Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: leela_cat
From: tryslora

Title: A Dragon’s Heartstring at the Core
Characters/Pairings: Charlie/Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: tattoos, sex magic, a hint of blindfolding and size kink
Other Warnings/Content: bonding magic
Word Count: 2,435 words
Summary/Description:
Author's Notes: My dear, darling deviant. This is a conglomeration of things, stolen from your thoughts and desires over the years and come together in this small story. I jumped at the chance to write threesome magical tattoo fic (who can blame me?) and I truly hope this appeals and that your holiday is as magical as it can be. And of course, I don’t own the characters and I don’t get anything other than fun out of writing them!



Harry likes the way Draco looks, his body stretched taut with his arms bound to the headboard and his feet cuffed and chained to opposite corners of the footboard. The blindfold is dark black against pale skin, his body arched slightly from being pulled, chest rising and falling with quick breaths. “It’s hard to believe I once thought I wouldn’t like this,” he murmurs, fingers lightly tickling across Draco’s abdomen, lifting away when Draco arches into him. “If someone had mentioned this to me when we were seventeen, I wouldn’t have just laughed, I would’ve been certain that they were absolutely barking mad.”

“You also thought you were in love with my sister when you were seventeen,” Charlie points out, his hand on Harry’s hip. “Thankfully you’ve learned different.”

“Get on with it, Potter.” Draco’s voice is a strangled snarl, the whine at the end stealing away any edge to the words. It makes Harry laugh, and he presses his hand down this time, pushing lightly just above the pelvic bone, fingers spread across his front.

“Impatient?”

“If you’re going to fuck me, I’d rather it happen sooner than later,” Draco mutters petulantly.

“Not yet.” Harry looks over his shoulder at Charlie, waiting for the small nod that lets Harry continue, taking charge in this conversation. “There’s something we want to ask you first.”

“And you waited until now?” Draco tugs at the bonds, twisting his wrists against them. “Potter, you have me bound and blindfolded and utterly at your mercy. I prepared my arse for you—”

“Oh, did you then?” Charlie nudges past Harry, climbing over Draco’s leg to kneel between his knees. He presses two fingers into his arse, a wicked grin lighting his eyes. “I see you did. Had something up there most of the day, too, I’m thinking, because you’re nice and open and ready. It seems like you came here expecting something from us.”

“To be fucked, Weasley.” His eyes may be hidden, but Harry laughs out loud at the sense that Draco is glaring when he spits out the words. “It’s something you and Potter happen to be good at, when you bother to do it at all. Is there a reason we’re delaying… oh fuck.” Draco’s hips jerk up, pressing his prick into Charlie’s mouth as soon as those lips close over the head. He twists hard, trying to fuck into him, whining when Charlie only teases.

Harry settles on the bed next to Draco, watching as his husband pleasures him. Charlie is the king of the slow blow job, knowing just how to draw it out. “Unless you listen to what I have to say, Draco, you’re not getting off any time soon,” Harry warns him.

“Is there a reason you two have decided to torment me tonight?”

“You love it,” Charlie murmurs around a mouthful of prick, his tongue lazily lapping along the underside.

Draco falls silent, his breath labored and anxious. He does love it, Harry knows this, and they love to tease him in return. They’ve spent nights where Charlie and Harry wind Draco up until he’s begging for release, whimpering, whining, screaming until they let him finish. Harry doesn’t know yet if this will be one of those nights. There’s a reason for this delay, other than teasing Draco unmercifully.

“We wanted to ask you something,” Harry repeats quietly, his tone sober. He needs Draco’s full attention for this. “Are you in full possession of your coherence at the moment?”

“Aside from being tormented by Weasley’s tongue and in desperate need of a shag, yes,” Draco says dryly. “Ask already.”

The words are dry in Harry’s mouth, nerves squeezing his throat shut. He feels Charlie’s hand on his flank, the soothing motion of fingers rubbing against his skin, and he swallows hard, finding an anchor in the touch of his husband of the last five years. “We want you to be with us,” he says softly.

“I am, Potter, in case you hadn’t noticed. I am here, with you, in this bed. Being driven slowly mad, I do believe.”

“Not like that.” Harry shakes his head, hands clenched. “I mean… Yes. Exactly like that, yes, but more. Here. With us. As a part of us. Bonded. To us.”

“You could just be blunt and ask him to marry us.” Charlie ducks down to nuzzle at Draco’s balls, murmuring softly, “Mm. Shaved. You did prepare well for tonight. We should make you wait a week between shags more often.” He takes one bollock in his mouth, sucking at it, rolling it lightly as he hums.

“What?” Draco’s breath hitches, and Harry puts his hand against his chest, feeling the rapid-fire beat of his heart.

“Marry us,” Harry repeats Charlie’s words. “Here. Now. Tonight. Stay with us. It’s been a year since that first night, Draco, and we don’t have any intention of giving you up. And a week’s too long to wait without seeing you.” He gives Charlie a look and gets only amused innocence in return. “We want you to be with us in every sense of the word.”

“But you two are—this is just sex.” Draco’s voice slips shrill, pained and uncertain. He pulls back, yanking at the bonds.

“It hasn’t been just sex for a long time.” His voice shakes, and he touches Draco to distract himself, fingertips teasing over his nipple, toying with it until Draco shivers. It hasn’t been sex for so long that Harry has lost count. It started long before Charlie came into his life, and actually having Draco has only made it worse.

Harry is thankful to be married to a man who understands, and who is willing to help create the family that he so desperately longs for.

“Longer than our Harry is willing to admit,” Charlie adds. He works a third finger carefully into Draco, twisting slowly. “You don’t have to answer right now.”

Harry glances at Charlie because that wasn’t part of the deal. They have everything ready for tonight, everything set to seal the bond if Draco agrees. Harry is anxious for this and hopeful. He wants to know that both of these brilliant, beautiful men are his and that he belongs to them in return. He’s afraid that if they give Draco too long to think about it, he’ll disappear. He can see the way Draco distances himself from them, trying to maintain the emotional wall between them, and he knows how fragile this is. Still, when Charlie tilts his head in challenge, Harry bites his tongue and lets it go.

Seconds stretch into minutes, punctuated by the soft, squishy sound of Charlie’s fingers slowly fucking Draco open. There’s a soft whine, and Harry pinches Draco’s nipple, feels the way he arches into the touch, pulling on his bonds to get closer.

The sex is going to be good.

The sex is always good. It’s just that Harry wants more.

Draco’s head falls back, breath stuttering but steady and slow. “Why?” he finally asks.

Harry straddles him, both hands light against his chest. He leans down, letting their lips brush lightly at first, then claiming another long, slow kiss. “Because I love you, you idiot, and Charlie does too. Because what started out as a one off at a club, turned into something we want in our lives forever. Someone we want in our lives forever. Which doesn’t mean no more back room shags; I’m still up for that if you are. But it does mean all of us, figuring this out together. Being more than two. Bonded, under our skin, so that we’re more than one. Always.”

“Yes.” The word comes so quickly, so softly, that Harry isn’t sure he’s heard it at first. He’s sure he has to be imagining it, his mind conjuring up exactly what he wants Draco to say. Then it comes again, stronger and firmer, more decisively said. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Bloody hell, Potter, I just said yes,” Draco snaps. “Do you think I might have meant it?”

“There’s our dragon, breathing fire all over us.” Charlie grins, mouthing at Draco’s balls. “Come on back here, love. I want to see you with his prick inside of you. We’ll need to be connected for the bond. You remember that.”

He’s sure. Harry’s heart feels light in the wake of the admission, loving the way Draco snaps at him, knowing that means that they’ve reached into his heart and are holding on tight. “I know you meant it.” Harry murmurs, whispering against his lips and his throat, down to his collarbone and scattering nips and bites across his skin. He lets Charlie pull his hips back, lifts his arse so that he can help open him up again. Draco wasn’t the only one who prepared earlier, and it doesn’t take long before Harry is able to sink down on Draco, taking him in.

“Fuck.”

“Not yet.” Harry presses one hand down on Draco’s chest, holding him still. “I know you want to, but you can’t move yet. Not until we’re done.”

He can’t see what’s happening behind him, but he feels the way Charlie readjusts the chains at Draco’s ankles, makes it so that he can prop his arse up, granting Charlie access to press into it, both of them claiming Draco at the same time, filling and filled.

“There we go,” Charlie murmurs. “You’re going to need this, love.” He presses the quill into Harry’s hands, and there is a small zing of magic.

This is it. There’s no going back once they start.

“Don’t move,” he whispers to Draco. “I know you want to. I know he’s filling you, and I know how much you love Charlie’s fat prick. And I know you want to fuck me, and you will. But you need to hold off until we’re done with the binding.”

“Potter…”

“Sh…” Harry touches a finger to Draco’s lips. “Do you trust me?”

There’s a rough, indrawn breath, let out slowly with the words, “Always, Harry. You and Charlie. I trust you both.”

Harry holds his hand over Draco’s chest and waits for the tug of magic that he knows is coming. He lets it pull his hand down until the sharp tip of the quill pokes against the skin over Draco’s ribs. The magic chooses his right side, tucked up under his arm to begin as Harry lets the spell pull the quill along. Harry holds the quill, but it is the binding spell that draws the design, pressing ink beneath the skin in a bright green swirl of magic.

It pulls from Harry and Charlie as it works, matching the dark red swoop on Harry’s left thigh, and the line of gold that slides down Charlie’s spine. He feels the pull of it in his groin, the way it tugs magic from within him, twisting three souls together in a braided rope that is pressed beneath Draco’s skin.

He doesn’t hear Draco at first, doesn’t notice the low whine and whisper, whimpering his name over and over, intertwined with oh fuck and Merlin please and don’t stop. When it gets louder, he hears Charlie, fuck me and there’s movement, Charlie’s hips starting a slow roll that pushes at Draco’s body, forcing him further into Harry.

It’s distracting, but at the same time, it feels right, like they’re finding a rhythm that belongs to the ink, an undulation that matches the shifting lines of the pattern that forms between their skin. Fingers reach, Draco slipping one inside Harry’s mouth, letting him suck on the tip the same way he’s being fucked by Draco’s prick. Charlie grips Harry’s hips, bracing himself as he fucks Draco into him.

The quill drops from his hand, but Harry can still feel the magic tying them together, twisting in knots inside their souls. He flattens his fingers over the curve of Draco’s ribs and feels the ink flow, sliding over skin and bone, mixing and merging as it slithers and slinks along, pulling Charlie closer in, making Harry’s thigh clutch tight around Draco.

It dives sharply inside of him, and Harry cries out, clinging to the edge and trying not to tilt over before it’s time. Broad hands cover slender fingers on his hips, the three of them intertwined in one space, and Harry hears someone begging ohpleaseohplease.

“Now love,” Charlie urges. “Now, Draco. Come now.”

Harry can’t resist the energy build that bursts out of him, spurting over Draco’s chest as he feels Draco fill him. The only one who hasn’t come is Charlie, pounding into Draco still, pushing them both roughly. Draco whines beneath him, a steady stream of begging for Charlie to split him with his thick, fat cock. Harry reaches down, gripping Charlie’s thighs, digging in with his fingers to link them physically as Charlie stiffens, groaning into his orgasm.

The magic throbs gently as they relax. Charlie releases the bindings, and together they cradle Draco between them, tugging the blindfold free, hands gliding over pale skin in reassurance and soft words of affection. It’s done now, and Harry is happy with it, content to share his lovers.

He feels fingers on his thigh, and opens his eyes to see Draco staring at him. “Your ink is different.”

“It’ll go back.” The tracery was red and gold threaded together for a month after he and Charlie first bonded. “You’re the green.” Harry helps Draco trace the lines with his fingers, feeling the echo of that touch and seeing the understanding dawn.

“Here, look.” Charlie summons a mirror, holds it so that Draco can see the lines that twist and turn down his side, slipping over his ribs and echoing the lines of his body. His large hand covers Draco’s ribs easily, thumb gentle despite the work-roughened pad at the tip. “That’s us. You, me, and Harry… bound.”

Draco’s fingers drift over the ink, and Harry feels the pull under his own skin, tugging at the twisting spirals he wears. “You’re ours now,” Harry points out, wanting to reassure their prickly dragon.

Draco snorts in response, a softly swallowed mmph as he burrows down and pulls them both close like a blanket. “Wrong,” he murmurs. “You’re both mine.”

“We’ll discuss ownership later.” There’s laughter in Charlie’s voice, but for the moment he goes where Draco directs, stretching out and letting his body rest.

Harry doesn’t really care how they say it. All he cares about is getting what he wanted: both his men in his bed, in his life, and intertwined with him magically. Nothing more matters than that.