A Little Help From My FriendsAuthor:
Harry/Draco, Harry/Ron, Harry/Ron/Draco, mention of Harry/Draco/Blaise/Dean/SeamusRating:
homosexuality, tops, praise, voyeurism, spanking.Other Warnings/Content:
established H/D, gang bang, threesome, anal sex, anal fingering, sex toys, blow jobs, face-fucking, D/s dynamics, rimming, felching, bottom Harry Potter, identity!porn, recreational drug useWord Count:
Harry has a new fantasy; Draco helps him fulfil it.Author's Notes:
My very first DD entry! I'm so excite!
Everything about this is self-indulgence. Thank you, Grace, for giving this a one over.
A Little Help From My Friends
Hermione always said Ron would follow his dick off a cliff if it led him. While he hates to admit she might be onto something, it’s the only reason he can think of as to why he’s spent the last hour in Blaise Zabini’s unfairly posh flat watching his friends and former enemies take turns pounding the most plump and perky arse he’s ever seen.
Seamus, for the first time in his life, was actually right about something.
He’s been raving about Phoenix—the tart they’d apparently all fucked last Christmas—with enough frequency to pique Ron’s interest. Each time, Seamus would lament that he hadn’t got the chance to fuck Phoenix properly, because he hadn’t had ‘enough time.’ Ron couldn’t really understand what that meant until Blaise Zabini explained at one of Harry’s pub nights that it took Seamus less than a few minutes to come once Phoenix got his mouth on his cock. “Though to be fair,” Blaise said, with a sly wink, “Phoenix does give excellent head.”
The only problem is that Blaise is the only one who knows how to contact Phoenix, hence why they’re all at Blaise’s flat—a place Ron swore he’d never
visit again—and not at Seamus and Dean’s, Ron’s preferred location for debauched sex parties.
He likes his orgies with good friends, good drugs, and a lot of holes, and if there’s a little Gryffindor house incestry, even better.
Ron shakes his head, confused as to why he’s lost in memories from ages ago instead of the hot as hell hedonism taking place in front of him right now. Phoenix is flat on his back, thighs spread, head hanging off the edge of Blaise’s leather chaise lounge as Dean carefully feeds his dick into his willing mouth. Seamus noisy grunts increase in pace as he fucks the remnants of Zabini’s thick come from Phoenix’s arse.
Ron’s cock twitches in his hand from the memory of Zabini dumping his load into Phoenix just moments ago, after a brutal pounding that left Phoenix almost in tears as his hard, bouncing cock left a trail of come all over his own chest. Now, Phoenix’s slick abs are covered in a mix of come and sweat, his chest is flushed red, likely from the lack of oxygen as Dean brutally fucks Phoenix’s throat.
Seamus reaches out to flick one of Dean’s hard nipples as Dean leans forward to capture his boyfriend’s mouth, choking Phoenix even further beneath his balls in the process, though Phoenix doesn’t protest. From the growing pool of precome dripping into his navel and along his stomach, Ron would wager that Phoenix loves nothing better.
Ron loves a vocal bottom. He loves the sound of moaning beneath him, the echoes of pleasure as it fills the room alongside the scent of sex and cocks and come. But something about the sound of Phoenix’s groans puts Ron on edge.
After one particularly deep thrust from Seamus, Phoenix lets out a cry around Dean’s cock, and Ron’s thoughts inexplicably drift back to the night he walked in on Malfoy and Harry going at it in the dining room of the flat they all share.
He didn’t know Harry could look the way he did. He seemed both in control and completely out of control at the same time. Both debauched, and strangely innocent. His arse had been at the edge of the tabletop, his thick cock tipped up against the pale skin of his stomach. Malfoy’s grip on Harry’s thighs was so tight he had left indentations into Harry’s skin, and Harry looked so goddamned desperate for it that Ron had grown so hard so quickly that it almost hurt.
Ron had almost tripped over himself in the hallway before he had come to a hard stop, his arousal a tumbling wave beneath his skin. Harry’s eyes were closed, and he looked so far from the earth that even if his eyes were open, he wouldn’t have noticed Ron, but Malfoy had looked up, caught Ron’s gaze and smirked.
Ron stood there, stuck, watching as Malfoy held Harry open and fucked him with bold, deep strokes. Without breaking his gaze, Malfoy continued fucking Harry and with a cocky raise to his eyebrow, took Harry’s dick in hand and jerked him off in time with his strokes.
It took a lot of self control for Ron not to pull his cock out right there and jerk himself off while watching his best friend get wrecked by the bastard they all hated at school, but Ron left and went straight to his room to have one of the most satisfying wanks of his life. He never said anything about it afterwards either.
His dick throbs with remembering it, even as anger threatens to overtake his arousal. Because the reason for Ron’s hesitation all night, the reason he hasn’t joined in on all the fun, is across the room right now, his half hard cock in hand, his shoulder-length blond hair in complete disarray, his chest flushed from exertion. Malfoy was the first one to take a turn at Phoenix and Harry is nowhere in sight. Ron isn’t sure what he should do.
They’ve been keeping it quiet because of the press, and their families, but Ron is one of the few people who knows that for the past year Malfoy and Harry have been fucking each other more consistently than Ron’s ever fucked the same person in his whole life. Ron’s even started to like the bastard. He makes Harry happy for Merlin’s sake—the happiest Ron has seen him in years. Harry is always bounding off to his potion’s shop with a smile, and Malfoy is at their flat more often than not. So often, that Ron is thinking about moving out, finding a flat of his own, or asking Lee and George to let him take their spare room. But now, the bastard is smugly stroking his cock to full hardness again, watching Phoenix get fucked like a ragdoll with an expression that’s tinged with both lust and a possessive type of… jealousy?
What. The. Fuck.
Ron can’t decide whether to punch Malfoy in the dick now, or if he should save it for later, when Harry can join in, too.
Ron unclenches his fist, puts his dick back into his jeans, and leaves the room, wandering to the hallway and seeking out a loo where he can calm his nerves. He vaguely remembers the layout of this flat from the one drunken time he’s been here before. He remembers being thrown up against the wall of this very hallway, being groped roughly as Zabini fumbled to get the button to Ron’s jeans open.
Ron shakes his head and slips into what seems to be one of many spare rooms, dimly lit by the flickering lights of enchanted candles. The king-sized bed unmade, its teal-green blankets bunched up to the side as if someone slept there not too long ago. The fabric looks more expensive than anything Ron has ever owned in his life. On the dark-green sheets beneath the coverlet there are several unused toys, a spreader bar, and wrist cuffs.
Ron looks away from all this, ignoring the way it stirs his cock even further, and retreats to the large ensuite to try to figure out his next steps. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell Harry that his boyfriend is an unfaithful prick, but Harry would want to know.
He sits at the edge of the clawfoot tub, takes out the only mobile he finally managed to get the basics of—a clunky one that Teddy likes to remind him was specifically made for old people—and searches his recent calls for Harry’s number.
His thumb hovers over Harry’s name for a long minute before he lets himself call. It goes straight to Harry’s answering machine, and Ron hangs up before leaving a message.
Then, feeling like a coward, he calls again, and leaves message for Harry to contact him ASAP. He can’t believe Malfoy turned out to be such a fucking bastard, still, after everything.
Ron ambles to the sink to splash his face with some cold water and then leans against the sink and studies his reflection. His beard needs a trim and his eyes look slightly tired, but his face is flushed with arousal, his lips swollen red from chewing on then in his anxiety.
He distantly hears the door to the bedroom open and Malfoy and Phoenix enter as Ron hides behind the door to the bathroom before he even thinks about what he’s doing.
He peers around the doorway and watches as Malfoy closes the door behind them, his arm delicately draped around Phoenix’s body. Phoenix is haphazardly covered in a green silk robe which hangs loosely off his shoulders, accentuating the delicate collar bones above the neckline.
The juxtaposition in the strength of his broad shoulders and abs and the soft vulnerability of his visible clavicle is something Ron has only ever observed in one other person in his life.
Ron hides behind the door again, retreating further into the bathroom as Malfoy and Phoenix speak to each other in voices so low and gentle that Ron can only pick up snatches of their conversation.
“… were perfect. Everything about you was perfect.”
“But he didn’t—”
“… I think I know why…”
“… so like him…”
Their voices disappear for a while beneath the sounds of kissing and shuffling, a low moan, then Ron can’t help himself and he peers around to door again just as Malfoy tucks a strand of Phoenix’s sandy brown hair behind his ear and kisses him softly on the mouth.
“Hello, you,” he says. “I can see your eyes.”
Malfoy’s voice is the tenderest he’s ever heard it, and Ron is more baffled than ever.
Also… wasn’t Phoenix blond?
Ron tries to get a better look, wondering if maybe the dim lighting is playing trick on his eyes, but Malfoy abruptly stands and start walking his way, saying, “Let me get that robe you love.”
Ron stumbles backwards further into the bathroom, and considers Apparating before he remembers whose flat he’s in, and how much he likes his wards to be of the darker variety.
The bathroom door swings fully open, and there’s no avoiding it really, Ron is instantly caught.
Malfoy stops short when he sees him and then leans against the doorframe and smirks, and Ron feels as though he’s been caught trespassing on the bloody Queen’s grounds or something.
“Weasley,” Malfoy says, his deeply drawling voice echoing in the small room. “This is where you’re hiding.”
“I’m not hiding, you git,” Ron says, gathering himself and straightening up. “Merlin, you’ve got some nerve talking to me like that after what I just saw.”
“Oh yeah?” Malfoy walks past him to grab the fluffy bathrobe hanging on the hook beside the bathroom cabinet.
Ron follows his path with his gaze, almost overwhelmed by the deep desire to trip Malfoy and put an end his arrogant strut.
“Fuck’s sake Malfoy,” he says to Malfoy’s back. “How could you do this to Harry?”
Malfoy turns to face him, clutching the robe close to his chest, his arrogant smirk suddenly sliding off his face. “Do what to Harry, exactly?”
“Are you serious? You just fucked one of Blaise’s little tarts. Right in front of me!”
Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “And what makes you think Harry doesn’t know?”
That one brings Ron up short, and he hesitates. He knows that there are many ways for couples to be together; Dean and Seamus certainly aren’t monogamous, but Harry…
Ron shakes his head vigorously. “No,” he says. “I know Harry. He would not be on with you fucking around with some other bloke, Malfoy. This would kill him.”
Malfoy tilts his head and sighs. “You’re such a Gryffindor, Weasley, for fuck’s sake.” Malfoy pinches his nose. “What if I were to tell you—swear to you, Weasley, that Harry is absolutely okay with everything that happens tonight?”
Ron opens his mouth, then closes it, swallowing his immediate refusal and taking a moment to study the depth of Malfoy’s eyes, the sincerity of his gaze.
“In fact,” Malfoy continues. “He might have arranged it all.”
Ron stares at him, the threads of uncertainty still swirling around in his mind. “So,” he says, pulling out his mobile and waving it in front of Malfoy’s nose. “If I were to call him right now, you’d have nothing to worry about?”
Malfoy looks genuinely surprised. “Now I know why Harry keeps you around,” he says. “I can call him myself if that will make you feel better.”
Ron studies Malfoy again, and somehow knows that he’s not lying. But he also knows that Malfoy isn’t exactly telling the whole truth either.
Ron pockets his phone. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll trust you for now. For him.”
Malfoy gives him an annoying little bow and smirks. “You’re very kind.”
Ron rolls his eyes and, for the first time, properly studies Malfoy’s face close up. He’s still a pointy kind of bloke, but his mouth is… definitely worth an appreciative gaze.
Malfoy notices him starting and smirks again. “Why didn’t you join in after you came all this way?” he says. “Didn’t you want to fuck him?”
“Are you kidding? Of course I wanted to fuck him.”
Malfoy laughs as they both begin heading out of the bath at the same time.
“I was little distracted trying not to—” Ron loses the rest of his sentence because Phoenix is lying decadently among the dark, rumpled sheets, his pale skin providing the most intoxicating contrast. Ron comes to a halt and stares, transfixed, as Phoenix strokes his slick cock and spreads his thighs to reveal the shimmering Gryffindor-red jem nestled between his arsecheeks from the butt plug lodged deep inside him.
Malfoys mouth twitches as he tosses the plush robe into the armchair in the corner of the room and swiftly pulls his T-shirt over his head, making even more of a mess of his hair. He shakes it out as he drops the T-shirt to the floor and sits beside Phoenix on the bed.
“I take it you heard everything,” Malfoy says.
Phoenix nods and groans deeply when Malfoy reaches to tweak his nipple.
Ron’s cock is making an impressive bulge in his jeans again, and Phoenix’s gaze is fixed on it as he bites his lip and stokes himself, then widens his thighs further in invitation.
Ron lets out a gust of air and for some reason his gaze flicks to Malfoy… as if seeking permission.
Malfoy only raises an impressive an eyebrow, but he looks down to Phoenix and strokes some of his dark brown hair off his forehead. “Well,” Malfoy says. “Do you want him to fuck you now?”
“Please.” Phoenix’s voice is a low, desperate murmur that rattles Ron down to the bones. Mafoy reaches his palm now between Phoenix’s legs, takes his hard cock in hand and gently knocks Phoenix’s hand aside. “This is mine now, pet,” he says.
The gentle touch, the familiar dominance, the way Draco looks at him… it all leads Ron to the conclusion that Phoenix isn’t just some tart. The thought roots him to the spot, and he’s unable to stop staring, mesmerised as Phoenix’s entire body shudders as if Malfoy’s commands alone are enough to make him come.
Phoenix digs his fingers into the sheets as Malfoy possessively strokes his chest and hips, the conjured oil in his palm making Phoenix’s skin slick, his twitching abs glistening in the candlelight.
The room is filled only with the sound of their mingled breaths and Phoenix’s needy whines as Malfoy continues ignoring his cock, stroking oil on Phoenix’s muscled, hairless thighs.
“Will you be good for me?”
“Yes. Ngh. I will. Please.”
Malfoy takes Phoenix’s dick in hand, slicking it with thick globs of lube that squelch between his fingers, and Ron can tell by the tension in his body that Phoenix is trying his best not to cant his hips, not to fuck his dick into Malfoy’s palm.
“Are you ready for Weasley’s cock?”
“Yes. Oh, fuck yes.”
It the sheer desperation in Phoenix’s voice that does it. Makes him realise that Phoenix is not a tart at all.
He’s heard that desperate sound before. Has wanked himself raw to that sound floating into his bedroom from the end of the hall. His gaze trails up Phoenix’s lean, muscle-dense frame, to the red flushed skin above his collar bones, the cut of his jaw, the full pout of his lips, and wonders how much of this body was really a man named Phoenix, and how much of it belongs to Harry.
Ron bites back a groan.
Did he just watch his best mate get gang fucked? Why does knowing it now make it so much hotter? What is wrong with him?
He closes his eyes briefly as the image sears itself into his mind again. Harry on his hands and knees taking Zabini’s cock, Malfoy’s dick in his mouth. Harry begging for Zabini’s dick. Harry straddling Dean’s lap and riding his cock like it was his job.
Like he got paid for it.
Ron’s gaze instinctively drifts back to Malfoy, whose grey eyes are locked on him as Ron comes to the realisation: this is his best friend on the bed in front of him, pliant and begging for it.
And Ron has never been so hard in his life.
Malfoy tilts his head, challenge in his gaze, and Ron tugs at the button of his jeans, and hastily pushes them off and moves to the edge of the bed. He takes hold of Phoenix’s thighs and tugs him towards the edge of the mattress and out of Malfoy’s grip.
He reaches for the plug, taps his index finger against the shimmering gemstone. “Did you plug yourself up with come just for me?”
Phoenix nods, and Ron can fully see the green of his eyes, which were, only a few hours ago, a bright, pale blue.
His heart hammers painfully as he hesitates, and out of the corner of his eye, Ron notices Malfoy rise from the bed to disappear behind him, out of view.
Ron bites his lip. This could go wrong on all sorts of levels. What it makes things weird. What if—
“Ron,” Harry says, looking up at him with those bright green eyes. “Please. This was all for you.”
Ron’s slips his hips in between Harry’s thighs and his cock brushes across Harry’s as he leans forward over him to study Harry’s rapidly changing face.
Harry bucks his hips and Ron’s cock slides roughly over Harry’s, and they both groan.
“Can I kiss you?”
Harry nods frantically as Ron leans into him, and when their mouths meet it’s as if all of his doubts rush out of him like a river.
This is Harry, and nothing will ever come between them.
And fucking Merlin, does Harry know how to work his tongue.
He kisses like he does everything else in his life, with blazing passion and quiet vulnerability, and Ron doesn’t want to pull away.
Harry tightens his thighs around Ron’s sides, trapping him in the circle of his arms before he grips Ron’s hair. From there, the kiss turns brutal, harsh breaths and desperate moans. Harry’s fingers dig into Ron’s skin, and Ron shifts his hips so that their slick cocks drag against each other.
But it’s not enough.
Ron pulls away abruptly and Harry’s head falls back into the mattress, his wild hair splaying out above his head, his cheeks slightly red from beard burn.
Ron takes a step back and bumps right into Malfoy’s bare chest and he grunts with distracted surprise—even if he was kind of expecting Malfoy to try something like this.
He hadn’t missed the way Malfoy was staring at his dick.
Malfoy steadies him, his warm fingertips resting on Ron’s waist he leans forward and puts his chin on Ron’s shoulder, observing as Ron carefully begins to pull the plug from Harry’s well-used hole. Ron fucking shudders
when Malfoy’s deep voice rumbles against Ron’s skin as he speaks.
“You won’t waste any of that come inside you will you, pet?”
Harry shakes his head frantically and Ron notices the hints of stubble beginning to peek through as the potion begins to fade.
The plug slips right out of Harry’s arse and Ron throws it aside, fascinated by how quickly Harry clenches his hole closed to follow Malfoy’s instructions.
Inevitably some come from around the plug slips out and slicks Harry’s rim, but Harry does a good job of keeping most of inside him, and Ron uses what’s left to slick from his hole all the way up Harry’s hairless balls.
He wraps his wet fingers around Harry’s cock and begins stroking him slow enough to drive him crazy as Harry hips twitch with the effort of staying still. One of Malfoy’s unspoken rules no doubt.
Merlin, everything about it is so hot. The command Malfoy has over Harry’s body, the way Harry obeys every whim.
Like a play thing.
Ron can feel Malfoy’s Adam's apple move against his shoulder as he swallows, and the hard press of his still-clothed erection as it brushes Ron’s bare arse.
“Keep doing that,” Malfoy says, his voice rough with arousal. “He loves it when you tease him.”
Ron swirls his thumb around the head of Harry’s cock and Harry whimpers beneath him just as Malfoy digs his fingers into Ron’s hips and says, “Ron…”
Ron nods hastily, already knowing the what question will be.
“Yes. You can touch me. Yes.”
Malfoy wastes no time, he takes Ron’s dick in hand and begins jerking him off at a merciless pace.
Ron releases a startled moan, and he almost loses his footing, but Malfoy holds him steady. He uses his slight height advantage to nibble Ron’s earlobe, teasing the flesh between his teeth as he slicks Ron’s cock even further with his own precome and the conjured lube until the sound of Malfoy’s palm squelching around Ron’s dick echoes through the room, drowning out the sound of his own heartbeat.
Ron can’t concentrate enough to keep jerking Harry off, so he lets his hands fall away, and one of them comes back to rest on Malfoy’s thigh as he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against Malfoy’s shoulder, wondering how the fuck his day turned out this way. Sometimes the most unexpected things could be the most amazing.
“Don’t you dare.” Malfoy’s sharp voice startles Ron out of his reverie. His eyes pop open, but then he realises Malfoy isn’t speaking to him at all, but to Harry who had been reaching for his leaking cock.
Harry’s expression is desperate, his broad chest is completely flushed from the strain of keeping himself in control.
He clenches the sheets between his fingertips and slithers closer until his arse bumps Ron’s thighs once more, then he props himself up with a few pillows beneath his arse.
The demand is unsubtle and Malfoy doesn’t torture Harry any further. He stops stroking Ron’s dick and guides it to Harry’s hole just as Harry relaxes the muscles there. A slow dribble of come seeps from his rim as Draco eases the head of Ron’s cock inside while Ron holds Harry’s thighs open.
He’s never been so turned on in his life, and he’s absolutely certain he’s going to come after maybe two strokes. Malfoy swirls the head in the slick, and with a low cry Ron pushes Malfoy’s hand away and thrusts in deep, unable to hold back any longer because Harry is so fucking wet and—
How are you still so tight? Bloody—”
He picks up a jerky, shuddering rhythm as the heat of Malfoy’s body disappears from behind him, and Ron gives another shallow thrust before he has to stop. He closes his eyes and holds himself still, not wanting to come so soon, wanting it to last, but he can’t find a come down because Harry is working the muscles in his arse around Ron’s cock. He has to choke down a few of his breaths just trying to contain himself.
He opens his eyes and finds Harry’s full face finally looking back at him. Harry’s green eyes and messy hair and scruffy beard. Harry’s mouth is parted, his jet-black hair is shimmery with sweat, and his jagged scar is livid on his forehead, still visible beneath the wild flop of his hair.
He smiles and rocks his hips. “Hi.”
“Unff, god. Stop moving. Hi.”
“Stop holding back, you git.”
“I don’t want to come yet.”
Just then Malfoy’s finger slowly caresses Ron’s lower back, just above the curve of his arse and Ron shudders again, baffled as to how Malfoy’s touch seems to be burning new erroneous zones onto on Ron’s skin.
Harry looks up him. “Are you okay with this?”
“Yes.” Ron nods frantically as Harry rolls his hips again. “Yes. Anything, yes.”
At the affirmative, Malfoy’s slick finger begins to circle his rim, and Ron’s cock jerks inside Harry’s body, even as Harry begins to rock his hips again, riding Ron’s dick as much as he can in his position. Malfoy slips a finger inside Ron’s arse and goes straight for Ron’s prostate, massaging him confidently.
“Oh fuck, gonna come.”
He starts a half-hearted, shuddery rhythm until he has to brace himself on the bed as he comes, and the world around him seems to disappear. Malfoy’s fingers disappear from inside him, and Ron collapses onto Harry’s chest, and Harry strokes his back with his fingertips as Ron rides the waves of aftershocks.
His abs are locked tight from the strength of his orgasm, but that doesn’t stop him from noticing that Harry is still hard. He stands up and urges Harry to the centre of the bed, then pushes his thighs back so his knees are almost to his ears, and Harry’s arse is completely exposed to him. Harry sticks a pillow beneath his back as Ron swirls his tongue around Harry’s hole, lapping up his own come. He can hear Malfoy jerking off behind them as Harry trembles beneath him, and Ron tortures him long enough that he begins to beg, pulling gently at Ron’s hair to get him where he wants him.
Deciding to be merciful, Ron pulls away, then takes the full length of Harry’s cock into his mouth, sucking him right down to the base as Harry comes with a shout, filling Ron’s mouth. Ron swallows it all, feeling a bit smug about it, really, as Harry collapses back onto the bed.
H feels the bed dip as Malfoy settles in behind him, pressing the head of his cock against Ron’s hole as he jerks himself off. He ejaculates all over Ron’s back, his fingers gripping Ron’s arse cheek painfully as he grunts his release.
With a final low groan, Malfoy tucks some of his come inside Ron’s hole by spearing him with just the tip of his cock, and Ron finds himself wishing that Malfoy had just fucked him properly in the first place.
There’s always next time.
Ron falls into an exhausted heap beside Harry, who immediately holds out his hand for Ron to take. He does, kissing the back of Harry’s palm in a strange gesture he’s never done before, but which somehow feels right.
He does it again. “What did you mean when you said this was all for me?”
Harry turns to him, his bright green eyes shining and sated. He lifts one shoulder in a shrug and smiles. “I had a fantasy.”
Suddenly, Malfoy smacks Ron’s arse with his palm, and Ron jumps, though his traitorous dick twitches with interest. “Oi!”
When he looks at Malfoy, his face is creased with a grin and he walks over to sit at the opposite end of the bed. He shakes out a blunt from a brown envelope and lights it with his wand.
He takes a deep drag and then passes the blunt to Ron who does the same. It’s an instant, bone crushing mellow, and Ron sinks deep into the pillows behind his head, as Harry tucks himself into his side and takes the blunt for a drag.
“Well,” Malfoy drawls. “Who knew Weasley would be decent fuck after all?”
Ron can’t even find the strength to properly flip him off.