her nipple into a hard point as he lathed it, suckling and releasing, scraping his teeth over her sensitive skin.

"This bed seems big without Ron in it, doesn't it?" Hermione asked, her voice echoing her longing for Ron to come back home and join them.

It was then that Harry decided exactly what he wanted to do to her on this rare night alone together. He never (or rarely) got the opportunity to go down on her when Ron was home. Ron was better at it, at least if one judged from Hermione's reactions when Ron was licking and teasing her with his tongue, so Harry had always acquiesced and conceded that job should simply belong to Ron. Not tonight. Tonight was Harry's turn to explore her and do things that he didn't normally get the opportunity for; to practise his technique, if you will. He clasped Hermione's face between his palms and kissed her, a warm brush of his lips over hers. "Want to taste you," he whispered, and she opened her mouth to kiss him once more. Putting a finger to her lips, Harry smiled and said, "Not there," against the shell of her ear, his tongue darting in to tease her and licking its way down her jaw line, teeth nipping at her neck and marking her.

His hands cupped both her breasts and squeezed, causing Hermione to arch her back and moan in appreciation of his touch. He kissed his way down her stomach, hearing her whimper when he released her tits. Nudging apart her thighs gently, Harry watched as Hermione's legs fell open to him, granting him full access to her centre.

Harry parted her with his fingers, sliding them over her folds in exploratory fashion, taking in every gasp of pleasure, every moan of ecstasy and noting those spots that seemed to please her most. Without Ron there to show off his extraordinary oral talents, Harry was free to experiment; to learn Hermione rather than rush through it by kissing her and lavishing his attention on her breasts while Ron made her come with his tongue. Tonight it was his turn to hear her fall apart beneath his ministrations… hopefully.

Pressing his face to her centre, Harry bumped her clit with his nose. He felt her buck against him and her hand tangled in his hair, urging him to continue. He was a bit out of practise, this not being the thing that he normally excelled at during their times together, and that particular reaction from her seemed to indicate that he was off to a good start. Buoyed by her encouragement, Harry parted her lips and made a broad stroke over her, licking her thoroughly and stopping once more at her clit to flick it with his thumb.

"Fuck," Hermione cursed, her fingers curling into the duvet, fists clenching. "That… again… please."

Harry complied, this time his thumb flicked her clit and his tongue followed suit. Hermione whimpered and Harry said "mmmm" against her. If Hermione's loud "God, yes" was any indication, the vibrations felt good—really good—so Harry did it again, then began to make slow strokes with this tongue, up and down exploring her folds, and then stopping short of her clit so as not to bring her to climax too soon. Hermione's hand drifted down, and as much as Harry enjoyed watching her touch herself, he swatted her fingers away.

"Not tonight; my turn."

"Then bloody do it already," she whined. "I'm dying up here."

"Nice way to go though," Harry said. "I've died worse ways."

It earned him a glare, as mentioning that dark time in their past always did. And though he was attempting to make this experience last, he was so hard, he felt like he might well die too, if he didn't get some relief quickly. Thus, Hermione got her wish. He pulled her clit between his lips and slid two fingers into her, working them in and out as he suckled, curling his digits, searching for—

"OH! Mother of Merlin!"

--that. Yes, that spot.

"Right there. Don't stop. Do. Not. Stop." Hermione was trembling and moaning and doing a good deal of hair-pulling (Ow!) as she came, arching her back and digging her heels into the mattress.

And before she could come down from her climax, Harry was sliding into her, thrusting hard and fast, unable to wait any longer for his own release. Teasing Hermione had been amusing, but it had also tested the boundaries of his self control, and watching her come had been his final undoing. The ability to hold back had long since passed, and Harry was shuddering and collapsing upon her with quick jerks of his hips. In no more than three thrusts, he was finished.

He crawled up beside her and motioned with his hands for her to come closer so that he could draw her into his embrace. "Sorry. Planned for that to last longer." But Hermione wasn't paying any attention to what he was saying; she was looking towards the door and smiling brightly. Harry reached for his glasses on the bedside table and fumbled until they were somewhat on his face.

Ron was leaning against the door frame, his trousers open as he stroked his hard cock. "Got back early," he said with a shrug. "Even managed to make most of the show. Bit anticlimactic there, mate."

Harry shot him the finger and Ron grinned over at them both before shedding his clothing and joining them on the bed.

"I do hope there's going to be an encore."

The words had no sooner left Ron's mouth than Hermione was pushing him back and against the headboard and sliding down onto his cock.

"Fuck, yessss," Ron hissed. "Welcome home to me."