Fic: Christmas in Cornwall, 2/2 (Harry/Viktor/Ron, et al., NC-17) for certifieddork Author:bookofjude Recipient:certifieddork Title: Christmas in Cornwall Rating: NC17 Pairing(s): Harry/Viktor, Ron/Viktor, Harry/Ron, Harry/Viktor/Ron, Ron/Hermione (mentioned), Harry/Ginny (mentioned), Harry/Charlie (suggested), Viktor/OMC (mentioned), other canon pairings. Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older. Summary:Harry groaned. Why did everyone seem to think that he was the one taking it up the arse? Warnings: Highlight to read: Wanking, anal, oral, rimming, canon pairings (mentioned), infidelity (Harry/Ron, Ron/Viktor) Word Count: ~12,500 Author's Notes: This rather turned out to be a monster, but I hope that you, certifieddork, enjoy it! I think I've ticked most of the kinks that you requested. I'm sorry that I'm unable to do a passable imitation of Viktor's accent (Fleur gives me enough trouble), so unfortunately it will need to be imagined. Extended notes and clarification to follow the story. Thank you to K and D for the beta and suggestions.
When Harry finally came to his senses, he was still naked, but was now sitting on the outcropping of rock with Viktor's arms around him, and Viktor's lips kissing his neck softly. He felt drained—in more ways than one—and his cheeks took on a flush when his mind said, 'Hey, you just fucked Viktor Krum!'
'Viktor?' he asked.
There was a muffled noise that could've been a 'Hm?' from somewhere in the region of his neck. The arms wrapped around his middle shifted slightly, and then there was a hot breath on his ear. 'Yes?' came a surprisingly tired voice.
'Did I pass out or something?'
Viktor laughed. 'No,' he said. 'You did not dream it.'
'Oh,' Harry said. 'Fuck.'
Viktor continued to laugh, and, seeing as Harry was so close that he could feel the wry hair on Viktor's chest and stomach brush against his back with every movement, he wasn't too surprised when he felt himself vibrating in time to the laughter. 'Yes,' Viktor finally said, 'that too.'
Silence fell between them. Harry shifted and wondered at the strange ache in his balls, though like the euphoric pleasure of orgasm, this was also fading fast. The kisses on his neck slowed, and Harry finally said, 'What time is it?'
Darkness had fallen outside. 'A little after five,' Viktor finally replied.
'Should we go back?'
Viktor ceased movement, and then a short while later, succeeded in turning Harry in his lap so that Harry was facing him. 'Do you want to go back?' Viktor asked him. Harry nodded, and Viktor nodded in return, placing one last kiss on Harry's collarbone before standing and fetching their clothes.
Considering he had been the 'active participant', Harry was surprised at how much his arse and leg muscles ached as they made the journey back to the cottage. The first difficulty they had to overcome was the fact that, sometime while they were in the cave, the tide had come in, and the pebble beach that Harry had landed on had disappeared under the waves.
With considerable difficulty, the two of them managed to balance precariously on Harry's Firebolt and fly to the top of the cliff. 'I don't think I'll ever try to share a broom again,' Harry said, once they finally reached dry land.
Viktor nodded in sage agreement, and then, one arm around Harry's shoulder, led them towards the brilliantly lit Shell Cottage in the distance.
Ron was waiting for them at the front door of the cottage. He was also drunk, and offered Harry a quarter-full bottle of pungent liquor that burned going down. 'Where the fuck have you been?' he asked, then turned to peer at Viktor. 'I thought maybe you'd fallen in the—' he hiccuped '—sea, or something.'
Harry was in no fit state to respond, as he began to cough from the liquor, and Ron pounded him on the back much harder than was needed. 'Talking,' Viktor supplied, then, taking the bottle, tilted his head back and drank.
By the time he was finished, there was not much left in the bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and handed it back to Ron. 'Refreshing,' he said. He turned to Harry, now slightly recovered, and said, 'I shall see you at dinner, yes? I am quite hungry now.'
'Sure,' Harry said, wondering when his voice had gotten so hoarse. Viktor nodded to the two of them and stepped inside. Harry turned back to Ron, who was staring at the bottle in awe.
'Whoa,' Ron finally said. He lifted the bottle to his nose and gave it a little sniff.
'Viktor Krum's saliva,' Harry said, grinning. 'You could get a mint for that.'
Ron's eyes widened. 'Whoa,' he said again, and then slipped his lips over the mouth of the bottle and began to suck in a gesture that was so similar to Viktor sucking on Harry's cock that Harry nearly groaned.
'I'm gonna grab something to eat and go for a lie down,' Harry finally said.
'Sure,' Ron said, sliding down to sit on the front step, bottle tightly in hand and a faraway look in his eyes.
'I'll see you later?'
Ron shook his head and looked up at Harry. His eyes were bright, though slightly bloodshot, and glistening. 'Sure,' he said. He turned back to the bottle, and Harry laughed and followed Viktor's path into the house.
Dinner was a misnomer. Following the feast that had been lunch, and the assumption that most people wouldn't be very hungry, Fleur had placed the leftovers on the table in the kitchen and charmed them to stay warm, and given people free reign to take what they wanted.
The lounge room was currently the location of a rather lively game of exploding snap involving almost everyone, so Harry took refuge on the patio. It was empty, apart from Bill and Charlie, who were having a quiet conversation over wine.
'Harry!' Charlie said, his voice slightly slurred. 'Wondered where you were.' He gestured towards the chair next to him, and Harry sat down. The plate rattled quite loudly as he put it down on the table, and Bill winced.
'Hangover?' Harry asked slyly.
Bill laughed and shook his head. 'No,' he said, 'it was a full moon on Wednesday.'
Harry's fork stopped halfway to his mouth, a piece of roast chicken balanced rather precariously on the end threatening to fall off. 'I thought—I mean, they said you'd just have some...'
'Wolfish traits?' Charlie supplied.
'Yeah,' Harry said, 'that.' He played with the piece of chicken using his fork, suddenly finding himself not that hungry.
'Harry,' Bill said. He repeated himself, and Harry finally looked straight at him, though he tried to avoid the scars and instead focus on his blue eyes. The same colour as Ron's, a voice in the back of his mind supplied. 'Just some wolfish traits. Well, werewolfish traits—around the time of the full moon, my hearing and sense of smell become hypersensitive. Sharp noises are quite painful.'
'Oh,' Harry said. 'Well, that's not so bad, then?'
Bill laughed and reached over to clap Harry on the shoulder. 'No, it's not so bad at all, especially when Fleur does rare steak...' He let out a little moan and Charlie shook his head, laughing.
'You and your rare steak,' Charlie said. 'Mum's sure you're going to catch some horrible disease.'
Bill grinned. 'Another good reason they hardly ever come for dinner!'
They all laughed, and then Bill lifted his hand to his face and gave it a rather delicate sniff. His eyes widened, and then with sudden speed, he stood, rounded the table and hauled Harry to his feet.
'Please tell me you did—' his nostrils flared widely, and Harry whimpered as two fists grabbed his jumper '—not have sex—' Harry's heart began to beat awfully fast '—with my sister.'
'Bill!' Charlie called out, sounding rather anxious.
Harry felt himself calm down. Well, he could only tell the truth? 'No, I didn't,' he said. Bill's face was suddenly very close to his own, and Harry felt his eyes water at trying to focus on Bill's. Then Bill's head dipped down to give one last sniff of Harry's shirt.
With the same speed, Bill let go and took a step back. 'Sorry, Harry,' he said. His face was somewhat flushed, and even his eyes were apologetic. 'Not sure what came over me...'
He went back to the other side of the table, picking up the seat that had fallen onto the floor, and sat down. Charlie was staring at him and shaking his head. 'Are you both slightly mad?' he asked.
Harry sat down carefully, picked up the piece of chicken that he'd been playing with earlier and stuffed it into his mouth. At least if he had a mouth full of food, he'd have an excuse for not answering any awkward questions that might come along.
'Sorry for intruding, Harry,' Bill finally said.
Harry squeaked a little 'That's okay' around a roast potato.
Charlie looked first at Harry, and then back at Bill. 'Well?' he asked. 'Are you going to tell me what the hell that was about?'
Harry quickly pushed another piece of cold chicken into his mouth, and Charlie turned to Bill expectantly. Bill's cheeks were still surprisingly flushed. 'Um,' he said, and then he looked at Harry and looked away. 'Just something I smelt on him.'
'Something you smelt on him,' Charlie repeated, 'that made you think he'd had sex with Ginny.'
'I didn't have sex with Ginny, I swear!' Harry squeaked, spraying small pieces of chicken over his plate in his haste to clear himself of any wrong doing. He might've stood up to Voldemort, but he wasn't sure he wanted to fend off two Weasleys defending their sister's honour.
'I know, it was someone else,' Bill said. 'Didn't smell like Ginny at all, actually. I just over-reacted.'
Charlie looked first at Harry, then back at Bill. A grin exploded on his face, and he turned back to Harry and chuckled. 'Oh,' he said, and though it was only one syllable, it seemed to imply that he knew more about the situation than he possibly could.
'"Oh," what?' Bill asked.
The grin that spread across Charlie's face grew even wider. 'I'd take my hat off to you, Harry,' Charlie said, 'if I had a hat...'
Bill groaned. 'I think I understand your hatred of being left out of the loop.' He took the half-full wine bottle and topped up his and Charlie's glasses, and then, with a glance at Harry, summoned another from the kitchen.
'Oh, no—' Harry said. 'Thanks, but...'
The now-full wine glass was pushed gently towards him, and Harry sighed reluctantly and picked it up to take a sip. It wasn't really all that bad, though he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to 'savor the flavour' like a true wine connoisseur.
Charlie was still laughing, but he took three long gulps of wine and fell back on his chair. 'It was Krum,' he finally said to Bill.
Harry closed his eyes and bowed his head over his plate. Great, now they were discussing his sex life...
'Viktor Krum?' Bill stared at Charlie, then turned to Harry, the same wide grin on his own face. 'You had sex with Krum?'
Harry groaned, swallowed the last of his chicken and said, 'Yes, okay, fine, I had sex with Krum. It's not such a great big deal—"Oh, god, I had sex with a huge Quidditch star!" or anything like that...'
Charlie was shaking his head. 'It is, Harry,' he said. 'There are thousands of witches—'
'And wizards,' Bill interjected.
'—and wizards that'd give themselves willingly to Krum, who'd love to be in your position.' Charlie's eyes were gleaming, and he snickered slightly as he took another sip of his wine. He had leered slightly as he said the last word, placing more emphasis than strictly necessary on the word "position".
Harry flushed and slapped his fork down on the table. 'But it's not like that,' he said, 'Viktor's a friend—a good friend—and, and...' He seemed to run out of ideas of what to say, so instead he carefully picked up his plate and his still full wine glass. 'Besides, I fucked Viktor—not the other way around.'
Flicking back and forth between Charlie and Bill's faces, Harry gave up and fled back into the house.
The kitchen was surprisingly quiet, though Harry could hear roars of laughter every now and then echoing down the hallway. He decided against joining the others in the lounge, mostly because he wasn't sure he could look at Viktor's lips without throwing an erection. Instead, he tipped what was left on his plate into the bin, and, after a few moments of deliberation, took one of the opened bottles of wine and headed back to their tent.
Harry tried to make the journey between the front door and the tents as quickly as possible. Ron had apparently disappeared inside, though the empty bottle that he'd been fellating earlier was discarded on the ground by the step.
There were a few reasons for this, mostly stemming from the fact that, although the patio (and the tents, thankfully) was charmed to be as warm as the inside of the house the path from the front door to the tents was not.
As a result of this, Harry's breath fogged, and he wished very much that his jumper were thicker than it was. He made the last few steps to the tent door at an all out run, trying very hard not to smash either the wine glass or the bottle.
Finally, though, he was inside in the warmth. The tent was mercifully quiet with both Viktor and Ron still inside the house. They were doing something rather noisy and probably rather silly, but thankfully not noisy enough that it carried into the tents. Harry was happy for the peace and quiet, and settled down on his bed with the book on Quidditch that Hermione had given him.
It was considerably later when he realised that the wine wasn't that bad. In fact, he'd pretty much given up on the wine glass and was drinking from the bottle.
'Gee—ny!' Ron exclaimed, coming into the room. He giggled and finally fell over Harry's bed in a gesture reminiscent of the previous night. Harry wondered whether Ron getting drunk was going to be a common feature of this Christmas holiday.
'What about Ginny?' Harry asked. He was surprised to discover that, although his legs felt like lead and he was quite lightheaded, he could speak with relative clarity. Perhaps that was an illusion of the alcohol.
He poked Ron in the ribs, and Ron exploded with laughter. 'Ron!' Harry yelled. 'What about Ginny?'
'She—' Ron hiccuped, then belched loudly. 'Shnogged—' and then exploded into another fit of giggles.
Harry felt a shiver running down his spine. He reached out and tugged on Ron's shirt, and Ron, surprisingly, rolled up the bed, legs splaying and ending up lying across Harry's lap with his head hanging off the bed.
'Snogged?' Harry asked quietly. 'Snogged who?'
Ron continued to giggle; he wriggled his legs and somehow managed to get his upper body properly on the bed, though still remaining spread across Harry's lap. 'Shnogged Krum! Fucking shnogged Krum, whoa.' His eyes closed.
'Oh.' Harry wasn't sure what else he was supposed to say; what could he say? It wasn't as though he hadn't spent several (rather pleasurable) minutes snogging Viktor—among other things!—that very afternoon. It wasn't like he could point the finger of blame or get on his high horse about it. Finally, he decided on, 'Fuck.'
'No,' Ron said, 'no, they weren't fucking.' He belched again. 'Can't b'lieve she shnogged Krum!' He exploded in another fit of laughter, but then fell surprisingly silent. His blue eyes seemed troubled. 'Can't believe it,' he repeated, almost like a mantra.
'Why?' Harry asked, though he wondered if he'd get a response that wasn't 'Dunno'.
'Shpin the wand,' Ron giggled. 'I kisshed Fleur!' He grinned up at Harry, then frowned. 'Wish I'd got Krum.' He reached up to idly scratch his nose, his eyes crossed slightly.
Harry laughed, and then, though it was definitely the alcohol talking now, asked, 'Why—you jealous?'
'Shoor,' Ron said. 'Aren't 'choo?'
Harry struggled to regain control over his voice, as it seemed to be running ahead and speaking without interference from his brain. 'Nah,' he said.
Moving faster than Harry thought possible with the alcohol, Ron was suddenly scrambling up onto his knees. He shuffled Harry's legs over and then took up a position facing Harry, close enough that they could talk quietly, but not so close that either of them would feel uncomfortable. 'Why not?' Ron asked, his voice slightly steadier and his eyes confused. 'He'sh got pretty lipsh.'
Harry laughed. He'd said, ''Cos I've already snogged him,' before he realised it. He clapped his hand to his mouth, but it was too late.
Ron stared at him, and then whispered, 'Fuck,' in one long, drawn-out breath.
Again, Harry's mouth took control. 'That too,' it added, almost absently. Harry closed his eyes and felt his cheeks begin to flame.
'Oh, fuck,' Ron said again, and this time he moaned. The moan was familiar, because it was the same sound Harry had heard at night for countless years. It was the sound Ron made when he was wanking.
Harry cracked his eye open. Ron was staring straight at him—actually, no, he was staring past Harry towards the tent's entry. Harry turned and looked over his shoulder, but there was nobody there. He turned back to Ron, and his eyes followed the rhythmic movement of Ron's arm down to his crotch.
Ron was definitely hard, and his hand was doing quite a good job of accentuating that fact. 'Fuck,' Ron said again. Harry pulled his eyes away from Ron's crotch and back up to Ron's face, but Ron was already speaking again: 'Sex with Krum, oh, fuck.'
He might've found his best friend fantasising about someone he'd had a crush on in their fourth year at Hogwarts amusing, if his mind hadn't been flooded with memories of that afternoon and Viktor spread out naked before him.
He pushed the memories from his mind. 'If you're going to wank, at least use the bathroom,' Harry said.
Ron didn't seem to be listening. 'What's it like?' His voice had lost some of the alcohol twinge, but it was still there, just much more faint. 'I bet he's huge.' Ron's eyes widened. 'I bet that hurts! Did it hurt?'
Harry groaned. Why did everyone seem to think that he was the one taking it up the arse? 'No!' Harry said, with a bit more force than he'd really intended. 'I was the—'
'Maybe he'll do me.' Ron whimpered and squeezed his erection through his pants.
'I fucked Viktor!' Harry said, this time grabbing Ron's shoulders and saying it right into his friend's face. Ron's eyes grew wider and he stopped blinking for almost a minute.
'You—?' Ron whimpered again, and the hand slipped up, pulling back his t-shirt before sliding past the waistband of his jeans. 'Oh, fuck,' he said, and his fist made the bulge in his crotch even more prominent. 'I don't believe...'
'I fucked Viktor Krum!' Harry yelled. Why didn't Ron get it—why did nobody believe it possible?
Ron's eyes were boring straight into his. Then Ron let out another little whimper that became a drawn out moan, shuddered, and whispered, 'Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck.' His eyes clenched, and he shuddered again, and then again.
Harry gulped. 'Ron?' he asked. 'Did you just come in your pants... on my bed?'
There was no response. Ron's body had ceased all movement. Harry reached out and poked him in the rib, once, twice, and then a third time, and finally gave up. He had fallen asleep! Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands.
Once Harry had managed to get Ron's hand out of his pants, wiping away the sticky white liquid on Ron's jeans—served him right, really, it was surprisingly easy to levitate him to his own bed and pull the covers over him.
For the second time in as many days, Harry found himself putting his friend to bed and banishing Ron's clothes away. He wasn't sure what made the idea of seeing Ron naked so horrifying. Perhaps it was the fact that he was unwilling to admit to himself that, in actual fact, he'd quite like to see Ron naked.
He pushed that thought away, along with all of the other mental images that seemed to cloud his mind—Viktor's cock, the soft feel of Viktor's chest hair and how tight he was, Ron's lips, Ginny's eyes—flicked the lights out with his wand, and climbed into his own bed.
The circumstances with which he woke that night were familiar, and he wondered whether perhaps he had dreamed the intervening hours: Viktor stood at the base of his bed, standing in the beam of light cast by the bathroom. His cock was half-hard, and his hand slid lazily up and down its length.
Glancing around the room sleepily, though, Harry realised that that was where the similarities ended. Ron was sitting up in his bed, his mouth wide open, staring at Viktor, and it was quite obvious that Viktor knew about it.
Something seemed to pass between them, and Viktor made a gesture with his hand. Ron stood, naked, and equally hard, something that made Harry's insides squirm. The next few seconds seemed to pass in a blur: first, Ron was at the bed, and then they were kissing, and Harry realised he knew exactly what Ron was feeling.
Things progressed relatively quickly from there. Harry fumbled for his glasses so that he could see more clearly, but neither of them seemed to notice. By the time he was sitting up, Viktor was already on his hands and knees on the bed, looking back over his shoulder.
'Just do it,' Viktor was saying. They seemed to be having a bit of an argument about something, until finally Viktor sighed, reached around and took a firm hold of Ron's cock before impaling himself on it.
Harry was unable to stop himself from groaning, and he wondered whether having an audience would be enough to make them stop (though privately he wondered if Viktor was the sort to enjoy an audience). But then, both Ron and Viktor moaned, and perhaps they hadn't heard.
Harry whimpered and settled for chewing on one fingernail as his other hand slid beneath the blankets and into his pyjama bottoms. He squeezed himself as Ron began to thrust wildly into Viktor, and unknowingly, the rhythm of his hand up his cock was the same as Ron's.
After a minute he managed to stop himself and come back from the edge. Ron slowed, and then there was a shifting of bodies. Viktor was now on his back, and Ron was leaning forward to lock their lips.
Harry whimpered again, and Ron began to thrust even harder again. Harry's hand followed suit, this time noticeably mimicking Ron's actions. Each stroke was matched with one on Harry's cock, each pump; faster, slower. For this reason he didn't find it particularly surprising when, a few minutes later, they both came in unison.
Thinking it best to feign sleep and hope that they wouldn't notice him, Harry closed his eyes and tried to remember the words to a cleaning spell. Turgid? Togo? Thus, when sleep claimed him a few seconds later, it came as a complete surprise.
When Harry woke the next morning, it was to a familiar freckled hand tracing lazy circles in his chest hair. He blinked twice, and wondered why the pounding headache hadn't come yet. Ron's face came into view, grinning.
'Viktor cast that spell again,' he said.
'Oh,' Harry said, 'thanks.'
'No problem,' Viktor's voice came from somewhere nearby. Harry came to the realisation that both himself and Ron were naked (Harry wondered at what point in time his shirt disappeared, but Ron's strokes were comforting and he wasn't about to start asking questions), and judging by the erection being thrust into his thigh and his own hardness, both terribly aroused.
Harry gulped, and Ron grinned even wider. 'Did you like watching us?' Ron asked, quietly.
The only response Harry could think of was to nod. He'd enjoyed watching. He'd enjoyed doing Viktor, too. There was a low chuckle—Viktor's, from slightly nearer this time. Harry tilted his head to see Viktor sitting at Ron's feet.
The most interesting fact was that Viktor was using two hands to spread Ron's arse cheeks, and the same tongue that had been in his mouth less than twenty-four hours ago was taking long licks at Ron's arsehole.
Harry's eyes widened, and he said, 'Fuck.'
'Yeah.' Ron laughed, bent forward and kissed him hard. 'Let's.'
Extended author's notes: There are a few details I wanted to clarify, in case anyone was wondering about stuff. There are obviously spoilers in here, but you should've read the story already!
1. Dates: This is set in December of 1999, making it the second Christmas after the end of the Second Wizarding War. Christmas Eve is a Friday (the 24th), and Christmas Day is a Saturday (the 25th, obviously). The full moon fell on December the 22nd, the Wednesday before Christmas.
2. Location: Based on chapter Twenty-Three of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows ("Malfoy Manor"), Shell Cottage is "on the outskirts of Tinworth!", according to Ron. In chapter Sixteen ("Godric's Hollow"), Hermione reads from Bagshot's "A History of Magic", that the village of "Tinworth in Cornwall" has several magical families.
3. After analysis of chapter Twenty-Four ("The Wandmaker"), we find that Harry "walked into the little kitchen, to the basin beneath a window overlooking the sea. Dawn was breaking over the horizon." Based on this, the kitchen (or at least, the window in the kitchen) is east-facing, and also looking out over the sea. Shell Cottage is located somewhere along eastern-facing parts of the south coast of Cornwall, between Duporth and The Lizard.
4. As such, I've placed Shell Cottage somewhere on the stretch of coast between Porthallow and Porthoustock. The pebble beach and the cave from scene 11 are pure imagination.
5. Times: On the 25th, high tides were 6:09am and 6:34pm, low tide falling at 1:06pm. Sunrise on the 25th was 8:05am, and sunset 3:55pm. Hermione's Portkey left at 9:30am, lunch was held at 12:00pm. Harry and Ginny's argument took place sometime between 1:30pm and 2:00pm. Harry's flight lasted between 1 and 1 and a half hours, meaning that he landed on the beach sometime around 3:30pm or 4:00pm. All errors in the depiction of the tides and the cave are all my fault.
6. Language: The "Old Bulgarian" referenced by Viktor in scene 11 is properly known as "Old Church Slavonic". Considering most of the spells in the novel are based on Latin, I felt it fitting that Bulgarian spells be based on a similarly antiquated language.
7. Miscellaneous: Not mentioned in the story is the fact that Fleur is pregnant. Based on the fact that Victoire Weasley was born on May 2nd, 2000 (or possibly 2001), Fleur would've fallen pregnant sometime in August or late July, making her five months pregnant in the story.
8. Shell Cottage: My imagery in the first part of the story doesn't really do it justice; I wish I could draw, so that I could fully show the mental image I had in mind when Harry and Ron arrived, but I guess I'll have to settle for words instead. This is the layout of Shell Cottage & environs. It is based purely on my own imagination rather than the novels, and is something scrawled in a notebook at 4am one night.
9. "Spin the wand" is the Wizarding equivalent of "Spin the bottle", only involving magic and small, painful shocks for people who refuse to kiss. I'd like to say that the Fred and George invented it, but perhaps they just rediscovered it.