Hermione Granger paced.  It was bad enough that her parents had insisted on inviting her two best friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, for dinner, but they had to go an invite them to Christmas dinner.  And, as if that weren’t enough, her parents went and made it a formal event, rented a hall, and invited all her relatives.

Even though she was twenty-five, she was going to die of embarrassment.

Ron and Harry had politely accepted the invitation after talking to Ron’s mum.  They were going to spend the morning at the Burrow, the ramshackle house that the Weasleys had lived in for ages and that was only held vertical with magic, then change into formal wear and Apparate to an unused room of the hall for the dinner.

As Hermione paced, avoiding her relatives by hiding in the unused room, she realized that though they had been friends for fourteen years, she had never seen Harry or Ron in Muggle formalwear.  She’d seen them in wizarding dress robes on many occasions, but never in tuxedos.

She made a noise of frustration as the neckline of her dress slipped yet again.  Strapless dresses never stayed up.  For the fourth time that evening, she yanked it upward, wished she could use magic to make it stay.  Not that the slip exposed anything that should otherwise be covered, but Hermione didn’t want to give anyone a show – let alone her lecherous cousin, Arnold.  She shivered at the thought of him peering down her dress, patting her right thigh to feel her wand securely in place in its holster.

Glancing upward at the clock, she noted they were late.  Only five minutes, but her mother would notice.  If she didn’t die of embarrassment, she was going to kill her interfering mother.

Rose Granger never did anything halfway, whether organizing a formal dinner on Christmas just to meet her daughter’s two best friends – finally – or nagging her daughter for being as yet unmarried.  The mother-daughter relationship wasn’t a smooth one, and it was exacerbated by the daughter being a witch.

Two pops told her that Harry and Ron had finally shown up.  She spun around, ready to read them the riot act, when her breath caught in her throat.

Men.  They aren’t boys anymore, they’re men.  Hermione swallowed hard, sucking air into her starved lungs.  Gorgeous men.

Ron, who had finally stopped growing after hitting 6’3”, was tugging at his bow tie.  The movement served to accentuate the muscled torso that tapered to a trim waist.  The black tuxedo and white shirt highlighted his broad shoulders and long legs.

Before Hermione could regain her breath and chastise Ron for acting twelve again, Harry slapped his hands away and fixed the tie.

When Harry turned to Hermione, she had to remind herself to breathe.  Where the black jacket set Ron’s red hair aflame, it deepened the black of Harry’s and electrified his green eyes.  Harry wasn’t much taller than she, only about 5’9”, but one would never guess because he had a slim, athletic frame that was like a pared-down version of Ron’s body.  He stood and walked with a dangerous air that made him appear bigger than he was – as well he should given that he was the most powerful wizard alive.

Hermione nervously licked her lips.  She had at various times in their friendship been attracted to both of them, but she thought those were mere childhood crushes.  What was coursing through her now was, she knew from experience, a woman’s need for either one of them.  Or both, a small voice that sounded like her conscience said.

“Well?” Ron asked, impatient.  “Is this how I’m supposed to look?  My father wouldn’t leave me alone, kept asking questions about what I was wearing.”

Harry just grinned.  “Your father wasn’t that bad.  After we took the tie off his head, things were fine.”

Hermione closed her mouth, then giggled.  She could see Arthur Weasley, who loved nearly everything Muggle, using a bow tie as a headband and the image – black tie atop very thin red hair – was delightful.

Harry scoffed and slapped the back of one hand against Ron’s shoulder.  “See, I told you that you were fine.  Git.”

Stifling further giggles – Grangers did not giggle – Hermione said, “You’re late.  Let’s go.”

“Told you,” Ron whispered loudly.

“Shut up,” Harry whispered back.

Neither seemed concerned that Hermione could hear them.

She led them into the dining hall.  A few steps into the room, she realized they were no longer beside her.  Turning around, she saw that they were frozen in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?” she asked sweetly, though she knew the answer.

Ron spoke first.  “Your family& this is them?”

“You should be used to a large family, Ron,” she chastised.

Her family was probably her best-kept secret.  Though she was an only child, her mother had four siblings and her father had five sisters, and all of them had at least three children.  Additionally, there were her parents’ various cousins and several elderly aunts and uncles.  There was a reason an entire hall had to be rented when her mother wanted to get the family together.

Deciding to take pity on them, she stepped back and linked arms with them, placing herself in the middle.  Before moving, she inhaled deeply.  Underneath the faint scent of soap, she could smell them, that musky scent that was sweat and man.  Without warning, her stomach clenched in desire, making her bite her lip to stifle a moan.

This isn’t a good thing, Hermione, she told herself.  She shouldn’t be having these thoughts, not for her two best friends, not when they had shown no interest in her.  You’re just setting yourself up for heartbreak.

Gently tugging, she led Ron and Harry to the center table.

As they strode through the room, activity ceased.  If she felt uncomfortable under her family’s scrutiny, she could only imagine what if felt like for Harry and Ron.

She gestured to the two chairs on either side of hers, at the center of the head table.  Harry held her chair for her, then all three sat.  On Harry’s other side was her mother; on Ron’s was her father.  Hermione groaned.  She hated being trapped by her parents.

Harry leaned forward to look at Ron, pitching his voice so only the three of them could hear.  Smiling wickedly, he asked, “It can’t be worse than a roomful of Death Eaters, can it?”

Hermione gaped for a minute, then laughed.  Ron grinned.

Hermione’s mother chose that moment to arrive.  She stood behind her chair and surveyed her daughter’s friends.

The look on her face didn’t bode well.  Hermione recognized the faint pinched look between her mother’s eyes – it was the look that usually proceeded a dressing down for breaches of etiquette.

Before Hermione could elbow Harry, he seemed to see Dr. Granger out of the corner of his eye and leapt up.

“Allow me, Dr. Granger,” he said sweetly, pulling her chair out for her.  With a withering glance, she sat daintily, nodding faintly when Harry pushed the chair back.

All Hermione wanted to do was rest her forehead against the heels of her hands and shake her head.  Her mother was getting almost as bad as Narcissa Malfoy had been at her height.  It didn’t help matters that only her parents and a few aunts and uncles knew that she was a witch, and that her two closest friends were wizards.

She worried.  She wasn’t worried much about Harry – he’d passed her mother’s initial test, so things should be fine – she was worried about Ron.  No matter the number of times they went out into the Muggle world, he would inevitably commit some faux pas that she or Harry would have to cover up.

But she didn’t say any of this to Ron.  It would merely serve to make him nervous and ripe for failure.

Once everyone was seated, the staff began serving the first course.  Salads and wine were served.

Hermione’s father, Robert, managed to rope Ron into a conversation about football.  Ron seemed to be holding his own.  Seven years of living with Dean Thomas must have finally paid off.

Hermione’s mother, on the other hand, was practically interviewing Harry.  He seemed to be deflecting the most probing questions fairly well.  Well enough, in fact, that when Harry excused himself to the men’s toilet halfway through the main course, Rose Granger leaned toward Hermione and inquired politely – always politely for a Granger – why Harry was hiding things.

Hermione gaped at her mother, thinking she must not be serious.  Unfortunately, her mother’s pointed expression told Hermione that the female Dr. Granger was indeed serious.

“Mum, he an Unspeakable.  It’s like the equivalent of MI-5.  Of course there are things he can’t talk about.”

Rose sniffed delicately.  “Yes, dear, I know that.  You’ve explained that before.”  Her mother’s tone was affronted, which meant she did not appreciate the reminder of her daughter’s life in the wizarding world.  “I’ve asked him about his love life.”

Panic shot through Hermione.  Harry’s breakup with his last girlfriend wasn’t pretty or private – and had been splashed across the cover of the Daily Prophet as a result.  It had embarrassed Harry greatly.

“The breakup with his last girlfriend was painful.  Of course he won’t talk about it.”

“That much he did admit, Hermione.  But he didn’t say it like he regretted it.  I asked if he currently had his eye on someone and he turned coy.”

Harry, coy?  Maybe her mother was onto something, Hermione thought.  Harry was never coy.  Either he told you what he was thinking or he ignored you, he never demurred.

Before Hermione could reply, Harry returned.  Seating himself once again between the two women, he glanced at each one.

Smiling, he said, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Oh, no, dear,” the female Dr. Granger replied.  “Nothing at all.”

Dessert was further torture because Hermione knew what came next.  Dancing.

Hermione turned her attention to Ron, gently nudging him to gain his attention.  He startled, nearly upsetting his wine, before turning to her.

“Are you doing okay with my dad?”

Ron grinned.  It was the grin that reminded her of their first year at Hogwarts when he found that his brilliantly played chess match against Professor McGonagall’s charmed pieces had helped Gryffindor win the House Cup for the first time in six years.

“Sports never fail to entertain men,” he answered, then returned his attention to her father.

Smiling, Hermione kept her eyes on Ron.  However gangly he’d been as a teenager, he’d certainly grown into himself.  Now, at twenty-five, he looked more like an American football running back – wide-shouldered, lean and muscular.  The tuxedo he wore merely framed him like a Renoir.

Altogether too soon for Hermione’s comfort, the dessert plates were removed and the band, which had been tuning up during the last course, indicated they were ready to play.  She wanted to curl up under the table and hide.

To her horror, her mother was staring at her, her eyebrows slightly raised.

Oh, Merlin, she thought.  I’m supposed to start.

She stood.  Relief flooded her as both Ron and Harry stood when she did.

“I’m to begin the dancing,” she whispered to them.  Harry and Ron looked at each other over her head, communicating silently.  Harry returned to his seat and Ron offered his hand.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked, a smile toying at his lips.

Silently, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.  As the first strains of music were heard, she let him lead her across the floor.  He dances, she thought.

Leaning close, her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “When did you learn to dance?”

He looked down at her and grinned.  “Why should I tell you my secrets, Miss Granger?”

“Because I’ll put a spider in your bed otherwise,” she retorted, smiling.

Ron looked horrified.  He was deathly afraid of spiders, even more so since Harry had led him into an Acromantula nest in their second year while she lay Petrified in the Hospital Wing.

“When I told Mum about this event, she insisted Harry and I learn to dance,” he finally replied once the color returned to his face.

Hermione smiled.  “That’s all I wanted to know.”

When the song was over, Harry stood behind Ron and tapped his shoulder.  “I believe the next one is mine.”  Ron released her, grinned, then returned to his seat at the head table.

Harry took her into his arms and led her across the floor when the music began again.

“I see Ron told you about our secret lessons,” Harry teased.

She grinned.  “Yes, I threatened him with a spider if he didn’t.”

Harry laughed, the low sound pulling at something inside her.  “Did you know that his Boggart is still a spider, even after everything we’ve been through?”

“I’m not surprised,” she replied.

At the end of the second song, the dance floor was opened to everyone.  Ron and Harry held their own – it galled Hermione to watch some of her cousins, young and old, married and single, drool over her friends – while Hermione wasn’t allowed to rest.

As it neared midnight, Hermione begged off a third dance with her lecherous cousin and retreated into the unused room Harry and Ron had Apparated into much earlier.  Sighing heavily with relief, she settled into one chair, lifting her feet onto another after toeing off her shoes.  She closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the chair, willing the tension in her neck away.

The door opened and she groaned to herself.  Can’t I have five minutes alone?

“There she is,” Ron said in a stage-whisper to Harry.

“Are you okay, Hermione?” Harry asked.  When she lifted her head and opened her eyes, she saw him move behind her.  She was about to protest when he rested his hands on her shoulders and began to knead the muscles there.

Her groan was visceral.  She hadn’t realized how tense she was until Harry began massaging her shoulders.  When Ron lifted her feet into his lap and began kneading the arches with his thumbs, she whimpered, tilting her head down slightly and letting her eyes fall shut again.

“I guess you’re feeling better,” Ron snickered.  Her response was another groan.

She shot straight up in her chair when she felt lips against her neck.  “Harry!”

Harry merely pulled her back again, hand still massaging her tense shoulders.  She had just begun to relax once again when Ron’s hands traveled upward, sliding her dress nearly into her lap.  Her eyes shot open and she tried to pull away.  Both men held tight until she relaxed slightly.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice betraying her unease.

Ron moved his hands back to her ankle, but left her dress on her thighs, exposing her legs from the knees down.  Though she’d revealed more when they’d going swimming together, this felt more intimate.

She was disturbed at the sensation of disappointment that filtered through her.  Why would I be disappointed that Ron isn’t taking liberties?  Is it because I’ve thought about it all night?

“One of the things that made us late was a talk we had,” Harry began, his thumb against a particularly sensitive spot just below her ear.

“You two talk?” she exclaimed.

“Hey!” Ron protested.  She smiled.

“Yes, we talk,” Harry said, thumbs pressing a bit harder down her spine.  She shivered in delight at the sensation.

“What was it about?”  Her voice was a strained whisper, mostly due to nerves.

“We’ve both dated you,” Ron started.

“And we’ve both broken up with you,” Harry added.

“Yes,” she said, shuddering when Ron hit a particularly sensitive spot on her foot.

“Well, we got curious.  I mean, you’ve dated quite a bit – ”

“Five men, two of them you two,” she huffed, then frowned at Ron’s smile.

“Yes, well,” Harry murmured.  “We asked ourselves why none of us have settled down yet.”

“Deep,” Hermione said with heavy sarcasm.

“And we came to a conclusion.”  Harry paused, glancing at Ron.  When Hermione huffed again and crossed her arms over her chest, he grinned.  “No one else is good enough.”

She stared at first him then Ron as if they’d gone mad.  “Not good enough?”

Ron picked up from there.  “We can’t be comfortable with anyone else.  And have you noticed that the other two of us rarely like the person the third is dating?”

Blinking furiously, she stared.  Something about what they were saying rang true with her.  She hadn’t ever approved of anyone Ron and Harry dated, starting with Cho Chang for Harry and Lavender Brown for Ron.  In her mind, no one could see the boys for who they were, faults and virtues alike.  Girls – never women in her mind – were after Harry for being the Boy Who Lived and after Ron for being his best friend.  The idea of them was more appealing than the boys themselves.

“Should we worry, mate?  She’s thinking,” Ron whispered, kneading one calf.

She batted the top of his head, doing nothing more than fluffing his hair, when he grinned.

“If it’s true,” she began, ignoring their glee at her words, “what do you propose to do about it?”

They didn’t answer with words.  Harry’s hands moved down her bare arms to expose her neck just as Ron’s hands slid higher on her legs.  Her heart fluttered in her chest and she closed her eyes, shocked at herself and them.  The last thing she was going to do was say “no” to them.

When Harry finally kissed her neck, his lips lightly skimmed her skin, tracing the cord of her neck delicately.  Her distraction allowed Ron to move his hands to her thighs, pushing her dress up as he went.

She couldn’t decide if her mouth was dry from shock or from her increased breathing.  Though she’d thought about going to bed with each of them at various times, especially when she’d been dating each of them, it hadn’t occurred to her until tonight to think about the three of them together.

She felt scrambled, overwhelmed by sensation.  Ron cupped one thigh, a hand moving up the outside and a hand moving up the inside.  She parted her legs slightly, silently allowing him liberties.

“Hermione,” he groaned.  She and Harry both looked at him and the arousal evident in his eyes was humbling.

“Yes?” she managed.

“Let’s leave,” Ron said and Harry added, “Now.”

There were a multitude of reasons she shouldn’t leave, the list topped by her mother’s wrath.  Hermione was surprised her mother hadn’t already come looking for her.  She turned her head far enough to see the desire echoed in Harry’s gaze and she made her decision.

“Where to?”

Harry’s sigh of relief, the soft breath against her damp skin, made her nerves tingle.

“Harry’s flat,” Ron answered.  “Your parents don’t know where that is.”

With a reckless laugh, Hermione pulled her wand from underneath her rucked-up dress and Apparated.  Harry and Ron followed quickly, nearly splinching themselves in their haste.

As she backed away slowly, the boys followed.  Though her own arousal was distracting her – making the blood drain from her head and cause other areas of her body to throb with anticipation – she navigated Harry’s flat easily.  They’d spent so much time here that all three of them knew the flat well; they knew where all the furniture was and knew what food Harry was likely to have in the refrigerator.

In a moment, she was in Harry’s bedroom.  She hadn’t consciously intended to back herself into his room.  Now that she was there, she closed the door with a resounding thud.

Only to turn around and see Harry sitting on the brass bed and Ron standing beside it, both grinning at her.

Damn them for Apparating, she muttered to herself.

She took one step backwards.

“Don’t go anywhere, Hermione,” Harry said, voice pitched low.  She swallowed hard as she watched him reach up and untie his bow tie, leaving the loose ends to dangle about his neck.

“You’re nervous,” Ron said softly.

She nodded.  “You aren’t?”

Harry and Ron exchanged a look before turning back to her.  Ron slid his jacket off his shoulders, exposing how well the white shirt clung to his torso.  Hermione swallowed again.

“We’ve talked about it several times,” Ron allowed, unbuttoning his cuffs as he spoke.

Hermione’s eyes were riveted to Ron as he slowly shed his clothing.  Next off was his tie, pulled free of the collar and tossed atop the jacket.  He held her eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt.  With each button, more heat pooled low in her abdomen until the only thing keeping her from attacking Ron was how hard she was biting her lip.

It therefore surprised her when Harry cupped her chin in his hand and angled her head so he could kiss her.

She twisted toward him like a flower growing toward the sun.  He slipped his free arm around her back, pulling her against him.  At the contact of her abdomen against his groin, he captured her gasp in his mouth.

She moaned softly when Ron moved behind her.  His bare torso brushed her arm.  Curiosity about his state of undress overwhelmed her.

Breaking the kiss with Harry, she turned around into Ron’s arms.  He was clad only in his boxers – the ones in the ghastly shade of Chudley Cannon orange.  Neither Ron nor Harry gave her much time to think before Ron’s mouth descended upon hers.

Distantly, she heard the sound of clothing being shed and she knew Harry was undressing.  What seemed to her like a few seconds later, Harry was behind her.

Harry tangled a hand in Ron’s hair, apparently a signal to Ron that he should end the kiss.

“Are you sure about this, Hermione?” Harry murmured.

She opened her eyes slowly.  Running her tongue over her lips, she met Ron’s eyes then looked back over her shoulder to meet Harry’s.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Ron’s grin was wide and bright.  “Brilliant.”

Hermione merely rolled her eyes.  She wasn’t sure if making love to the two of them should be called Brilliant even before they’d done anything, but she didn’t chastise him.

They walked her over to the closet, posing her in front of the full-length mirror attached to the door.  Ron stood behind her on her right and Harry on her left.  With a small smile, she noted that Harry’s boxers were green with flying Golden Snitches.

Yet when she really looked at the image in the mirror, it took her breath away.  An ocean of bare male skin, she thought.  Their eyes met in the mirror, making Hermione swallow nervously, Ron grin and Harry’s expression turn calculating.

Deliberately holding her eyes in the mirror, Harry slid his right hand between her bare shoulders until he reached her zipper.  She ran her tongue over her bottom lip.  Ron bent his head and pressed his lips to her shoulder as Harry slid the zipper down.

She knew she was being seduced.  It didn’t put a stop to the desire coursing through her veins.  To prevent herself from moaning, she bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes.

Ron lifted his head.  “Keep your eyes open, Hermione.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“So you can watch, of course.”

She opened her eyes only enough to watch them.

A moment later she felt Ron’s hand on her back as well, helping Harry to part her dress.  There was a tense silence when the dress fell to the ground.

“Fuck,” Ron groaned once he caught his breath, though the word was almost reverent.  Given the circumstances, she didn’t have the urge to chastise him for his curse.

Underneath her relatively modest burgundy dress, Hermione had worn a black corset with black lace knickers and thigh-hi stockings.  Her practical mind had told her a corset would hold everything where it needed to be under the sleeveless dress.  However, given the desire burning in her best friends’ eyes, she realized there was an added benefit to being practical in this case.

“You...um...aren’t a virgin, are you?” Harry asked.

“No, haven’t been for a few years now,” she replied.

“Who was it?” Ron demanded, grabbing her shoulders and turning her to face him.  “Who was it so I can hex him?”

Hermione merely shook his hands off and glared at him.  “I am not going to tell you the first boy I shagged!”

“Ron, why does it matter?” Harry asked, tugging Hermione backward and wrapping his arms around her.  As he spoke, he undid the front hooks of her corset.  Ron’s eyes were drawn downward.  “She’s standing nearly naked in front of us and you’re wondering about who she shagged before?”  When the last hook was loosened, Harry released the garment and let it fall to the ground.

Ron’s eyes widened and he swallowed visibly.  She felt herself flush under his appreciative gaze.  His voice broke when he said, “You’re right; it doesn’t matter.”

With Harry still behind her, there was nowhere for her to go when Ron advanced upon her, a hungry look in his eyes.  Silently, he cupped her face and brought his lips down to hers.  His kiss was arousing and comforting all at once.

Desire exploded when Harry began kissing a trail down her spine.  Each touch of his lips sent arousal spiking through her.  Both Harry and Ron ceased their assault when she moaned.

“Ron, I think moving to the bed is next,” Harry said, pulling Hermione backwards.

She ended up flat on her back atop the mattress, both the boys staring down at her.  The flush that started at her neck soon encompassed her face, driving her to cover her bare breasts from embarrassment.

“No, Hermione, don’t do that,” Ron murmured, crawling atop the bed next to her.

Slowly, he pulled her hands away from her breasts, uncovering them as though unwrapping a treasured chocolate.  Harry pulled her shoes off before moving next to her.

She expected the next thing they would do is suckle her.  She didn’t expect them to kiss over her.  Her moan died on a strangled whimper.

The longer their kiss lasted, the more chance she got to study them.  They seemed to know exactly where to put their noses, exactly what angle to tip their heads.  There was no awkwardness.

When they parted, Hermione asked, “How long have you two been lovers?”  Annoyance laced her tone and she felt her flush deepen.  Lying between them was now awkward rather than enticing.

“You’re thinking too much, Hermione,” Harry said, bending his head to trail his tongue over her collarbone.

“How long?”  She didn’t know why it mattered, but it did.  There were few things she left them out of any longer – Ron did not need to know one of his brothers was her first – yet they had left her out of this.

“Off and on for a year,” Ron finally admitted, his ears bright red.

“A year?”  Her voice rose and tears threatened.  “A year and you never told me?”

“We...um...we weren’t sure of your reaction,” Ron said slowly, looking to Harry for support.

Harry lifted his mouth from the hollow of Hermione’s throat.  Sliding his glasses further up his nose, he said quietly, “Sorry.”

An awkward silence fell between them before Hermione spoke again.  “Maybe I should just leave.”  Yet when she tried to get up, both Ron and Harry held her down.

“No, don’t go, Hermione,” Ron said.

“Please don’t,” Harry added.

Her eyes darted between the two.  She felt horribly uncomfortable lying there in nothing but her stockings and tiny knickers.

They couldn’t have been faking their arousal earlier, Hermione, she tried to tell herself.  And you have to admit to yourself that it was arousing to have them kiss.  It’s what your secret fantasy has been.

Hermione had never been one to stay in the background.  She was a woman of action.  With that at the forefront of her mind, she slid her right hand into Harry’s hair and pushed his head down to her breast.  With her left hand, she brought Ron’s mouth to hers for a steamy, open-mouthed kiss.

Ron captured her whimper at Harry’s ministrations, then her moan when Harry began exploring her body with his hands.

When his tongue began lapping at the wetness between her thighs, she broke Ron’s kiss and angled herself up on her elbows.

Harry never moved his mouth, but looked up at her while he suckled that most secret part of her.  Without saying a word – but speaking volumes with his tongue – he had seduced her for the night.  Ron merely laughed, a low rumble in his broad chest, when Hermione collapsed against the pillows.

Hermione absently wondered why Harry had left her stockings on yet pulled off her knickers.  Then all thought fled her mind when Harry slid two fingers inside her.  She’d been so close to the edge before that Harry’s action tipped her over.

With a noise like a whimpering groan, Hermione arched her back off the bed.  Her flailing hands found the duvet on one side and Ron’s hand on the other.  She clutched both tightly, writhing under Harry’s tongue.

“I think she liked it,” Ron murmured.  Hermione made a half-hearted attempt to hit him, making him laugh.

It took effort to open her eyes, but she was well-rewarded when she did.  Harry’s hands were tangled in Ron’s hair, their mouths all but fused together in a kiss.

They’re sharing me, she thought.  Tingling awareness shot through her, making her ache.

A moan escaped her once again and the boys broke their kiss.  She bit her bottom lip and wiggled on the bed in arousal when she saw their lips were wet.

“I think she wants more,” Harry said softly, a grin turning up the corners of his mouth.

“Yes,” she hissed, arching her back.  The very feminine invitation worked on both of them.

Before she was quite aware of it, Ron was flat on his back and pulled her over him.  She straddled his waist, feeling his muscles tense underneath her, feeling the tension in him.  His hands slid up her thighs and sides to cup her breasts, toying with the weight of them.  When a soft sigh escaped her, Ron rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

Her answering moan was cut short when she felt Harry’s hands between her and Ron.  Though it was becoming difficult for her to concentrate, she put two and two together when Ron lifted his hips slightly.

Harry’s pulling off Ron’s boxers.  I wonder if he’s removing his own.

She started to turn around to look, but Ron gripped her chin.  “No peeking.”  Her eyes narrowed.  He released her chin, moved his hands to her hips and pushed her backward.  His cock nestled against her arse, diverting her train of thought much better than any words could have.

“You’re tormenting me,” she accused, wiggling in Ron’s lap.  He merely grinned, continuing to play with her breasts.  She arched backward, bracing her hands on his thighs.  His sharp intake of breath told her he liked the position, especially once she dug her fingernails into his skin.

She felt lips against the skin of her stomach and straightened.  Harry looked up, meeting her eyes once again as he slid his tongue upward to eventually take one nipple into his mouth after Ron removed his hand.  Each tug of his tongue seemed to pull at a string inside her, ratcheting her desire higher.

“How do you want us, Hermione?” Ron asked.

“What...what do you mean?”

Harry began suckling her harder, making her pant.  It was a struggle for her to pay attention to Ron’s words, though she wasn’t going to complain.

“We could be inside you at the same time,” Ron began, rocking his hips slightly enough that she moaned again.  “Or one of us could be inside you while the other is inside him.”

I can watch them together.  The idea stuck in her mind, the image doing more to destroy her sanity than Harry’s tongue and Ron’s fingers.  Watch them kiss...watch them tease each other...watch one suck the other....

A quick tug of her hair derailed her train of thought.

“You’re thinking too much again, Hermione,” Harry murmured.  “I think we’ll make the decision for you.”

Before she could protest their high-handedness, Ron lifted her effortlessly, positioned her hips and slid into her in one slow motion.  Overwhelmed, she fell forward, bracing her hands on Ron’s shoulders.  Harry moved behind her, pushing her down even further with a hand against her back.

They’re both going to be inside me, she thought.  From none to all and I’m enjoying it much more than I should.

Harry slid his tongue down her spine as Ron flexed inside her.  Shudders wracked her, eliciting a delighted moan.  She tensed when she finally divined Harry’s intention.  Ron and Harry both began rubbing her back to relax her.

“He’ll be gentle, Hermione,” Ron murmured.

She took a deep breath and told herself to relax, to enjoy the moment.  Harry murmured something just before she felt a gelled finger at her opening.

“He’s gentle, Hermione, believe me,” Ron said, a hint of humor in his voice.  Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him.  His eyes were dark with arousal, his expression strained with the effort of holding back until she was ready.  “The first time he was inside me I just about hexed his bollocks off.”

Here, Harry snorted with laughter before taking advantage of Hermione’s momentary relaxation to slide a finger inside her.

Ron continued, “But he waited despite how horny we both were.”

Hermione moaned softly with her mental image of Harry poised, straining, above Ron, their naked bodies covered with a sheen of sweat.  Harry took advantage of this to slide another finger into her.  She winced, but did her best not to tense.

“You should see the look on his face, Hermione,” Ron said in her ear.  “His eyes are dark and intense – you know the way he gets when he’s actually concentrating – and he’s biting his lip.”

It was becoming quite difficult for Hermione to concentrate.  The picture in front of her of Ron, the feel of him inside her, coupled with the image he was painting of Harry’s intensity, was going to send her over the edge again soon.

“I want you inside me, Harry,” she growled.  “Now!”  Both boys laughed, making her moan at the sensation.

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry answered against the back of her neck.  He slowly slid his fingers out, twisting them as he did so, causing electricity to jolt through her.

She felt Harry position himself behind her, felt his hands on her hips and his cock against her.  Ron flexed once again just as Harry entered her.  The pain and pleasure warred making her eyes roll back in her head.

“I think she likes it, Harry,” Ron said.

“Let’s see if she likes this,” Harry replied, pulling out almost fully then sliding slowly back inside.

Hermione began trembling.  Her skin felt too tight all over her body, her nerve endings more alive than they’d ever been.  When Ron began to move as well, a keening noise escaped her.

“She likes it,” Ron murmured.

“Harder,” she whispered.

As they obeyed, she thought she might die between them.  After just a few thrusts, they managed to coordinate their efforts:  as Ron pulled out, Harry thrust in; as Harry pulled out, Ron thrust in.  Any thread of thought she may have had was demolished under the determined assault of her best friends, now lovers.

“Please& yes& ” she rasped.

In the back of her mind, she knew she might be drawing blood from Ron’s shoulders considering how hard she was gripping him, but since he hadn’t complained, she didn’t let go.  Merlin knew Harry was gripping her hips tight enough to bruise and she wasn’t complaining.

When her orgasm washed over her it was as if she were hit by a spell:  the tingling awareness she’d felt earlier overwhelmed her senses, making every touch both pleasurable and intense.  She tightened around both Harry and Ron, trembling and moaning.  Her orgasm triggered both theirs – she believed Ron had been holding off, waiting for her, while Harry rocketed after them.

The three collapsed in a sweaty heap atop the bed, panting heavily.

Harry Summoned a blanket from the closet to cover them when he began to feel chilled.  Hermione purred at the sudden infusion of heat as the three snuggled close together to fit underneath.

“Why haven’t we done this before now?” Ron asked, pressing a kiss to Hermione’s jaw.

“Tuxes,” she murmured sleepily.

Harry kissed her, then kissed Ron, before asking, “Tuxes?”

She sighed.  “It was the tuxes that did it.  I was thinking about the two of you all night.”

She was nearly asleep – and later believed they must have thought her asleep – when she heard Ron say, “It worked.”