InsaneJournal

August Daily Deviant fic!
Title: Sons and Lovers
Pairing: James/Harry/James
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3717
Warnings: incest, chan, AU
Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's.
Summary: It's Jamie's fifteenth birthday, and James and Harry have prepared a surprise for him. It's time to learn what fathers have taught sons for generations and generations of wizards.
Notes: Thanks and love to my cheerleader and Crazy Idea Lady, freckles42. I am fairly certain that this is the dirtiest, filthiest, porniest thing I have ever written.



The house was always so lonely when Jamie was away at school. Harry rattled around as best he could, but he'd never really got the hang of living alone, enduring visits from Ginny's family and long nights spent with only himself for company. And, truth be told, he wasn't much company these days, as Ginny's brothers, whose visits were growing less and less frequent, liked to remind him.

Harry counted the days until the Christmas hols, marking off calendar squares with red Xs every night when he turned in.

It was perfectly natural to miss one's son—that's what Harry kept reminding himself. Did it really matter that he rarely ventured beyond the walls of their home anymore, that he left his floo connection closed most of the time, that he couldn't remember the last time he'd spent a night with friends down at the pub? Jamie was what mattered, and Jamie was what Harry would concentrate on.

Harry did enjoy his father's visits, evenings spent in companionable silence in the garden in the warmer months, or by the fire when the nights grew cooler, just two dark-haired men sitting together and missing their red-haired companions, waiting for their third to come home.

And tomorrow he was coming home.

"Dad," Harry began, shifting a little in his chair, "Jamie turns fifteen in three days." He kept his eyes on the fire as it danced in the grate, inhaling the steam from his mug of tea.

"So he does," replied James from the sofa. Harry could just see his father out of the corner of his eye. James took a sip from his own mug, and Harry took a breath and pressed on.

"Do you remember my fifteenth?"

"July the thirty-first, nineteen ninety-five. Brilliant day. I was thirty-five and I didn't yet have bifocals or a bald spot. Yes, those were nice years. Enjoy them while they last, son." Harry turned to his father and found that James was smiling, his eyes merry behind his spectacles.

"You're not bald, Dad." Harry couldn't help but smile back.

"Just a bit in back, but it's nothing for you to worry about. I hear it's passed through the mother's genes, and Lily's father had a grand head of hair. Poor Jamie, on the other hand…" James shook his head, and a fraction of a moment later the two men both burst out laughing.

Harry attempted to subdue his smile by gulping his tea, and he subsequently dribbled half his mouthful down his chin. He swiped at his face with the sleeve of his robes and put the mug down—maybe attempting to ingest liquids wasn't the best idea when one was trying to bring up a sensitive subject.

"Dad," Harry said, regaining his composure, "I want to—well, when Jamie turns fifteen—you said you remembered my fifteenth, and—well, I want to—"

"Oh, you want to—oh—"

"Yes."

"Harry, that's—well, it's just hardly done anymore."

"I know, Dad. I just—I appreciated it. When you—taught me." Harry struggled to meet his father's eyes. No matter how much he'd always appreciated the lessons his father had taught him, it still was far from an easy subject to discuss.

"I know, son. But Jamie's different than you were at his age. Don't you think he might've already—figured things out for himself? That's not to say—"

But Harry's head had already snapped up from where he'd been gazing into his lap, his eyes bright.

"Jamie's not having sex."

"Harry, I didn't mean—"

"He's not, Dad, all right? He's not. "

James gave the softest of sighs and leaned forward, setting his mug on the coffee table and resting his chin in his hand.

"All right, Harry. I believe you. But tell me, please, why you want to do this. You might scare Jamie—the other boys at school, I doubt if any of them—"

"That's exactly it, Dad. Other boys. Jamie and I had a long talk just before he left for Hogwarts in the fall, and he told me that he, well, he thinks he's, um, gay." Harry shook his head and inhaled sharply.

There was a moment's silence.

"He really said that?"

"Yes."

"And you don't want him to be hurt."

"Right."

Harry watched as his father stretched, then scratched the back of his neck, ruffled his hair, and adjusted the position of his specs on his nose before answering.

"Maybe," he said slowly, not looking at Harry, "Maybe this is a good idea after all. Hands-on. After all, it's not as if it's unprecedented. Father have taught sons, and mothers have taught daughters, for generations and generations of Wizardkind."

"Ron's family doesn't. I asked him about it once—a long time ago—not, like, saying that we'd, you know, Dad—but just in the general sense, about the old ways, and he said no one in his family'd ever done it as far as he knew, but that the Malfoys probably did, they were all so inbred anyway." Harry frowned at his father. "I know it's not something everyone's okay with."

James chuckled a little. "Understatement of the year, Harry."

"I know." Harry blew out a big breath. "Which is why I'd like you to help me, Dad."

***

Dinner was long over, the plates sent to the sink, the birthday candles blown out, song sung, cake devoured. Harry and James had planned a light dinner so none of them would be too sleepy-full afterwards, and now the three of them were relaxing in the living room. Jamie was sprawled on three-fourths of the sofa, his trainers kicked off onto the floor, his growing arms and legs everywhere.

"Your feet are growing uncomfortably close to my lap, James Sirius Potter," James intoned, his eyes closed, his head against the back of the sofa. "Kindly remove them from my vicinity at once or I shall be forced to remove them myself. From your body."

Jamie laughed and moved his feet away. "How did you know?"

James smiled, not opening his eyes. "Granddads know everything. Don’t you forget it."

Harry smiled at the scene and dug his fingers into the arms of his chair. He hardly wanted to disrupt the post-celebration repose, but he'd been on edge all night, and he couldn't hold off much longer.

"Jamie," he said, his voice hoarse and nervous.

He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Jamie, your granddad and I have something for you."

Jamie sat bolt upright on the sofa, grinning.

"Another present, Dad?"

Harry smiled, though he furrowed his brow. God, Jamie was still so young…was he really ready for this?

"Well, in a way, son," he replied. "Your granddad and I have something we'd like to show you. Something we'd like to…teach you." Harry leaned forward, his voice dropping a little, looking over the tops of his glasses at Jamie. He noticed in his peripheral vision that his father had opened his eyes and was sitting forward as well.

Jamie lifted an eyebrow, still smiling, but wary, uncertain.

"Um. What is it, Dad?"

Harry took a steadying breath and stood.

"Do you mind if I—?" He gestured to the sofa, and Jamie moved over towards James a little, making room for Harry.

"Thanks." Harry sat and placed a hand on his son's knee, then thought better and withdrew it.

"What's up, Dad?"

Harry met his father's eyes over Jamie's shoulder. James nodded and gave the smallest of smiles, and a corner of Harry's mouth twitched, and he smiled back and looked at his son.

"In some Wizarding families, Jamie, on a son's fifteenth birthday—"

"Dad. Wait. You're not going to tell me about the old ways, are you?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up.

"Wh—what? Where did you hear about—?"

Jamie cocked his head to the side. "Um—Scorpius Malfoy? He told a few of us that on his fifteenth birthday, his dad, um, spent the night with him. And taught him. Um. All sorts of sex things that he'd need to know for when he got married or slept with a girl for the first time." Jamie said this last all in a rush, sucking in a breath at the end of it.

Harry nodded, stunned, and met his father's eyes over Jamie's shoulder once again. Well, so much for slowly introducing the concept to the boy. Harry formed a question with his eyebrows, and James just shook his head and shrugged.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Jamie?"

"Are we going to do it?"

"We—" Harry swallowed hard. "That is, your granddad and I, we thought—considering the conversation you and I had before you left for school—" It was difficult to meet his son's eyes, but Harry did, curling his fingers against his palms and making little crescent indents there with his nails.

"The one when I told you that I thought I might be, um."

"Yes. That one." Harry forced himself to remember to breathe. "Even though most families, except for the really militant purebloods, like the Malfoys, don't do this anymore, we thought that, in light of your, ah, revelation, that we…might," Harry finished lamely, and he bit his lip.

Jamie nodded. "I'd like to, Dad. Please."

Harry surged forward and embraced his son, kissing the boy's hair, then smiled up at his own father, who leaned forward and dropped a kiss on Harry's head.

***

James moved around the room, lighting candles with his wand, as Harry, his hand on the small of his son's back, guided Jamie towards the bed.

Jamie turned to his father and paused for a moment, then sat on the bed, undoing the top button on his robes.

"No, son. Let me." Harry moved forward and unfastened the boy's robes, then slid them from his shoulders and went to work on Jamie's shirt.

James moved to stand behind Harry, and Harry could feel his father's gaze upon him as he undressed his son, exposing the young flesh that glowed in the candlelight. When Jamie was naked save for his pants, Harry instructed him to lay back on the pillows and watch.

He turned to his father, then, suddenly feeling as young as Jamie, and he let James undress him. It had been twenty years since the last time they had touched each other in this fashion, but Harry remembered every touch of his father's fingers, and his breath hitched as his father caressed his bare neck, chest, back, arse, cock.

Harry tipped back his head, closing his eyes, as he concentrated on the sensations his father's fingers were imparting to every inch of his skin. He heard a little moan from the direction of the bed and opened his eyes. Jamie was touching himself through his cotton pants, his erection obvious, straining.

Harry let out a shuddering breath. "Do you like this, son?"

Jamie sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth and nodded. Harry took James's robes in his hands and began to undress him, but James stopped him, his hands over Harry's.

"Harry, no. This is between you and your son. I said I'd help, but I—"

"Dad. We want you, too."

James shook his head. "Harry, I'm an old man."

Harry began to protest again, but another, younger, higher voice came from the bed.

"No, granddad. You're not that old. And if you taught my dad, then I want you to teach me, too." Jamie paused, then added, "Please?"

James seemed to consider the situation for a moment, then relaxed, dropping his hands to his sides.

"It is your birthday, after all."

Jamie smiled at this and moved forward for a better view, lying on his stomach and rubbing his erection against the bed, as Harry swiftly undressed his father. The two of them moved onto the bed, flanking Jamie, who rolled onto his back like a submissive puppy, showcasing his straining erection and his dampening pants. Harry's own erection was begging to be touched, and he put a hand on his son's hairless chest, caressing the young smooth skin there.

"Jamie, I love you."

"I love you, too, Dad. And Granddad, too," Jamie added, relaxing under his father's caress and closing his eyes. "Please, please teach me what to do."

"Tell us what you've done already, Jamie. Have you been kissed?"

Jamie nodded, his eyes still closed tightly.

"Have you touched yourself?"

Jamie nodded again. Harry pressed a little closer to his son, his erection brushing against impossibly smooth skin, marring it with a sticky trail of precome.

"Have you touched another boy?"

Jamie paused, then shook his head. "I want to, though. Dad, please, can I—?" Jamie struggled a bit, then managed to sit up, panting a little.

Harry knelt up on the bed, his thighs spread, his erect cock on display. "Do you want to touch me, Jamie?"

The boy nodded, his eyebrows knitted together, his bottom lip between his teeth.

Harry smiled and held his son's gaze. "Be gentle. Pretend you're touching yourself."

Jamie's touch was impossibly light at first—Harry barely felt it skim over the shaft of his cock, then over the head making a tentative dip into the slit where precome had welled up.

"Dad?"

"It's all right, Jamie, you're doing fine." Harry put a hand on Jamie's shoulder and beckoned with the other for James to draw nearer. "You can touch it a little more firmly now—ohh, there, yes, just there—Jamie, you're a bloody natural."

Jamie's face lit up at the compliment, and his other hand ventured under Harry's cock to his heavy bollocks, and Harry wouldn't have been able to suppress the moan that welled up if he had tried.

"God, Jamie, that's fantastic. Now—your granddad's going to touch you—are you ready?"

Jamie nodded, his grip tightening on his father's cock in anticipation. Harry put his own hand over Jamie's, guiding it over the head of his cock, coating the boy's palm with fluid, then dragging it back down, covering the shaft with the sticky substance. Harry looked down at where their cocks were jutting out towards each other and watched as James's hand crept around Jamie's body, sliding over waist and stomach, and down to the teenage erection. Jamie cried out, his hand stilling on his father's cock, at the first touch of James's fingers on his erection.

"Oh—please—" Jamie's eyes fluttered closed, and Harry met his father's eyes and smiled. He pulled his son close to him, revelling in the sticky slide of his own cock against Jamie's stomach, against James's flying fingers. He pulled Jamie's head to his own shoulder, holding it there, as Jamie choked and shuddered his way through his orgasm, his hand loose around Harry's cock, his come coating all three of them.

Jamie sagged against his father, whimpering a little, and after a moment Harry lowered the boy to the bed, propping his limp frame against the pillows like a doll, and kissed him on the forehead.

"Now, Jamie," he said, trailing two fingers through the come on his stomach, "Watch."

Harry propped himself on his elbows, his legs spread wide, and brought his come-coated fingers to his arsehole. He rubbed the come around it once, twice, then began to ease his index finger inside himself, all the while watching his son's reaction.

Jamie, who had been so boneless only moments ago, was watching his father intently, his mouth a small o, and he sat up a little in order to see better.

"There's a lot more to sex than you might think, Jamie," Harry said, beginning to work a second finger inside his hole. "Preparation is everything." He reached his free hand out to James, who crawled across the bed and knelt over Harry, his heavy cock and balls hanging just above Harry's stomach.

"Are you certain you want this, Harry?"

"I want it, Dad. I do. For me and for Jamie."

Harry saw Jamie nod, his mouth still agape, and James moved down between Harry's legs, propping Harry's ankles on his shoulders.

"Take your fingers out, Harry."

Harry obeyed, and James dipped his head between Harry's thighs, giving his balls three wide swipes with his tongue before moving to Harry's arsehole, still rimmed with Jamie's come.

"Jamie," Harry panted as his father's tongue laved over his arsehole, devouring Jamie's come, then began working its way inside the tight ring of muscle, "This is—god, Dad—this is called rimming. He's licking me there, can you see?"

Jamie nodded, and Harry clenched his teeth as James's tongue finally breached him. James gripped his son's thighs—no doubt there would be bruises there in the morning—and Harry keened.

"Does it feel good, Dad? It seems a bit—weird."

Harry nearly laughed at the absurdity of carrying on an actual conversation while his arsehole was being reamed by such a talented tongue, but he kept his composure as best he could, and nodded.

"It's brilliant, actually, Jamie," he said, gazing at his son, clenching his fists, "I can do it to you later, if you'd like."

Jamie nodded tentatively. "It looks like you like it, Dad."

"Oh, god, Jamie, you have no idea." Harry closed his eyes and just focussed on the sensations that were radiating out from James's tongue. Saliva trickled down his arse and cooled on his skin, and Harry struggled to spread himself ever wider for his father's seeking tongue. Finally James extracted his tongue from Harry's arse and pressed a kiss to the hole, then sat up, kissing all along Harry's thighs as he did.

"Preparation," he announced, his voice a little hoarse, "is essential."

"Penetration's not everything, Jamie," Harry said, relaxing his legs, "but when the time comes, you'll know exactly how to do it." He drew his knees up again, holding them to his chest. "I'm ready, Dad."

James nodded and picked up his wand from the bedside table, then gestured for Jamie to come closer.

"Maybe you had better help me with this. Put your hand over mine." Jamie did, and James guided the wand to Harry's arsehole. Harry shuddered a bit.

"Are you okay, Dad?"

"Oh, Jamie, I'm wonderful. Go ahead."

Harry closed his eyes again and listened to Jamie repeating the lubrication spells after James, shivering as the wand pressed further and further into him.

"Some men—and some women, too, Jamie—like to be penetrated with wands. I've never been a fan of it, but your father loves it."

"But we take it out now, right?"

James chuckled a little. "Yes. And he's been fingered and rimmed and lubricated, and he should be all ready now. Why don't you check to find out?"

There was a moment's silence.

"How?"

"Why, with your fingers. Here." Harry jumped a little as he felt a finger breach him. He opened his eyes. Jamie was kneeling between his legs, his face a mask of concentration, as he penetrated Harry with one finger, then, at James's urging, two. He slowly fucked Harry, a smile creasing his face as he did so, and he turned his face to his granddad's.

"I like this."

James laughed outright. "You'd be a pretty poor pouf if you didn't. Now. Your father's ready to be fucked."

"I most certainly am," affirmed Harry, and Jamie sat back a little.

"Why don't you watch as I penetrate him, Jamie, and then you can go lie with your father as I fuck him?" Jamie nodded and moved back a bit. Harry bit his lip and willed himself to relax as his father knelt between his knees.

"You're ready?"

Harry nodded.

And sucked in a breath when, a moment later, his father's cock breached him.

James slid slowly in, and Harry's fingers contracted and relaxed as he grew accustomed to the heavy length inside him. Jamie's hand found his, and Harry clutched at it, drawing his son to him.

"It's all right, Dad?"

"It's brilliant, son," Harry said, nodding, "Are you watching? Are you learning?"

Jamie nodded, then curled against his father.

"Thank you, Dad," he murmured against Harry's skin. Harry buried his hand in Jamie's hair and gave a gentle tug, gripping harder a moment later as James's cock brushed his prostate.

"God, yes, Dad, there!" Harry cried, and Jamie's breathing quickened beside him. Harry grabbed his cock and began to stroke himself, smearing precome all over his shaft, flicking his thumb over the head. He felt Jamie rutting against his side and made little encouraging grunts, spurring on his son and his father. James came first, spilling inside Harry with a whimpering groan, and Jamie next, spurting his young seed all over his father's side, coating him with it.

When he felt himself filled and covered with come, Harry could hold out no longer. A great moan welled up from deep inside him and he closed his eyes and slammed his head back against the bed repeatedly as he shot great spurts of come all over his belly and chest. He felt fingers skim across his skin as he milked the last of his orgasm from himself, then the cock slip from his arse, and then he was embraced from both sides by his father and his son.

Jamie kept rubbing circles on Harry's stomach, massaging Harry's come into his skin, then Harry felt Jamie's hand move to his side and begin to massage the boy's own contribution into his skin. Harry closed his legs before Jamie's wandering hand could find his too-sensitive arsehole, and he turned and held his son in his arms.

James embraced him from behind, and Harry struggled to keep his eyes open. He knew he should talk to Jamie—there was so much more to tell him, so much more to explain, but Jamie's own breaths were evening out, growing more and more shallow, and Harry felt his father's hand move across his forehead and into his hair, and as Harry drifted off to sleep, someone murmured "I love you, Dad."

He wasn't certain if he had said it, or if it had been Jamie, but a moment later someone else murmured back.

"I love you, son."