|springsmutfairy (springsmutfairy) wrote in hp_springsmut,|
@ 2008-03-21 08:14:00
|Entry tags:||fic, harry/ron/hermione, het, slash, threesome|
Happy Springsmut, screamingveela!
Title: The Greenhouse Effect
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters are over 18.
Summary: One year later and Hermione was still watching over him, and Ron was still holding his hand, and Harry still needed them more than he could ever say out loud.
Warnings: EWE, PWP-ish
Word Count: ~2,200
Author's Notes: Thank you to the wonderful people that looked over the fic for me and offered suggestions and encouragement along the way.
screamingveela, you asked for sex in the greenhouses, at Hogwarts or shortly after the war, and sweet, first time sex (I sort of stretched that last one a bit, I hope it's okay). I wanted this to be really plotty and deep, but then the characters were like, "We just want to have sex in the greenhouse," and it was really hard to say no with Ron making that pouty face, so I gave in. I really hope you enjoy it!
This was mad.
Harry moved slowly, clutching both the invisibility cloak and his school robes in one fist to keep them from rustling. He edged past a table of Screechsnap plants, collided with another table of Geraniums – no, Fanged Geraniums, bugger – and narrowly avoided sending the whole thing toppling over onto his foot.
No, not mad. This was absolutely insane.
"Harry?" Hermione hissed from somewhere in the chasm of darkness over his left shoulder. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," he answered, and managed to disentangle his cloak from the jaws of an overzealous Geranium. When he was certain he was safe, he stepped back and turned towards the sound of her voice. But the darkness had swallowed her up.
Suddenly, there was a little hiss of fire, and then flash of pale blue light. Harry blinked several times, letting his eyes adjust as the flame expanded and brightened, then tightened into a ball the size of his fist. He watched as it hovered in mid-air for a moment before someone reached out with a clear glass jar and caught it like a firefly.
"Show-off," said Harry, walking up to the table where Hermione was perched. Ron was standing beside her, leaning against her thigh as she screwed a metal cap onto the jar and set it on the table next to a pile of dragon hide gloves.
"What took you so long?" Ron asked. "I thought you were right behind us."
"I was," Harry replied irritably, "until you ran into McGonagall. She looked suspicious, so I waited behind the suit of armor until she left."
"We're allowed to be out," said Hermione, motioning briefly at the Head Girl badge attached to the breast pocket of her white button-down shirt. "Why would she be suspicious?"
"It's McGonagall," Ron pointed out, on Harry's behalf. "It's her natural condition."
"Plus, I think my feet were sticking out," Harry added.
"They weren't," Hermione assured him, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The two of them must have been waiting for a few minutes, because pieces of hair were already clinging to her neck with sweat, and both sets of robes were in a messy pile on the table behind them. "However," she continued, "she might start getting suspicious if we take too long doing our rounds."
"Don't worry," said Ron, settling himself comfortably between her legs. "We won't be in here long."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Charming," she replied dryly.
"That's not what I meant! You—"
Hermione hushed him with a firm kiss to his mouth and squeezed her knees against the outsides of his legs, pulling him closer. Ron responded enthusiastically, wrapping both arms around her waist and deepening the kiss. His fingers found the edge of her skirt, and he started tugging her shirt loose so that he could run his hands over the skin of her lower back.
Harry watched them for a moment, trying to ignore the rush of warmth in his belly at the sight. He was always surprised by how effortlessly the two of them fell into intimacy. He hadn't known it would be that way between them, not at all. Somehow, he'd always imagined Hermione setting a stopwatch, or perhaps beginning each snogging session by reminding them of exactly where they were and weren't allowed to touch. Her breasts certainly weren't on Harry's mental list of "allowed" places, and neither were her inner thighs, or her inner inner thighs, or the place Harry had assumed that even she didn't touch. But he was so very, very wrong. Thankfully.
Harry blinked and realized that they'd stopped kissing and were watching him expectantly. "Come here," said Hermione, beckoning with her free hand.
Harry stepped forward, and Hermione took his hand, guiding it to one of her hips and then up to her waist and then to her breasts. His fingers brushed against Ron's as he unbuttoned her shirt.
"Isn't there a spell I could use to unhook this thing?" asked Ron when her shirt was hanging open, exposing her plain white bra. He started to reach around to the back, but Hermione stopped him and reached for the front of the bra, unsnapping it so that the fabric fell away from her breasts.
"Cheers," said Ron, reaching up to cup one of them with his large hand. He smoothed a thumb over her rosy nipple, and she sighed contentedly, leaning forward to press her lips against his ear.
"I want you to…inside of me," she said, so quietly that Harry almost didn't hear her.
"What?" said Ron, looking up at her with wide eyes. "Really? I mean—"
Hermione nodded and shifted so that one of her feet was resting on the stool beside him. She reached for the clasp of his trousers and unfastened them with nimble fingers, pushing them away so that they fell into a pool at his feet. His boxer shorts joined them a moment later, and Ron kicked them and his shoes off, under the table.
As he watched them, Harry's eyes widened at the realization of what they were about to do. The two of them were going to have sex. In the greenhouse. Right in front of him. "Oh, god," he said out loud, without meaning to.
"Is this okay, Harry?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed in concern. "We don't have to—"
"I shouldn't be here," Harry said quickly. "I should let you two—"
"Oh, sod off," said Ron, glaring at him with equal parts affection and exasperation. "How many times do we have to tell you? You're—"
"You sod off," Harry shot back, more forcefully than he'd intended. "And stop being so patronizing. Maybe I shouldn't be here every time…" he trailed off, setting his jaw.
"We want you here, Harry," said Hermione, reaching out to take his hand. Her brown eyes were pale in the light of the bluebell flame. "We're not asking you to watch, we're asking you to be with us." Without asking permission, she tightened her hold on Harry's hand and pulled him closer, then leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. Her lips were warm and soft, and tasted faintly of the cinnamon gum Ron had been chewing before they'd left Gryffindor Tower. He felt his cock harden at the realization, and he was glad for his loose robes, and the darkness surrounding them.
Hermione pulled away slightly, and Harry looked over at Ron, who was watching them with parted lips. Hermione took Ron's cock in her hand, stroking gently. Ron was already half-hard, but it didn't take long before he was completely hard and his breaths were coming out in short, audible bursts through his nose. Gently, he pulled her hand away and tugged her skirt up around her hips, exposing a thatch of brown curls between her thighs. His fingers found it quickly, parting her folds and dipping a fingertip inside of her. She bit her lip and dug her fingers into his arm, pulling him even closer.
Then, without saying anything, Ron pulled his fingers away and reached for his cock, guiding it inside of her.
As he pushed inside of her, Hermione pursed her lips together awkwardly and grimaced slightly, but showed no other sign of pain. Harry squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, rubbing her thumb over the top of his hand. When Ron looked down at her, she nodded and reached around to grab his arse and pull him even closer. He sank into her with a shaky sigh.
"Oh, Merlin," he whispered. "You feel really good."
Hermione leaned forward and kissed him gently, rocking her hips forward in encouragement. Ron groaned quietly and pushed inside of her again, thrusting shallowly to let her adjust. After a few moments, they'd established a slow, steady rhythm. Hermione was clinging to both of them as Harry slid his free hand along her stomach and up between her breasts, collecting her sweat with his fingertips. Ron didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, so he'd settled both of them on her hips and was pressing his fingertips into her arse cheeks as he thrust inside of her.
Harry watched as Ron leaned down and captured her lips in a messy kiss. Ron pushed a piece of damp hair away from her throat and then looked over at him, with sweat trickling down the side of his face.
"Go on, Harry," he said, voice low and strange in his throat. "Want you to."
Harry swallowed audibly and turned to Hermione, who nodded and closed her eyes as Ron thrust into her again. Carefully, and with only a hint of embarrassment, Harry let go of Hermione's hand, reached inside of his robes, and fumbled for the button of his trousers. He pushed the flaps of his trousers out of the way and pushed down his y-fronts so that he could wrap a hand around his cock, which was so hard by that point that it almost hurt. He smeared the pre-come over his palm and stroked the length of it, biting his lip to keep from groaning out loud.
"Hermione," Ron choked out suddenly. He looked up at her, slightly panic-stricken, and she tightened her grip on his arms, rocking forward to meet his thrust. Then he let out a low groan and buried himself inside of her one last time, slumping forward so that his forehead rested against hers. He whispered something that Harry couldn't hear, and then something that sounded vaguely like, "Sorry." Hermione reached up to smooth his damp fringe out of his eyes as he pressed his lips her forehead.
Harry stood still, with his hand frozen around the base of his cock as he watched them. He was wondering if perhaps he should try to tuck himself back in and finish later, when Ron looked up at him and their eyes met.
"Don't stop," he told him.
There was something in his voice, something soft and desperate and almost primal, that sent a jolt straight to his cock. Obediently, Harry tightened his grip and slid his hand down the shaft again, swiping his thumb over the tip. His eyelids fluttered closed as he wanked in front of them, recalling the shape of Hermione's mouth as she moaned into Ron's ear, and that strangled noise at the back of Ron's throat as he came inside of her. He was so lost in the memory that he didn't hear Ron until he was standing right in front of him, folding his warm fingers over Harry's and sliding them together over the slick shaft.
"Keep going," Ron whispered, as Harry's eyes flew open. "We like watching you."
Harry looked over Ron's shoulder, where Hermione was still sitting on the work table, with her skirt still bunched up around her lips and her legs spread wide so that he could see her fingers working fervently, the shadows flickering in the pale blue light. He could hear her breathing unevenly and remembered that night at the Burrow, after Remus's funeral, when the two of them slipped into his bed and Ron held his hand and Hermione tucked her chin against his shoulder and let out a warm breath against his throat. One year later and she was still watching over him, and Ron was still holding his hand, and Harry still needed them more than he could ever say out loud.
"Come on," Ron said quietly, lips pressed against Harry's earlobe, and Harry moaned and pushed into Ron's hand and came all over their entwined fingers as Hermione let out a soft gasp and shuddered once, twice, and then went still.
"Well," said Ron, when Harry had finally managed to catch his breath and Hermione had closed her legs again, adjusting her skirt primly over her thighs, "it's about time you two caught up."
Hermione rolled her eyes and stood from the table, smoothing her hands over the front of her skirt. "Might I remind you that you're not wearing any trousers?" she answered, reaching under the table to retrieve his discarded boxer shorts. "Or pants."
Ron smirked and accepted the clothing from her overstretched hand. "I don't hear anyone complaining."
Harry tucked himself back into his trousers and let his robes fall back into place. "You know it's only going to get worse when we leave here," he told Hermione.
"Leave?" Ron echoed, pulling his boxer shorts up over his slim hips. "And go where?"
"Oh, I meant when we left Hogwarts…and got a flat together," he finished awkwardly. He felt his face heating up with embarrassment and was relieved when Hermione smiled.
"Yes," she agreed. "Ron's going to have to cover up when we have company over."
"Dunno," said Ron, handing Hermione her robes. "Depends on who it is."
"Your mother?" she offered, arching an eyebrow.
"Nothing she hasn't seen," he answered with a shrug.
"How about Seamus?" said Harry. "Or Neville?"
"Poor Neville," said Ron, glancing over his shoulder at the group of potted plants that were rubbing their leaves against one another indecently. "Doesn't even know why his mandrakes have been so horny lately."