The Porn Santa (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} smutmas_mod) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} merry_smutmas,@ 2007-12-07 08:00:00 |
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| Entry tags: | fic, harry/ron/hermione |
Merry Smutmas, cork!
To: cork
From: teaspoon
Title: Same Time, Next Year
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Harry/Ron/Hermione
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, JKR does.
Summary: There's a certain way things go between friends.
Warnings: Some adultery that really couldn't be helped.
Author's notes: Thank you to T for the beta! I hope you enjoy your gift, Reallycorking!
It's kind of a habit, although I'm not really sure you could call it a habit if it only happens once a year.
A tradition, maybe? No, that's not the right word either.
Hermione probably knows some six-Galleon word for it, but I'm not about to ask her; because it's not something we ever talk about. But despite whatever it was or was not called, it happened every first of September, as if it's some kind of pre-planned sort of thing. We'd see all the kids off on the train, making sure that all owls, cauldrons, robes, and extra underwear made it to their proper places, and then Ginny would hug Hermione, kiss Harry, swat me on the arm, and then beg off on some appointment or errand or some such, leaving the three of us with a whole empty day with nothing to do, which I don't mind telling you doesn't happen very often. Once you've got two kids, even after they go off to school most of the year, there's always something needs doing and not enough time to do it in.
But anyway, I'm getting off the point. The point is that the first time it was just the three of us, it was kind of weird. You know, it hadn't been just the three of us for years and years, what with the whole being-married-and-having-kids-and-jobs thing. Being a Responsible Adult, yeah? So we wandered around for a bit like we didn't know what we were doing, and then Hermione got it in her head that she needed to go in Flourish and Blotts for more books – like she hasn't got enough! – and of course I had to go with her so she didn't spend both our paycheques all in one go on more bloody books than we've got room for, and Harry went on for moral support I reckon, and before long it was like we were back in school again. Knocking around the shops for this and that and bickering and having a grand old time, except when it was all over we ended up in the Leaky Cauldron for a drink instead of going for ice cream.
Now see, the thing you need to know about us is that we never really have been the drinking kind. I mean, we did, but not like the kind that gets so pissed that they wake up in a puddle in a Knockturn Alley ditch at seven in the morning with their hair in pink and blue streaks, wondering why they're wearing a dragonhide kilt and mismatched boots. Well, at least Harry and Hermione never have been. Anyway, it wasn't that kind of drinking. It was the kind of drinking that after a bit makes you feel all blurry around the edges and pretty damn happy to be sitting with your best mates and talking about the old times. We were in a booth in the back, there were glasses all over the table, and things were just really, really good. There wasn't any real hurry to get back, 'cos Ginny had Lily and Hugo over at Mum and Dad's to make up for the fact they weren't going off to Hogwarts yet, so we didn't. We'd got these weird habits (things that were actual habits, see, unlike this thing which isn't a habit) that year we were looking for the Horcruxes. Like, none of us liked to sit with our backs to the door, so we were all piled in on one side of the booth so we weren't sitting back to the rest of the room. Since we weren't fifteen anymore we were kind of squashed in there, Harry and me and Hermione. And see, the thing about that blurry-around-the-edges kind of drinking is that you don't really get the concept of personal space anymore. Not that that was a thing to me and Hermione, anyway, with being married and all (having kids kind of does something to your personal-space-issues, too), but Harry was kind of missing out on the idea himself. His leg was kind of squashed up against mine, what with it being three adults on one side of the booth, and when he'd put his glass down he'd kind of bump into my hand, but it's not like I moved my hand out of the way or anything, either. And after a little bit I realized I kind of liked being squashed in by my wife and my best mate. It was kind of nice sitting there like that, so I just had another pint and tried not to think about it a whole lot, because when you start thinking about things more than you need to, they get in the habit of disappearing.
Thing about it was, though, when it was time to go home? We were all a whole lot more drunk than we thought we were. Even Harry's glasses seemed drunk, because he kept having to push them back up on his face more than usual. Who can Apparate home like that? Not me, that's for sure, and the one time I tried Floo-ing that pissed I ended up in New Zealand. (Seriously!) So I made the executive decision that we would just stay at the Leaky Cauldron for the night.
Now at this point in the story I could tell you about how Harry decided to be all macho and brave Apparating in his inebriated state, or I could tell you about how Hermione tried to work out some kind of logical sleeping arrangements and then gave it up as a bad job after just one try, but honestly? After all this time I really don't remember how it happened, and it's happened so many more times since then they're all starting to run together. And maybe that isn't the important part, anyway. The important part is that I passed out about one o'clock, and I remember that because I heard a bell ringing outside before I crashed.
I say that's the important part because it's very important for you to know that I was not at all awake. Not at all, and not in the least bit aware of what I was doing. It wasn't like I meant to dream about this, though I heard there was this one guy that George knows who worked out a way to improve WWW's Patented Daydream Charms to get them to do this kind of thing. But I didn't do that, and that's the important part.
Because what I dreamed about… well, let's just say that it took Hermione and Harry both to wake me, and when I finally woke up, I wasn't all that sure I was awake, and I –
I kissed Harry.
On the mouth.
I told you, I didn't mean to, it sort of just happened, because what I'd been dreaming about not even a minute before was kissing Harry and Hermione both at the same time, which is physically impossible but it seems like when you're dreaming something everything just works the way you want it to whether it can do that in real life or not. The thing was, kissing Harry for real was pretty much like kissing him not for real, so it took me a while to catch on to the fact that I wasn't asleep anymore. Besides, Harry was kissing me back, see.
And it was bloody brilliant.
The thing that made me catch on to the fact that I wasn't asleep anymore was this noise Hermione made. See, when you've been married to someone for years and years you know what the noises mean. There's the 'that's-not-really-doing-it-stop-it-plea
There are ideas you get at godawful-early-o'clock in the morning after a night of drinking with your best friends, ideas that, had you got them at a more sane time of day you would immediately dismiss them, but when you get them at godawful-early-o'clock in the morning they actually seem like the best fucking ideas in the entire world. Apparently Harry and Hermione had both got the exact same idea, because he was still kissing me and she was still making that sound, and if Hermione had the same idea as me, how can it be such a bad idea after all?
I don't remember how long I ended up kissing Harry, because time behaves funny after a few rounds of Old Ogden's. I don't know if it has Time Distortion Charms distilled into it or what, but it feels like it. All I know is that by the time I managed to actually open my eyes and look at my wife, she had this crazy look on her face. Lust-crazy I reckon is the best word; even though I'd seen it enough to be on really familiar terms with it there really isn't a great word for it, but it'll do. It's another one of those things I'm not going to ask her for a word for. Funnily enough, that was the same look on Harry's face. I wondered for two seconds if that was how he looked at Ginny ever, and then I stopped thinking about her altogether because Harry said something like Why didn't we do this twenty something years ago? and there wasn't any point in thinking about anything anyway.
Because he was right. Why didn't we do this a long time ago? Merlin knows we did everything else together, why not this? Fortunately we didn't waste time making up for the wait.
There was a big tangle of clothes and sheets and then Harry's hand was around my cock and – while Hermione had always been very, very good at getting me off, there was something to be said for getting it from someone who knew exactly how the bits worked from firsthand experience. Just the right amount of pressure and stroke and speed, and when I looked up, Hermione had hitched up that very demure looking skirt of hers and had her hand down her knickers. Getting herself off while watching Harry get me off, and I'm not ashamed to say that was probably the hottest damn thing I'd ever seen.
It made me feel really damn bold. And I thought, if we're going to do this thing, then by Merlin we're going to do it right. It took us how long to get to this point, and we might not ever have the nerve to do it again. So while it was terribly tempting to just let Harry get me off right then and there, and let Hermione keep going until she made that kind of sound that made my toes curl, I peeled his fingers away from my cock and pressed my body against his, the friction of his still-fastened trousers against my skin unexpectedly brilliant.
Then Hermione was reaching between us, undoing Harry's trousers with those quick little hands of hers and pushing them down, and I swear to Merlin she rubbed that fabric right up against my cock on the way down on purpose. Harry made a strangled little gasping sound that I knew all too well, having made it plenty of times myself for the exact same reason he was making it right then, because Hermione was kissing all down his back. She has this thing she does with her tongue, right down the spine, and bloody hell does it feel amazing. That's what she was doing to Harry, right then, until her tongue disappeared right into the cleft of his arse. Harry jumped and shivered, and I laughed, because I knew exactly what that felt like. I slipped my arm under Harry's knee and eased it over my hip, making more room for Hermione's tongue, pressing my cock against his and kissing him. I knew exactly what Hermione would be doing down there, the way she'd draw the tip of her tongue delicately around Harry's arsehole before working it in a little at a time and sucking at the tender, sensitive skin, and I couldn't help but do the same to his mouth. I could have kissed him for hours, and that's not an exaggeration, because there was something about the warmth and roughness of his mouth that I couldn't get enough of.
I don't remember how long we went on like that, but I do remember that at one point Hermione coming up from Harry's arse and shedding what was left of her clothes. Funny thing was, she didn't seem quite so interested to jump back in; once she'd got her knickers off, she kept running her hands up and down her thighs, over her stomach, and in and out of her cunt, teasing herself with the kind of persistence I'd only thought possible for her to apply to anything to do with books. To be honest, I couldn't help but watch; my wife has a fucking amazing sense of how good she looks when she does that, and knows just how much I like watching her get herself off. And with the way she was watching us, it was like she wanted us to get on with it.
So, we did.
I don't think Harry's ever been with any bloke but me before or since. I know I sure as hell haven't. But some of the stuff he did that night made me wonder. (I know better, now.) If you had told me the day before that by the end of the night I'd be facedown on a bed in the Leaky Cauldron with Harry's fingers teasing my arse, I'd have called you a raving lunatic. But I guess he picked up on how much I like that from the way Hermione went to work on him, and he was merciless. Patient as hell, but bloody merciless. I'm not ashamed to say that at one point I was just about to beg him to fuck me. (You would have too, if it were you, so don't look so smug.) He took everything Hermione'd just done to him and mixed it all up before doing it to me with fingers and tongue until I was pressing my cock into the mattress, so close to coming that just a little more friction, just a little more openness, would get me off, and I was desperate for it. And to top it all off, Hermione was sprawled right there at the end of the bed, just far enough that I couldn't reach her but close enough that I had an excellent view of what she was doing to herself, and it was driving me up the fucking wall. My whole body was just one tightly pent-up nerve of need, so much that when Harry leaned over and murmured in my ear, asking if I wanted him to fuck me, I couldn't answer him except by pushing back hard against his hand.
I wasn't prepared for the sensation of it. It was uncomfortable and weird and yet it was like every nerve in my body was humming with pleasure right on top of the weirdness, and it was Harry who had me pinned down with his body, Harry's cock inside me. He held still – I could feel the strain in his muscles as he held himself back, and I felt myself trying to push back against him and thrust against the bed at the same time, that maddening need taking over me. Hermione moved closer, spreading her thighs so that she was just inches from my face, close enough that I could smell her but not close enough to taste, and I thought that if either of them did one more fucking thing to me I was going to die from not coming. I was pulled in all different directions, wanting to rock back on Harry's cock, wanting to stretch up just enough to press my face against Hermione's cunt, and desperately needing release yet at the same time determined to hold out until they were both finished.
It only took a few thrusts for Harry to come; I think the sight of Hermione spread out like she was just in front of us was a big enticement, and I'm not just saying that because she has a knack for knowing what I think is hot. I can't tell you what it felt like to feel him come like that, buried inside me, except to say that it felt good. I hooked an arm under Hermione's thigh then, urging her toward me even as she was busily working at her clit with her fingers; my tongue slipped between her fingers and my fingers into her cunt, hard, the way I knew she liked when she was in a particular mood, and her body clenched around my hand as she came with a long, shuddering moan. I didn't even wait till she was finished before slipping my hand away and wrapping it around my cock, my fingers slick enough from her body that one, two, three thrusts and I came, hard and messy and shattering.
When I woke up the next morning, Harry was already gone. I thought maybe things would be weird with Hermione and me, but strangely enough, it wasn't. Not even when we went to the Burrow to pick up Hugo and go home, and not the next day when Harry and I showed up in our Auror's robes for work. It seemed like business as usual, and in a way I guess it was.
But next September first, it happened again. And again and again, every year after we drop the kids off at the Hogwarts Express. Maybe it's remembering old times, although we don't talk about old times so much anymore, especially the unpleasant bits. Maybe it's a part of this crazy friendship we have. I don't think other friends do this kind of thing. And normally, we don't either. The other three hundred and sixty four and a quarter days of the year we're just as normal and monogamous as anyone else. But that one day of the year, September first, it's like we can't keep our hands off each other.
And you know what? That's all right with me.