Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: tjs_whatnot
From: A Wonderful Watcher - shocolate

Title: The Seven Year Itch
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Ron plus Hermione
Rating:NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: masturbation, threesomes, dirty talk, awkward dirty talk, fantasies.
Other Warnings/Content:
Word Count: 2866
Summary/Description: They'd been through worse, all for him, so Harry could deny them nothing...
Author's Notes: I do hope this is Kinky enough for you lovely folk – you work so hard, you do deserve it. So does my lovely beta, E, who originally signed up for some fluffy domestic het.


The Seven Year Itch
♜ ♞ ♝
Any mother of two, with a soaring career in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, ends up putting taking care of her health last on her to do list, and Hermione Weasley was no exception.

She and Ron tried to take it in turns to drop Rose at her Muggle nursery and Hugo at his magical grandmother's, but it was usually Ron who could get away from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and pick the children up from his mother's and had them tead and half way into the bath by the time his wife arrived home.

She never really paid attention to her energy levels, until they interfered with work or family events, and she'd certainly been fine back in March, because they'd gone away for the weekend for Ron's thirtieth and she'd certainly matched him, energy level for energy level.

She hadn't been eating properly during the lead up to the huge case she'd been defending, the month before, maybe she'd relied on liquorish and ginseng tea a little too heavily and a little too often, maybe she'd finished the box and been embarrassed to find herself rummaging wildly in the kitchen cupboards at 2am, looking for stray tea bags and maybe the packet she'd found at the back of a cupboard tasted a bit stale, but she'd drunk it, anyway.

But the case was over and she was getting a full six hours sleep and two and a half squarish meals a day, but she was still exhausted all the time, so she reluctantly popped into St Mungo's during her lunch half hour, for a check up.

As well as the general lethargy, she grudgingly admitted she was experiencing a strange itching sensation, under her skin, so the Healer gave her a Milk Thistle tonic and advised her to take it easy, but visit the Auror Office for a quick Curse Screening, just in case.

If anything, the tonic made the itching worse, so Hermione grudgingly made her way down the corridor to the Auror Office and asked the Chief Auror to check her for the latest curses.

She wouldn't usually bother Harry at work, but it would have got straight back to Ron if she went through the proper channels and she didn't want to worry him.

"Tired isn't really the same thing as itchy," Harry pointed out, after his scans showed nothing wrong with her. "I really think you should tell Ron and go back to St Mungo's."

"You know how he worries," Hermione fretted. "I'm sure it's nothing that a good night's sleep won't help."

She promised him she'd get to bed by eleven and he threatened to come around the following night, to check, but even the thought of her sleep patterns being investigated by the Chief Auror wasn't enough to give her a good night's sleep and she tossed and turned next to her snoring husband, his body heat, usually so comforting, actually making her skin itch harder.

Harry had apparently informed his wife of his concerns, because they both arrived in the Weasley's fireplace the following evening and Ginny scooped up her niece and nephew for a surprise sleepover, while Harry subtly invited himself to stay for dinner.

"What's wrong?" Ron said, opening a bottle of red wine and bringing three glasses over to the couch.

"Who said anything's wrong?" Harry asked casually, trying not to watch Hermione trying not to scratch.

Ron snorted. "You are so obvious," he pointed out. "You know they only promoted you to a desk job because you're the worst undercover Auror in history."

"Says the most notorious ex-Auror in history," Harry protested.

"Or the bravest, most top secret, deep cover Auror in history," Ron counted.

"Ron, I'm in charge of the Auror Office," Harry said patiently, "I'd know if you were working undercover."

Ron tapped his long nose, mysteriously. "So, got my sister up the duff, again?" he suggested.

"No," Harry spluttered, "why would I make sure Ginny gave us privacy to tell you that?"

He tailed off at the look of glee on his best friend's face.

"Do they even let you question petty criminals?" Ron crowed. "Why don't you tell me why you made sure Ginny gave us privacy."

"He's worried about me," Hermione broke in and Ron's smile vanished. "I'm not sleeping well and I'm... itchy all the time."

"And Harry knows this and I don't, because..." Ron raised a significant eyebrow.

"Because the liver tonic that St Mungo's gave me didn't work, and they suggested I got the Auror Office to check for curses."

"And I can't do that, for you," Ron said.

"This is not about you leaving the Auror Office," Harry interrupted. "I checked her out, because we didn't want to worry you, but I said I'd come straight over and make sure she was sleeping and feeling better."

"And are you?" Ron asked his wife.

"No," she admitted, giving in and scratching madly at the back of her neck, "the itching is driving me mad."

"But it's not medical," Ron said slowly.

"And it's not Magical," Harry confirmed.

"It... no..."

"Ron?"

"It sounds like the Seven Year Itch," he said.

"That's not real," Hermione said.

"I know you've just had your seventh anniversary," Harry said, "but this isn't a joking matter."

"Oh, don't tell me there really is a Seven Year Itch Curse," Hermione begged.

"We've seen weirder," Harry pointed out.

"Not a curse," Ron admitted. "But a Wheeze. Or a failed Wheeze, to be more accurate."

"What have you given her?" Harry demanded, getting to his feet and looming over his friend.

"Are you suggesting I experiment on my wife?" Ron snapped, also standing and looming far more successfully.

"What does it do?" Harry snarled, stepping right into Ron's body space.

"It didn't work and we didn't sell it," Ron hissed, grabbing a handful of his t-shirt and shaking him.

"Oh my!" Hermione gasped.

"What?" they demanded in unison, their heads turning to her, their body language still threatening each other.

"It feels better," Hermione mused. "The itching."

"But 'oh, my' levels of better?" Harry asked.

"Much, much better," Hermione whispered, wide eyed.

"Well, that's good," Ron said, stepping away from Harry and letting go of his shirt.

"Good," Harry echoed.

"Oh, no," Hermione wailed, burying both hands in her hair and scratching madly.

"Oh, fuck," Ron groaned. "It is the Itch."

"Ron," Harry growled.

"I didn't give it to her," Ron insisted. "Hermione, you didn't use the loose tea at the back of the potion cupboard, did you?"

Hermione nodded slowly. "I ran out of my liquorish tea," she said. "I just wanted something to boost my energy... I had a lot of work to do..."

"What did it do to her?" Harry asked.

"It was supposed to... spice up your love life," Ron admitted. "Just lower your inhibitions a bit and let you live out a fantasy."

"And Firewhiskey isn't good enough for that, because?" Harry snorted.

Hermione scratched furiously.

"It's better because you don't get drunk, so it'd... enhance your performance," Ron said.

"So, what went wrong?" Harry asked.

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and dug her fingernails into her sides.

"Well, it wasn't supposed to itch," Ron said, "and it wasn't supposed to make you suffer until you fulfilled a fantasy, it was just supposed to help. And..."

"And?" Harry prompted.

Hermione scratched.

"And it was supposed to just wear off," Ron said, "but it turned out it won't wear off until you do the fantasy... stuff."

Hermione froze.

Harry stepped right into Ron's body space, again, and shoved him back against the wall.

Hermione moaned.

"What?" Ron demanded.

"So good," she groaned.

"What?" Harry echoed.

"You," she whispered.

"Me?" Harry asked "You're enjoying me beating Ron up?"

"No."

"Shit," Ron muttered.

He grabbed the hand Harry had braced against his shoulder and twisted it behind his back, looming over the smaller man, chest to chest, before turning and looking at his flushed faced wife.

"You like us... together?" he asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Is this what'd... help you?" he whispered, lowering his face until his lips hovered over Harry's.

Hermione nodded.

"No", Harry protested, pulling away, "she likes you being all sexy, and stuff, but not at me."

He pulled Ron over to the couch and pushed him down into it.

"There," he said, "be sexy."

"How?" Ron asked, looking from his wife to his best friend.

Harry gestured at Ron's denim clad lap and Ron shrugged and unzipped, wriggling his jeans and boxers down his endless legs, kicking them away and taking himself in hand. Hermione looked and Harry looked away and Ron cupped his cock and balls and squeezed, carefully. He glanced at Hermione and she was frowning, so he squeezed harder, drawing back the foreskin as he ran his hand down the shaft.

"Yeah?" he asked Hermione. "D'you like this?"

Ron tugged and Hermione huffed and Ron hardened and Hermione scratched.

"No," she whispered. "I mean I do, you know I do, usually, but that's not the... thing."

"Fuck," Ron muttered, looking sadly down at his erection, peeping through his fist and doing nothing for his wife. "Uh, Harry?"

"Argh," Harry groaned, falling to his knees and pushing Ron's hand away.

Ron's eyes widened to the size of Galleons as his best mate wrapped a shaking hand around his cock and gave it a brisk stroke.

"Better?" Harry asked, not looking Hermione, Ron or Ron's erection in the eye.

Hermione made an animalistic whining noise and Ron looked up at her. She was staring at Harry's hand and her lips were parted and she'd stopped scratching.

"So much better," she whispered.

"Good," Harry muttered, squaring his shoulders and changing his grip, stroking more purposefully and keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Ron's hand, curled into a fist bedside his thigh. "If this is what it takes."

"You'll be OK, Hermione," Ron gasped, "once the fantasy is complete, right?"

"Right?" Harry echoed.

"More," Hermione croaked.

Harry's hand stilled and he looked up and his eyes finally met Ron's. Nearly twenty years of devotion crackled in the air, between them, and Harry resumed stroking, their eyes locked together, Ron's mouth dropping open.

"Please," Hermione whimpered. "Ron... talk to him..."

"Uh, alright, mate?" Ron asked.

"Not like that," Hermione snapped, "like you talk to me."

"When?" Ron asked desperately.

"When I'm going down on you," she muttered.

"Woah," Harry spluttered, falling back on his arse and elbows as he scrambled away from between Ron's parted thighs. "I'm not sucking it."

"He loses control," Hermione whispered.

Harry looked appalled.

"No, look, no sucking, but we'll talk," Ron promised, "Harry, touch it again, and I'll talk to you."

He spread his legs further and Harry crawled back, reaching for Ron's erection and wrapping his hand firmly around it. Ron grunted encouragement and Harry started stroking and Hermione sighed contentedly.

She nodded at Ron and he cleared his throat.

"Yeah," he said, "do it just like that."

He peeped at Hermione, who was frowning slightly,

"Uh, tell me what you like," Harry prompted.

"Um," Ron said.

"He likes you to cup his balls," Hermione murmured, leaning closer.

"Fuck," Harry muttered, wriggling around so his wanking forearm rested across Ron's bare leg and giving his free hand room to slide between Ron's parted thighs and lift his balls carefully.

"Fuck," Ron groaned, his head tipping back on the couch.

"Tell him," Hermione whispered.

"Every other stroke," Ron gasped. "Squeeze them."

Harry glanced at Hermione, but her shining eyes were fixed on his hands and her lips were parted and her cheeks were flushed, so he took a deep breath and added a firm squeeze on alternate strokes.

Hermione crawled across to them and sat on the far end of the couch, tugging Ron's head and shoulders down into her lap; Ron sprawled inelegantly, drawing one knee up against the back of the couch and leaving one foot on the floor, and Harry scrambled up onto the cushions, between his legs, firmly stroking the cock that arched above his belly and cupping his balls and squeezing, occasionally hard enough to make Ron writhe on the couch.

"Talk to Harry," Hermione said, "tell him what it feels like."

"Aches," Ron moaned. "So good, hard like that... fuck, you know what you're doing..."

"Hey," Hermione muttered, sliding her hand inside the neck of Ron's t-shirt and pinching a nipple.

"Not my first time," Harry admitted.

"Who?" Ron gasped, raising his head from Hermione's lap and looking right in Harry's eyes.

"Myself, you dickhead," Harry said, squeezing harder and making Ron arch into his hands.

"Show him," Hermione ordered.

"Fuck, Hermione," Harry sat back on his heels, his hands falling in his lap and Ron's balls disappearing between his thighs.

"Please," Hermione begged, scratching her arms desperately.

Harry hopped off the couch and Hermione took the opportunity to wrestle Ron out of his t-shirt. Harry toed off his boots, before unbuttoning and removing his shirt, unzipping and stepping out of his jeans and kicking away his boxers; he crawled back between Ron's thighs, in his Cannons socks, and knelt there, one hand on his shaft, one under his balls.

"Watch him, Ron," Hermione whispered. "Tell him what to do."

Ron sat up, his eyes locked on Harry. "Squeeze them," he said. "Like you did to me, just hard enough."

Harry nodded and started wanking, his left hand ostentatiously squeezing on every other stroke and Ron's hands automatically slid between his own thighs, copying Harry's movements.

"Faster, Harry," Hermione breathed, sliding off the couch and leaning against Ron's thigh, her eyes fixed on their hands.

Harry sped up, every second stroke being followed by a firm squeeze and Ron's hands mirrored him.

"Together," Hermione murmured.

"We are," Ron said, breaking eye contact with Harry to look down at her, confused.

"Together," Hermione begged, looking up at her husband and sliding her palms against each other, "please, I'm so close."

"C'mere," Ron muttered, reaching for Harry's bicep and tugging him closer.

Harry shuffled nearer and Ron came up onto his knees and they knelt, inches apart, eyes locked, each holding their own cock, protectively.

Hermione whimpered.

Ron let go of his erection and it sagged forward, against the back of Harry's hand. Harry took a deep breath and dropped his hand and their cocks touched.

"Yes," Hermione breathed and Ron braced one hand against the back of the couch and reached between their bodies with the other, wrapping it around both erections and squeezing them together.

"Fuck," Harry moaned, reaching up to clasp Ron's shoulder.

"Beautiful," Hermione muttered.

Ron started wanking, running his thumb up and across the head of his cock and across and down Harry's at the top of each stroke. Harry gasped and broke eye contact and pressed closer, his face buried in Ron's neck, as Ron braced his knees further apart and stroked faster.

Hermione ran her hand over Ron's arse and between his thighs and pushed his balls forward, Harry groaned and reached for his own, pressing them against Ron's and tangling his fingers with Hermione's.

"Nearly there," Harry groaned.

"So close," Hermione agreed.

Ron sped up and Harry suddenly gasped and jerked against him, his come spurting between their bodies and over Ron's fist, which kept pumping as Harry sighed and collapsed back onto his heels, watching with a dazed expression as Ron knelt above him, his head thrown back, his hand a blur on his come covered shaft, his wife keeling beside him, her lips parted and her eyes fixed on his fist.

At the last second, Harry shook himself and tried to dive out of the way, but it was too late; Ron bellowed and squeezed the head of his cock as he came, ribbons of come arching between them and splattering over Harry's chest.

"Fuck," Ron muttered, gazing down at him.

Harry sat and blinked back.

Hermione reached out a shaking hand and ran her fingers down Harry's chest, dragging it through the warm white splashes, before suddenly arching her back and crying out, eyes very wide in her flushed face as she turned and sagged against Ron's hip.

"Hermione," he called, turning and taking her in his arms, "are you OK?"

"I feel...wonderful," she said, looking up at him with tears running down her face.

"Don't cry," he begged.

"Happy tears," she assured him, leaning into him, but reaching out a hand to Harry, "it's over."

"This was what you wanted?" Harry asked tentatively, sitting naked in socks and rapidly cooling come.

"It was just a fantasy," Hermione moaned, her cheeks redder than ever, her eyes mortified as she gazed back and forth, between them. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Ron said firmly, pulling her up onto the couch, between them.

"No, it's not hers, it's yours," Harry pointed out, pulling a cushion into his lap.

"You're right, I'm sorry," Ron said. "I'm gonna throw the rest of the Itch away."

"Good," Hermione said.

"I do have one question," Harry mused.

"Just one?" Ron asked, gesturing at the state of them.

"How did you and George discover the effects of the Itch and how did you overcome them?"