Daily Deviant
- there is no such thing as 'too kinky'
Kinky Kristmas Fic: Old Habits Are the Sweetest (Ron/Harry/Hermione) 
3rd December 2011 12:00
Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: [info]celandineb
From: [info]amand_r

Title: Old Habits Are the Sweetest
Characters/Pairings: Ron/Harry/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: Unorthodox use of sweets, oral sex, rimming, double penetration, drunk!sex
Other Warnings/Content: None.  I sort of ignored the epilogue?
Word Count: 5120
Summary/Description: “Well,” Ron says, raising his glass of whiskey, “we're here now. So.” He clinks glasses with Hermione. “Here's to the third Tuesday of the month.”
Author's Notes: Thanks to my betas.





A friendship like love is warm,
A love like friendship is steady. (Thomas More, 'How Shall I Woo?')

Bounce, come on, bounce. (K7, 'Come Baby Come')



Harry is always the first to arrive. It's not that he's looking forward to it (though he is, he always does), but he lives down the street. The others have to disentangle from activities and Apparate.

And that's why he's always there at the Three Broomsticks, with three Quintin Blacks, three butterbeers, and a whole bag of pork cracklings.

Rosmerta is in high spirits, flitting from table to table with trays and bowls of stew. Harry waves her away with a shy smile, and she doesn't bother him. He's a regular now―no one cares about The Boy Who anymore, other than to buy him a pint or two (or a dozen) on Hogwarts Battle Day. In fact, just this morning Mrs. Wendrop had yelled at him over the state of his front garden. Even when he had passed her on the street on the way here, she'd merely scowled at him.

He doesn't drink any of the things in front of him. He's waiting.

Ron opens the door wide and steps into the room, slouching in his mac, shaking raindrops from his hair. He stands there a moment too long and the door hits him on the arse, sending him forward a few inches. He reaches out to catch his balance and almost succeeds in grabbing Rosmerta's ample chest for balance, but she pushes against him with a tray just in time. Ron gives her a sheepish look. One of these days it might work. Harry wonders what will happen when it does.

Harry raises two fingers, but that's rather stupid, as he's always at the same spot. This chair might as well have his arse marks on it. Ron slips out of his coat and falls into the other side of the booth. Harry slides a Quintin and a butterbeer to him, then sits back, because if Ron is here, Hermione can't be far behind. The day she is late for Tuesday night is the day that it might as well be over. In fact, Ron is early, too.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Ron says.

There, sorted.

They might have begun a conversation, How about those Chudley Cannons?, or Can you believe what they want for those new Nimbus 3000s?, but the door opens again, and Hermione streaks in, covered head to toe in a long cloak, which she whisks off immediately and dries with her wand. She tucks her wand behind her ear, something she must have learnt from Luna, and makes her way to the table, stopping to chat with one or two older folk whom she always seems to know, though how she does is anyone's guess.

When she finally settles into the booth with them, Harry slides the last of the unclaimed drinks to her and smiles when her fingers brush his hand.

You can wait a little longer, Potter.

“You wouldn't believe what George--” Ron stops when Hermione flicks his face. “Oh, right.” No work talk tonight. Never. Work talk is boring, and if he said something then Hermione would say something, and then Harry would have to say something, like, “The new Chocolate Frogs came in. Snape's on a card.”

“Well,” Ron says, raising his glass of whiskey, “we're here now. So.” He clinks glasses with Hermione. “Here's to the third Tuesday of the month.”

Harry doesn't feel the whiskey when it slides down his throat, but after the butterbeer chaser hits it, the coolness seems to leave behind a trail that illuminates the burn. Hermione sighs and sets her glass down with a little click. Ron shakes his head like a dog.

Madame Rosmerta stops by their table, bottle in her hand. “Keep them coming, then?”

They all hold up their glasses. “Please.”

***

“A whole store full of sweets, and you don't eat anything,” Ron mumbles around a mouthful of treacle fudge. Harry doesn't know how Ron eats it, because even after he modified Hagrid's recipe, barely anyone buys it. He only replenishes it every other week, and today it is especially dry and dense.

Harry peeks through three fingers at the wall of acid pops and other hard sweets (the lemon sherbets sell quite well), and shrugs. From his spot on the floor, the streetlights make a pattern on the ceiling. “Well, you know, busman's holiday.”

Ron has the grace not to make a bus joke.

This is the first time they are meeting here, in the three years he’s owned the shop.  Usually, they end up at Hermione’s student housing flat, or Harry’s small house in Hogsmeade, or Ron’s office in the back of the store.  But Hermione’s got a flatmate this year, and the last time they’d gone to Ron’s, there had been a mishap with am enchanted bit of paper and Hermione had told them, in no uncertain words, never again.  

So that left Harry’s.  But after three bracing glasses of whiskey, and several butterbeers, suddenly the store had seemed like a  good idea.  Ron had said something about free samples,  and ‘getting his snack on’.  Hermione had just smiled and run ahead of them on the street, her hair flying from the sides of her hood as she skipped on the uneven road.  

They had only lit one candle, because the street has enough lanterns to see by, and then Ron had started to peel off his clothes, staggering through the store with one trouser leg off, drunkenly snatching at sweets in every flavour of childish nostalgia they could have ever imagined or remembered.  Hermione had disappeared into the back room, and Harry had resolved that if he heard anything fall over, then he’d get up and do something about it.  Right now, if he stares at things fleetingly, his head isn’t as spinny.

Ron swallows his mouthful and sits down next to Harry on the floor, leaning against the wooden counter.  “Well, I guess I’m not as excited about the stuff at the shop, either.”  He snorts.  “Once you’ve demonstrated Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder to the fifth group of third years in one day, it’s lost its sparkle.”

Harry had the grace not to make a joke.  That’s their coin tonight.  Because they’re too old to be in here, making fools of themselves, really, they should have left this stuff behind ages ago--the jokes, the sweets, the immaturity, the closeness they share even though they should have all three moved on like their classmates had done ten years ago.  

Instead, Ron leans against the counter and reaches out with one hand to casually unbutton Harry’s shirt, chatting idly.  “I think your fudge is off.”

Harry smiles with his eyes closed.  Ron’s hand sneaks into his shirt and under the vest, to the soft and tender parts of him, just before the crease of the arm, just under the clavicle, places that you save to caress for comfort, old and familar.  

“Hermione’s parents will clean your teeth,” he says into the dark, as if Ron has brought powder from work.  

There’s a snort.  “They used a drill, man.  ‘Mione gave me laughing gas.  Best.  Dental.  Appointment.  Ever.”

“Hey hey,” Hermione says, and Harry opened his eyes to see her coming from the backroom, almost starkers, her hair trailing over her shoulders. Her arms are full of Chocolate Frogs--the standard ones, the vampire ones, the special-edition Order of the Phoenix ones.  

Hermione stops in front of them and spreads her arms, letting all the sweets fall to the floor around them.  Harry shakes his head, and it’s hard not to stare at her breasts, since it’s a little chilly in the room, or her little knickers with the peekaboo lace (her Tuesday pants, she says, as everything else is reliably practical and plain, of course.  Harry has never told her that he wouldn’t mind any pants, even plain ones, because he’s a bloke, and he can still be a little selfish).   

“Oi, where were you hiding those?” Ron asks.  “I haven’t had one of these in...wow.”  He lowers the package into his lap and stares off into space.  “We have grown up, all right, haven’t we?”

Hermione undoes Harry’s flies and yanks the lots down to his knees, then puts one of her knees on the trousers in between his legs, effectively trapping him there.  The breeze is chilly and not unpleasant, and he can feel his cock hardening.  His hands reach out for her, but she sits back on her haunches, just out of reach.

Ron tosses his wrapper aside and the frog jumps up on the counter, but he ignores it, looking at the card.  “Armando Dippet, Former Headmaster of Hogwarts, c. 1940.  Unfortunate name, that is, Dippet.”

Harry is only listening with half an ear, because Hermione is weeding through the scattered Chocolate Frog packages, as if she has a special one in mind.  She can’t know that they are all the same, but her’s waving her wand, as if it is a divining rod.  

When she does seem to settle on one, Harry watches interestedly as she unwraps the frog, points the tip of her wand into the package and whispers something. Then she tosses her wand aside a little too haphazardly for Hermione-without-five-Quintins-and-two-butterbeers, mouths the opening of the wrapper and tips her head back.

“What're you―” Ron stops when she lowers her head and envelops the head of Harry's cock with her mouth. He can feel her lips and the heat of her mouth, and then something, something like her tongue in the back there, and when she slides further down, takes more of him in, the underside of his cock is assaulted by a rhythmic pulse, too fast to be her tongue, to strong to be his pulse and then--

The legs of the Chocolate Frog beat against his cock in her mouth, something she's done to extend its movements, because after all, as Ron told him many many years ago, they only had one good jump in them.  Hermione hums around him, and the frog seems to know the tune as well, because it’s playing counterpoint, until the entire sensation around his cock is Bach.

Harry wonders why they’d not come to the store before.  They should be here every single time.

He hears the crinkle of another frog being unwrapped, and Ron lightheartedly reads, “Greta Catchlove:  1960 - present, author of Charm Your Own Cheese.”  

Harry wonders how Ron can just sit here and watch, but the he realises that he has his eyes closed and he can just open them to see, but when he does, a face is heading for his, and Ron’s mouth closes on his own, sweet with chocolate and harsh, because Ron kisses like he plays Quidditch--hesitant at first and then so irreverently confident that it’s almost more war than game.  When he pulls away his eyes are softer than they ever were on the game field.  

Harry grabs the back of Ron’s head, and thinks to grab Hermione’s hair, but that is a game-ender, he knows.  So he closes his eyes and thrusts up with his hips as Hermione works him.  The frog stops dancing, and when Ron bites his lower lip, Harry can feel something more liquid working with her tongue.  Her molars scrape at the sides of his cock.  

When he comes, she’s braced her hands on either side of his hips, holding him up off the ground while she milks every last drop from him, and when she pulls away, she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, smearing it brown.  

Ron leans into Hermione, taking her mouth with his, tiny glimpses of their tongues flashing through the movement of their heads, and Harry wonders why they are here.  Why they aren’t locked in a cozy bedroom in front of a fire, thrusting into each other like love-stricken fools.  Instead they are here on the floor of his sweetshop, delivering oral sex with accoutrements.

And he’s too smart to say anything about it, because then they wouldn’t break the kiss and lower their heads in unison to his softening cock, still slick with melted chocolate.  

While they’re licking him clean, Hermione slaps the card from the package she’d used on Harry’s chest, and when he lifts it up, Albus Dumbledore winks at him.  

***

Ron is always the first to come. Hermione straddles him on the floor, working herself onto him, pressing her fingers into his nipples and pulling, then smoothing them and bending down to lick them into hardness. Behind her, Harry's face looms over her shoulder, eyes on Ron's when he reaches around to finger her clit.

Ron doesn't know when this started. This night, yeah, that's easy enough, but how long have they been having Tuesdays? Since the travels in the tent? Surely he remembers something pornographic about that year--they had all been eighteen and stressed and hormones had been running high.  

It was strange how being in the middle of sex could make someone think about all the opportunities for sex that they had missed in the past.  Because who wouldn’t want to be just, like, fucking, all the time?

Hermione leans down to kiss him, and Ron can feel Harry’s fingers at the base of his cock, right before he enters Hermione, and now there is only a small bit of her between them, the one who holds them together like she always has.  When Harry is seated in her finally, she rises off Ron and back into Harry, taking Ron's cock up and back with her.  Harry reaches from behind to palm her breasts, lifting them and running his thumbs over her nipples.  

Ron never knows what to do when he’s on the bottom like this, so he just waits.  He’s the one on the bottom, the plinth, as it were, and it’s his job to just hold everything steady.  Hermione begins to rock, sort of rub back and forth on the base of his cock, and he rolls his shoulders a bit to catch the rhythm of her, as if he’s hearing a tune that he hasn’t for a while, and it takes him a few seconds to remember the way it goes.  Harry goes with her, almost stuck to her back like a cloak of skin and white.  Hermione always closes her eyes for this, not because she doesn’t want to see them, but because sex is just one more thing for her to perfect, every performance better than the last;  she grinds in a little circle, stopping in mid-swing to tighten both cunt and ass so that they both suck in their breath, and there’s a little quirk to the edge of her mouth, because every success brings more than just physical pleasure.  

His hands work again, since he has noticed that they had been lying limply at his sides.  Sometimes humans have too many limbs to control, he decides, but he reaches down to finger Hermione’s clit, taking over where Harry had left off.  Harry bites one of Hermione’s earlobes, a gentle tug, and that must urge her on, like spurring a horse, because she whines and tosses her hair a little and bends over, moves from trot to canter, her shoulders hunching in a bit like a jockey crouching in the wind.  

Harry follows her down, but hands and arms prevent them from smashing into Ron completely.  Harry forehead is plastered with sweat, his scar bright red on his forehead, as if it is the kind of natural birthmark infants have, ones that you can see when they are crying.  Hermione’s brow is wrinkled in desperate concentration, and if he could see inside her head right now, he knows it would look like a textbook page that starts with orderly lines of text, devolving halfway down into black whorls of useless scribbling.  

He sniffs the air, wondering if he can smell the ink of her melting thoughts, but all he gets is a drop of sweat landing on his neck.    

Harry groans something and then he speeds up.  Hermione wrenches herself a little and then tightens her thighs, arms folded in on Ron’s chest, looking for the finishing line and waiting for a burst of speed.  Ron wonders when he had begun to think of this as a horse-racing metaphor, and then remembers that Arthur had taken him to the track a few weeks ago.  Hermione, were she smaller, should be one of those creatures, small and compact on the back of the animal, driving it with hands and feet and knees.  Everything in her fantastic head begs for mastery of the small thing, the small things that will conquer the bigger picture.  

It sneaks up on him this time, because he’s rolling around inside the sensation, uncharacteristically marrying it with romantic notions, and then he is coming, his legs lifting both his passengers from the floor with his thighs.  Hermione lets a big laugh burst out of her.  Harry holds Hermione’s hips in his hands and thrusts into her, taking Ron’s emptied cock with them on one last ride.

And when Hermione falls on top of him, and Harry presses his cheek to her shoulder, eyes on Ron’s, Ron can’t help but think that this time, they must have won something, if they hadn’t already, years ago, on a train.

***

Hermione is tracing something on Harry's back with a sugar quill. Harry can feel the press of it, much harder than an actual feather would be, but not the sharp pinch of the nib. He rests his head on his arms and wiggles just a little, so that she rides his arse like a cowgirl for a second. Perhaps a camel rider, swaying in the up-and-down lurch of unsteady gait.

She presses her thumb into the small of his back and the sensation shoots through his stomach and pins him to the floor. Her light humming is familiar and a little off-key, but it's hers. Every now and then he can pick up some mumbled words, and he wonders if she's actually writing words on him.

And if they'd be permanent.

”There's nothing...that can't be done,” comes with an embellishment on his left shoulder.  ”Nothing...sing that can't be sung.”  The quill stops and swirls over a shoulder blade and Harry shivers.  ”Nothing...you can learn how to play the game, it's easy...”

“Oi,” Ron says, and they both turn their heads ot look at him.  Ron leans against a stand of Wizarding funny books. “Listen to this: </em>Severus Snape, 1960-1998. Famous Potions Master and critical lynchpin in the defeat of Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts</em>.” He lowered the card. “Blimey, summarise much?”

“I don't think he had much input into the information they chose to put on his card, Ron,” Hermione chides, and Harry knows she is right, but he wouldn’t have put it that way, really.  In fact, he knows that all the card descriptions are now written by Hannah Abbot, as a freelance job on her summers off from teaching.  Not for the first time Harry wonders if she and Neville have hot passionate sex in the greenhouses on the grounds.  

“Still,” Ron says.  “You know, Ginny’s kid swears she got a You-Know-Who card once.”

Harry rolls his eyes.  “Ginny’s kid is five.”  As if that means anything.  “I think there was an agreement never to put him on a card, because they were afraid they’d be little Horcruxes or something.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione says.  “Though I guess just seeing him moving on the card would be a bother to many people.”  She doesn’t say to us, though she means it.  “Besides, they have better people to put on those cards.”  Her quill stops on his chest and he hears the crunch of it as she bites off the tip.  “These just taste like sugar.”

Ron laughs.  “That’s the point.”

Hermione rolls off Harry and lies next to him, staring at the quill in her fingers.  “I dunno, I just thought there’s be something, special about them.”  

“It’s a quill,”  Ron replies slowly as if speaking to a child, “but it’s made of sugar.”

There’s a clatter as she tosses the quill at him, and Harry nudges over when Ron falls on her, half-covering them both with the length of his body.  

“Are you taking the piss?” Hermione says with a loud squeak at the end, because Ron is biting one of her breasts.

“Yes,” Ron mumbles.  One of his hands is reaching down between her legs.  “You have no sense of childish self-neglect.”

Harry thinks to ask where Ron’s learnt all the big words, and then he remembers that Ron has the correspondence degree, not Harry, making him the second-best-educated of the three of them.  

Or he could have been watching the Muggle talk shows on the telly again.

“I have plenty of self-neglect,” Hermione bites back, grabbing a handful of Ron’s hair and yanking it like a dog shaking a newspaper. “I still look fondly on all the times we broke the rules at school.”

Harry tries to remember a single conversation they have had tonight that hasn’t revolved around the past, and fails.  In the corner of his eye, the window to the street has frosted over in the chill, and he cannot see anything.  They could be suspended in a snow globe arrested in 1999 and never know.  There is some small comfort in that.  

“Like the time we stole all those things from Snape’s supply closet in second year?” Harry says, raising up on his arms and feeling his skin stretch and itch a little, as the sugar Hermione has painted on him with the quill and his sweat had dried out and cracks with his new movements.  

“I was thinking of how we used to sneak down into the kitchens in Hogwarts,” Hermione murmurs, arching her back so that Ron can lick his way down her belly. His head disappears in between her legs. “Tickle the pear.”  Ron does something to her, because her breath hitches and she smiles and closes her eyes.  “The pear.”

Harry watches the play on her face, because he has not been able to the previous two times in the night, only Ron’s over her shoulder, red and worried and happy and frightened and lost in something that had made him look older.   But now, face hidden by Hermione's hips and legs, Harry can lean down and lave one nipple whilst still watching her eyelids flutter, her lips trying to form words that Ron seems to be pulling through the core of her.  Harry knows that she likes it when he bites her clit, her lips, all the small bits of her that are hot-wired to overcome her massive brain.

He likes when they slips fingers into her, already loose and wet with the night’s activities.  She loves when they twirl her pubic hair on one finger right above the middle of the cleft, pulling it tight.  Hermione turns her face to the side and takes Harry’s loose hand and sucks in a finger, then two, and three, jamming them in and out of her mouth until he catches on, and then he pushes them in and out, deeper, feeling the soft bumpiness of her tongue, the little tickle of the uvula when he pushes in, fucking her mouth.  

Ron pulls away long enough to bunch his coat under Hermione, the flannel lining on the outside, though the slicker neoprene might have been more practical.  Harry bites down on a nipple and feels the lift of Hermione’s lower half, up in the air, as if Ron were preparing to change her tyres.  He kneels again, and this time his arse is in the air, the top of his head bobbing as he does something to Hermione that makes a few slick noises below and a great number of high-pitched ones from her head.  

Over her body Harry can see a small pile of sugar quills, and reaching over her, he grabs a new one, pulling away from her breast to slip it into his mouth.  It is sugar, plain, though he must have flavoured ones around here, right?  No matter, when he draws it out, slick with spit, he runs it along her stomach dipping into her navel and twisting it by the stem.  Hermione giggles and clamps her thighs about Ron’s head for a few seconds.

“No tickling,” Ron mutters, face hidden from view.  “She’s like a nutcracker down here.”

Harry rises from his knees, and, reflecting that he is not so very drunk anymore with a sense of fleeting disappointment, he scuttles down to position himself right behind Ron’s arse, sticking in the air and swaying with his movements.  

He wets the quill again and traces the rim of Ron’s arse, watching the shine of moisture paint Ron’s hole.  He presses the tip of the quill into Ron, and there’s a little crack when the quill splits off and he is left with most of the stem in his hand.  Ron’s arse tightens, and the quill trembles as if it will fall out.  

Harry leans forward and takes it in his mouth.  It tastes of sweetness, only sweetness, dissolving on his tongue, and with every second of sucking brings him closer to Ron’s arse until he is tonguing it, working at the muscle.  He swallows the quill down and works the tip of his tongue deeper, cleaning out all the barbs and the thicker rachis of it until all he is left with is Ron, purely.  

Ron groans and pushes backwards, widening his arse, and Hermione waves her hands, trying, Harry is sure, not to grab Ron’s head.  Harry smiles into the light dusting of hair, reaches up with one hand and caresses Ron’s balls, rolling them in his fingers.  Ron’s back stiffens, and he tries to accommodate them both by bowing his spine to reach Hermione’s cunt and allow Harry full access.  Harry reaches around past the balls to Ron’s cock, working it with one hand, bracing himself on the floor with the other, licking around and into Ron’s arse intermittently.  

Hermione braces her feet flat on the floor, lifts her whole lower half from the ground, and mumbles and screeches at the same time, such a strange noise that Harry wonders if he might not have invented a new verb for it.  Ron keeps at her, holding her aloft with one palm, digging into her with his other fingers, probably pressing a thumb into her arse too, if her noises are anything to go by.  Harry pumps Ron’s cock and shifts his weight so that he can reach his own.  

It’s a challenge to see if they can all come at the same time, and they still don’t manage to do it--Hermione comes first, almost causing them to topple when she lifts one foot off the ground and curls her leg about Ron's shoulder.  Harry can see her purple nail varnish from here.  The sight of her toes flexing on and off point is the last step and he comes, dripping onto the floor.  Ron takes a little longer this time, but when he does, it is with such a noise of satisfaction that it is worth the wait.  

Well, Harry thinks as he falls to the floor at Hermione’s feet, barely noticing that their one candle has gone out, they can always try again next month.        

Ron lies next to Hermione, panting, not even bothering to wipe his mouth.  Harry loves him for it.  

“Well,” Hermione murmurs, sleepy and sighing, “Sweet shop success, then.”

Harry thinks that they should scramble back home, but they’d have to dress, and he can’t feel his legs.  

Ron rolls one shoulder and reaches behind him, pulling something from under his back.  It is a Chocolate Frog card.  “Bertie Bott, Inventor, 1935 - present,” he reads in the dim light from the streetlamp.  “Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans were created quite by mistake. His original purpose was to create tasty candies from food. He accidentally included a pair of dirty socks in his experiment!”  

Harry wonders what they could do with Every Flavour Beans, but his cock tells him that it needs a lie-in.

“When do we get Chocolate Frog Cards?” Ron muttered, flinging the card over the counter.  Hermione’s reply is a gentle snore.  

Harry doesn't tell him that he has a whole case of Dumbledore’s Army pre-ordered. They'll make nice Christmas gifts.

***

Hermione is always the first to leave. She has papers and a hot shower and strong coffee waiting for her. Ron and Harry are draped over each other in front of the counter, their clothing padding the carpet so that it is a little more comfortable to sleep on than the bare floor. Hermione is sure that she has a few splinters in her knees, possibly carpet burns, but it’s too soon to tell.  

She’s made sure to find all of her clothes, because leaving behind knickers in a sweetshop wouldn’t be wise.  She’d gathered both Ron’s and Harry’s too, but stopped short of folding them as they’d never notice and she’s in a hurry to get out.  There’s something sticky on her breasts that begs to be washed off with a spray of hot water.      

Harry lies with Ron’s mac over him, flannel side down, and Ron is asleep on her cloak, so she takes Harry’s coat.  It smells like Brut and chocolate.

For a second she debates leaving behind a few galleons for all the sweets they...appropriated from Harry’s stock, but that smells of something dirty, and that’s not what they’re about, so she just snatches up a few of the quills and tucks them into her bag for experimentation.  There were lots of things one could do with a sweetened feather.

One last glance about the place (she tucks an amused Dumbledore card into her pocket), and she’s ready to go.  She silences the door bells with her wand and casts one last glance back at them before stepping outside.  Harry rolls over and buries his face into the crook of Ron’s shoulder.  Ron shifts until he can turn a little into Harry’s embrace, probably more for warmth than anything else, and then he lets out a slurpy drooling noise.  

Boys.

She almost doesn't draw the curtains on her way out. Almost.

***

Everything you've ever said is brilliant,
Anything you want to do is fine with me. (Too Much Joy, 'Crush Story')

END
Comments 
3rd December 2011 21:35
Oh man, this is FABULOUS!!! I love everything about it -- your word choices, your POV choices, and basically just how unconventional the whole thing is! I can't even put my finger on it, but the way you write everything, from dialogue to general narrative to the sexy bits, is just so fresh and unique. Amazing job! I love that this is their monthly tradition. I love that they're stuck in the past. I love that Hermione has sex like she's trying to be the best at it. I love Harry's shop. I love how comfortable they all are together. I love that they need a place to go, and the shop does the trick this time. :) I kind of hated Ron's horse metaphor, but then I LOVE that he hated it, too. :D :D :D And it was so very Ron.

And I while I think Harry's POV was my favourite, Ron's had some of the most stunningly beautiful lines of the entire fic, like: if he could see inside her head right now, he knows it would look like a textbook page that starts with orderly lines of text, devolving halfway down into black whorls of useless scribbling. He sniffs the air, wondering if he can smell the ink of her melting thoughts, but all he gets is a drop of sweat landing on his neck.

♥♥♥♥♥
4th December 2011 04:17
This is fantastic! I love the hints you've given about how this developed over the years as a monthly thing, and the creative use of sweets was perfect. Finding a Trio fic with such great descriptions and dialogue is a wonderful treat, and I loved the POV switches, with Harry's observations about Hermione's knickers and Ron's odd similes. Bravo!
4th December 2011 04:38
That was lovely!

They could be suspended in a snow globe arrested in 1999 and never know.

There's something bittersweet about this to me.

I love the image you leave us with.
4th December 2011 04:44
[info]snegurochka_lee already quoted the passage that I was going to, but I'm going to say it anyway. He sniffs the air, wondering if he can smell the ink of her melting thoughts, but all he gets is a drop of sweat landing on his neck. My God, are you trying to kill me? This was ... the imagery and the closeness and the vague sense of dysfunctionality because this is a monthly sort of thing, but they know each other so well that you wonder if they could be happy without it. Amazing! Just amazing ♥
4th December 2011 14:10
That was so touching. Sometimes fanfic imitates life and I have a soft spot for best friends and threesomes: Not casual encounters but deeper connections, forged by the shared past, and maybe hopefully something else, something more?

I loved how affectionate and gentle, yet humorous they were with each other. I adored how Ron wasn't The Thick One and Hermione was no Knowitall and Harry wasn't The Hero. You took all of them and gave them their own lives and paths and without even explaining much, you made them so real and loveable! Their loyalty and devotion to each other warmed my heart and put me into a very christmassy, sweet mood!

Thank you very much for this!
4th December 2011 14:45
Oh, this is so real and lovely and just like being old friends is like (with added sex, but real friendship love sex).
4th December 2011 16:28
sfjas;fjas This fic! GOD! Just amazing! It was funny and sweet and drunk Trio makes me happier than most things do, but also there was just such a sense of denial and holding off of growing up dysfunction about the whole thing. So, I left the fic feeling both happy that they have each other still and that the are lucky enough to have this relationship where everything is known and accepted and even sometimes celebrated and yet, sad too that soon they might realize that they need to move on. In other words...PERFECT STORY!

4th December 2011 23:27
OMG this was fantastic. :) I hadn't read any Trio fic in ages and I'm so glad I read this! Wonderful character-driven smut that was hot, yes, but also so much about characterisation (great characterisation for all of them!) and their relationship and friendship and love. I like that you never explained how exactly this all started - the little bits of backstory that were there and what we know about these characters is explanation enough. It feels natural that they would be together, that they are. I loved the different PsOV, and your writing style was just wonderful. :)
4th December 2011 23:29
I loved this -- so quirky and sexy. I love when an author uses sex for effective characterization as you do here.
6th December 2011 07:22
Wow! Just wow. This. And I mean that.

Sexy, funny, INCREDIBLY well written, and written in an original way. The POV switches where very fluid. It didn't jar me once.

Loved it.

Yay!rimming!
6th December 2011 14:53
So hot and so perfect for the three of them. Just the right amount of familiarity, history and emotion. And did I say hot? 'Cause yeah wow. *fans self* Excellent work.
6th December 2011 16:16
Terrific story!

I won't bother quoting favorite lines, as they've been covered above, but I'll say this: What I love most about this story is the sense that something is going on here under the surface, something that the trio has to have, has to work out, together. The sense that whatever lives they live the rest of the month, on the third Tuesday of every month, in their furtive assignations, only then they can be their truest selves.

Others have commented on the undertone of dysfunction here, and I agree with that, but I also feel like that dysfunction exists outside the the connection of the three of them, as if it's caused by the fact that they belong together, but, except for these monthly events, they aren't and can't be.
6th December 2011 16:28
Oh! And I forgot to say, oh Anonymous Writer, once you've exposed yourself, er, revealed yourself, er.... Once you claim this story, if you'd like, I'd love to have you post this story to the Trio-Fic site, Table for Three.

Take a look: http://triofic.com !
6th December 2011 20:07
Oh, Mystery Author, I'm not sure I have the right words to express my reaction to this fic. The writing is so gorgeous and bittersweet and... ::wibble, sniff:: All the deftly handled little details about each of them and how they relate to each other and how well they know and understand each other and how they don't even need to talk in order to communicate and how comfortable they are with each other... it all just serves to make us feel exactly why they are -- have always been -- so brilliant together.

Your characterizations are fab. They've grown and changed -- in ways one might not expect, even -- and yet they're still so very them. I love that Ron's highly intelligent and educated at this point and yet his thoughts are still so... Ron. "Because who wouldn’t want to be just, like, fucking, all the time?" Indeed. Ha.

Because they’re too old to be in here, making fools of themselves, really, they should have left this stuff behind ages ago--the jokes, the sweets, the immaturity, the closeness they share even though they should have all three moved on like their classmates had done ten years ago.

Who says, Harry?? ::sniffle::

Seriously, I want to know so much more about this world you've given us a glimpse of. I want to know how things ended up this way for them, why they aren't together like they clearly ought to be, what happened to each of them between the end of the war and this time that's allowed them to move forward but not. (I also want to read the sequel in which they work all this shit out. Heh.)

The bits of dark humor are just fantastic and this whole thing just hurts so good. ;)
7th December 2011 16:01
Oh, wow. I'm so sorry for being late to comment - had a hugely busy weekend, family visiting, and simply didn't spot this till today. But it was so worth the wait!

I loved the shifting POVs and the whole style of this. The language is fantastic. Some of my favorite bits:

drunkenly snatching at sweets in every flavour of childish nostalgia they could have ever imagined or remembered - that just captures it perfectly

sex is just one more thing for her to perfect, every performance better than the last - this is SO Hermione!

He’s the one on the bottom, the plinth, as it were, and it’s his job to just hold everything steady. - oh yeah, that is Ron all over [and I loved the bit later where we find out Ron has a correspondence degree *g*]

I could go on and on but I might start quoting the whole thing. Hee. Wonderfully hot sex here too; their friendship and love is so clear and they're so experimental. The chocolate frogs, omg, wow. So much fun.

Thank you thank you thank you! *happy dances*
7th December 2011 22:37
Oh wow!
This fic is all kinds of awesome! :D
I am amazed how much like the kids in the books, and still not your trio here is. Fantastic work on their characters!
I also love all the smexing (who would've thought? ;) ); the sugar quills :D, and how there is so much affection between all of them... <3
Also love the way Hermione leaves her boys on the floor, sprawled over each other. :) So many pictures in my head!
8th December 2011 02:58
I loved that this wasn't just porn; I like how they're still a bit 'lost', and only seem to find 'it' when the three of them are together. Was all ready to point out that thought of Ron's that I liked so well, but I see that others have beat me too it. Your narrative was great, but the dialogue was perfect.
12th December 2011 08:05
This is really lovely! I love their complete comfortableness with one another.
18th December 2011 18:56
Oh, this was so, so good... the melancholy air, the haziness from the alcohol, the closeness, the easy intimacy. Your imagery is absolutely brilliant and all three of them are so in character and all I want to know is WHY ONLY THE THIRD TUESDAY?!? ;)

Just delicious!
19th December 2011 08:12
I love how much you leave to the reader's imagination. This is a snapshot with minimal hints, mostly just emotional ones on the context. It might be, that Ron and Hermione are in a functional relationship and they want to "help" a lonely and purposless Harry, it might be they are living their lives separately but mostly happy in their "new" world, it might be that all of them are burnt out and really lost in the past, anything is possible, as this is so cleverly done. And though it seems to be a long-term tradition, based on trust and strong friendship, it also seems to be fragile (what if something happens differently?) and all of them vulnerable.
This is beautiful and thought provoking to extremes, and utterly brilliant.
22nd December 2011 08:18
This was even more wonderful the second time through. This is exactly how I love my trio fic--fun, sexy, but with an underlying panic of rationale and emotions and worries (ahem, Harry). I adore their openness about it all. Also the horse-racing metaphors were rather funny. And chocolate frog blowjobs? Genius (and kind of gross). And while the realization that the store could be a snow globe of their youth comforts Harry, it makes me very sad. Exactly like I want to be in a fic like this. Just loved it!
23rd December 2011 16:40
This is the perfect trio fic. Amazing.
28th December 2011 04:47
This was really fabulous ! Just the imagery and the characterizations were superb. Not to mention the sex, which was sizzling, although the emotion was clearly the most important thing in the story.
Beautiful trio fic. Well done!
7th January 2012 23:30
Fun and sexy and lovely -- the chocolate frog moment just set the inventive use of sweets for sensual purposes off at a gallop. Really nice exploration of the three of them together, in what feels like a transitional moment in all their lives, but permanent in their ties to one another.
6th March 2012 14:31
The atmosphere of this is so well done. I really like how Hermione doesn't actually say a lot of dialogue, but she is still very much a presence in this story. I feel like you said a lot about thh trio's dynamic in very little here. It makes me want to read about their other tuesdays!! I love the creative uses of all the candies here :)

I really enjoyed reading this if you couldn't tell!
5th October 2012 05:27
Anonymous
Beautiful, and thank you!
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