Anyone looking at the three twenty-somethings would see a close friendship.  Even without knowing them, that friendship was obvious in their comfortable silences, their concern for the trivialities of each other’s lives, the shared history that needed no explanation.

Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Harry Potter had a date with each other every Wednesday night at a Muggle pub not far from Hermione’s first flat.  She no longer lived in the neighborhood, but they still met at the pub.

Since leaving school, they met to share the mundane events at work or school – Harry and Ron both were working and Hermione attended a Muggle university.  Or, more importantly sometimes, they shared their love lives.

The friends had seen each other through break-ups with girlfriends and boyfriends, through Harry’s name being splashed across the front page, through public temper tantrums by exes and private breakdowns.

Unbeknownst to the employees of the pub, the Wednesday regulars were wizards.  They had known each other since they were eleven, meeting on the train to their wizarding boarding school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The first Wednesday the employees noticed something odd in the trio’s behavior happened in early March.  They rowed, then the dark-haired man with the strange lightning-bolt scar stormed out.  The following week, things were tense and quiet between the three.  Same with the next two weeks.

Week five brought another row, this one before they even ordered.  The dark-haired man lit into the redheaded man and brunette woman, yelling that he didn’t need their pity, the could have whomever – of either gender – he wanted by crooking a finger into the stands during a game.  Then he stormed out once again.

Harry Potter was not happy.  Though he was a Seeker for the Ballycastle Bats and enjoyed his job immensely, his personal life left something to be desired.  He had enjoyed his weekly escapes to the Muggle world dining with Ron and Hermione until Hermione, being the too perceptive witch she was, noticed he never complained about his love life.

Certainly, he complained about his girlfriends – and a few boyfriends – but never about his love life.

Six weeks ago she cornered him about it, with backing from Ron.  He raged and protested, then stormed out, something he’d not done for years around them.  The following three weeks were tense between the three, tense in a way they hadn’t been around him in ten years since that fateful fifth year in school.

Last week, she pressed the point once again.  Rather than tell her the truth, he yelled at them both that he didn’t need their pity about his love life – or lack of – and that as Harry Potter, premier Seeker for not only the Bats, but England, he could have whomever he wanted.  Then he stormed out once again.

He hadn’t decided if he would skip this week or not.  If he did, it would be only the second time since leaving Hogwarts that he’d completely missed a week.  The only weekly meeting he had missed was because he had been lying unconscious at St. Mungo’s after falling 75 feet from his broom during a match the day before and that was four years earlier.

He reckoned he wouldn’t be so touchy about his love life if there was one.  He paced the small living room of his flat, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets.  What would his friends say if he admitted his best-kept secret?  Hermione was picking her way toward it and if he weren’t careful she’d uncover it soon.

Because, though he could have nearly anyone in the Wizarding world he wanted, Harry Potter was still a virgin at the ripe age of twenty-five.

He wasn’t quite sure how he’d reached such a point in his life.  It certainly wasn’t for lack of offers.  There had even been two female fans who somehow made their way into the Bats’ changing room, naked, on separate occasions.  But somehow he’d never found the right person –  someone who wanted him, not the Boy Who Lived; someone who wouldn’t consider it an exclusive for the Daily Prophet and sell their story the next day.

And now, at twenty-five, he was still a virgin.

Gathering his courage, he went to the pub to meet Hermione and Ron.

They were already there.  As usual, he tamped down any sort of sexual thrill he received when he looked at them.  He’d suspected for the last few years that the reason he turned so many people down was that he had developed inappropriate feelings for either – or both – of his best friends.  Unrequited, he was sure, so he never mentioned it to either of them.

Ron was dressed in a dark blue turtleneck jumper and black trousers.  The combination made his eyes stand out and his hair flame even more.  The slightly-too-small jumper accentuated his broad shoulders and the muscle underneath.

Hermione was wearing a red dress cut lower than anything Harry had seen her wear before, highlighting a shocking amount of cleavage.  It ended mid-thigh, leaving a long line of bare leg beneath.  On her feet were red sandals with at least two-inch heels.

Harry slid into the chair across from Ron.  He felt Hermione’s eyes on him even as he placed his order.  Ron’s eyes shifted between he and Hermione.

“What do you want from me, Hermione?” Harry finally demanded, glaring at her.

She leaned back in her chair.  “Do you like to be on top or bottom?”

Harry felt himself pale, shock flooding his system.

“Girls or boys?” she continued, leaning forward, almost predatory.  “Oral?  Give or receive?”

Harry was relieved when Ron laid a hand on Hermione’s arm.  “That’s enough, Hermione.  Let him answer.”  Then Ron turned and Harry was pinned by two pairs of eyes, one blue and one brown.

He knew he was angry, that was an easy emotion, but he was also wildly embarrassed.

Deciding to take the offensive, he rested his elbows on the table and leaned in toward her, demanding, “Why do you want to know, Hermione?  Jealous?”

She did him no favors when she laughed.  “Jealous?  No, not jealous.”  Then she smiled in a way he’d never seen.  It made his stomach clench with nerves and arousal.  “Maybe I just want the answers.  Maybe I’m...interested...in the answers.”

Harry shot a startled look at Ron.  Ron, for his part, was leaning toward Hermione, one arm slung over the back of her chair.  He shrugged and grinned as if to say Harry needed to get himself out of this mess alone.

Their argument was interrupted by the waitress bringing their order.

Once she was gone, Harry turned back to Hermione and narrowed his eyes.  “Interested?  In me?”  He scoffed.  “I think it’s more likely that you’re still looking for a cheap thrill from my love life.”

She smiled.  “You don’t have a love life to get a cheap thrill from, Harry,” she said witheringly.

“Hermione, that was uncalled for,” Ron said, glaring at her.

“But, Ron –” she began, stopping when Ron held his hand up.  Mulishly, she crossed her arms and sat back.

“Harry, there is something Hermione would like to know.”  Dropping his voice, he continued, “Are you a virgin?”

Harry was horrified, torn between wanting to once again race out the door, punching either Ron or Hermione – and that urge frightened him – and just sinking into the floor.

Instead, he pinned Hermione with a hard glare.  “Why do you want to know?”

She stood slightly, planting her hands on the tabletop and invading his personal space.  “Because you’re too damn tense!”

Shock held him frozen to his chair.  Hermione had actually swore.

He turned to Ron and grinned.  “We’ve had a bad influence on her, mate.”  Ron laughed.

“She’s right, though.  You’re too tense.  You need to loosen up.  Vol-Voldemort is dead, you’re at the top of your game, you are a sex object for thousands of girls –” when Hermione nudged him hard, Ron added “– and boys.”

Hermione slowly sat down, her eyes still glued to Harry’s face.  “I want to know which of us could assist you with that.”  Harry felt his face flame.

“Wi-with what exactly?” Harry stuttered.

She leaned back in her chair, smiling wickedly.  She ran her tongue over her top lip – which did nothing but make Harry want to moan – and said, “Losing your virginity.”

That’s what he’d been afraid of.

Something tumbled inside him.  He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but he recognized part of it as nerves.  He leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table and propping his chin in his hands.  Studying them, he looked from one to the other, these friends who had been with him for so many years.

Funny, they don’t look cracked.

“Let me see if I understand you correctly:  if I prefer women, Hermione is offering herself up for my first time,” he said, trying to call their bluff.  “And if I prefer men, you’re offering yourself up, Ron?”

Though he blushed bright red, Ron held his gaze.  “Yes.”  Hermione nodded, silently echoing Ron’s answer.

Harry was stunned.  He tried his damnedest, however, not to let that show.  Excitement warred with nervous arousal within him.  And, repeating itself in his brain, was one thing:  they want me?

When he began to see spots, he realized he was hyperventilating.  He pushed away from the table and ducked his head between his knees willing himself to breathe.

He could almost hear the nervous look he knew Hermione exchanged with Ron before she said tremulously, “Harry?  Are you okay?”

He knew he had to come to some decision, quickly.  Straightening, he looked across the table at both his friends, seeing their clothing choices as strategic now rather than unusual.  Ron had dressed to tempt and Hermione to seduce.

He stood, tossing enough money to cover dinner onto the table.  “This might be the time for this discussion, but it is not the place.  Come back to my flat.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look – again – before she said, “All right, Harry.”

Surprising the wait staff once again, the trio left without eating.

Harry arrived back at his flat first, giving him a precious few minutes to think things through.  He couldn’t predict how Ron and Hermione would react to his answer.  Though they had brought the subject up and seemed willing to offering themselves up as well, he didn’t think his answer would be exactly what they had in mind.

He was pacing the kitchen when two pops sounded from the living room.

Taking a deep breath, Harry strode into the living room.  Standing just inside the doorway, he crossed his arms over his chest and answered, “Both.”

“Both?” Ron asked, confused.

“Both...of us?” Hermione clarified, her voice rising.

Harry smiled, taking careful steps toward where the two of them stood.  Gathering his courage, he slipped one hand up to Ron’s cheek, then turned to Hermione and did the same.  “Both.”

Ron swallowed nervously.  “At the same time?”

Harry’s smile turned to a wicked grin.  “Oh, yes.”

Hermione laughed, a light-hearted, amused laugh Harry couldn’t recall hearing from her in a long while.  “You’ve obviously been doing some thinking about this, haven’t you, Harry?”

He backed away, taking his hands from them, and started backwards down the short hallway that led to his bedroom.  “For years.”

“Years?” Ron mouthed.  Harry merely smiled, then turned and entered his bedroom.

He hoped he didn’t look as nervous as he felt.  He hoped he was putting on a good show of nonchalance about his virginity – and the losing of it – to Ron and Hermione.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, he watched his friends – lovers? – enter.  Hermione was almost timid, which was very uncharacteristic of her.  Ron was tentative, moving into the room and standing with his arms crossed over his chest, feet braced slightly apart.

When it didn’t appear as if either of them would move, Harry waved his hand to close the door behind Hermione.

“Does the idea bother you?” he asked softly, seeing how prickly both of them were.

They exchanged a glance, then Hermione said, “No, it’s just very different than what we’d planned on.”

“Not that it’s a bad thing,” Ron added quickly, “just different.”

Harry nodded like he understood.

A nervous tension filled the room, making Ron fidget and Harry toy with the bedspread.

“Oh, honestly,” Hermione barked.  Harry had to swallow hard when she reached behind her back for the zipper to her dress.  He heard the rasp of it as she pulled it down.  Then, with a shrug of her shoulders, the dress dropped to the floor, leaving her in only a nearly transparent, cream-colored bra, matching knickers and the red sandals.

She braced her hands on her hips, challenging Harry.  Harry, for his part, was stunned into frozen silence.  Hermione was nearly naked in his room.

Ron laughed, a low rumble, before stripping off his jumper.  He then turned to Hermione and, gathering her in his arms, kissed her.  As he watched, Harry’s mouth went dry.  He’d watched them kiss many times, but never when they were only partially dressed and knowing he was next.

With a soft moan, Ron broke the kiss and took a step backward.  Smiling to himself, he undid his belt and the fastenings on his trousers.

Before he let his trousers drop, he looked up at Harry through his lashes.  Harry’s tongue snuck out of his mouth to dampen his dry lips.  Hermione’s moan at his actions punctuated Ron’s question.  “Are you sure about this, mate?”

Was he sure?  He, The Boy Who Lived To Be A Virgin, was going to lose that tonight, with not one person but two, and not just any two people but his best friends who had known him since he was eleven.

Harry nodded decisively, a sharp jerk of his head, even as his fingers tightened further into the bedspread.

Ron grinned, then dropped his trousers to reveal dark blue silk boxers that nearly matched the jumper he’d been wearing.  Hermione, biting her lower lip, moved closer to Ron, reaching out and sliding one hand over his arse.

Wide-eyed, Harry watched.  Ron and Hermione had such an easy rapport.  Would what he was asking them to do disturb that, break it?

He was startled from his thoughts when Hermione climbed onto the bed next to him, pushing him backward until he lay flat, his knees hooked over the edge of the mattress.

His breathing sped when she tugged his shirt free of his trousers, slipping one hand underneath it and up.  Her hand was small and a little chilled, making his skin twitch in reaction.  He felt Ron climb onto the bed on his other side, but before he could turn, Hermione bent her head to capture his mouth in a kiss.

He felt light-headed with the sudden rushing of blood into his groin in reaction.  She fluttered her tongue over his lips, coaxing him to open them.  When he did, he wasn’t prepared for the result.  Her hand clenched on his chest, her fingernails scratching over one nipple reflexively as she plunged her tongue into his mouth.

He whimpered when she freed her mouth from his, bemoaning the loss of contact.  Where did she learn to kiss like that?  However, before he could think on it any further, Ron’s mouth descended upon his.

Where Hermione’s kiss was enticing him to loosen up, Ron’s was demanding.  Ron drove his tongue between Harry’s lips, forcing his mouth open.  A groan escaped Harry, then a whimper when Hermione scratched his nipple again.  Ron slid a hand under Harry’s head, holding it still so he could ravage Harry’s mouth.

Harry could barely think, so overwhelmed was he with sensation.  It only got worse when Hermione undid the buckle on his belt and pulled the belt free.  She tossed it aside and he felt the thump of it hit the mattress somewhere above his head.

Then Ron flexed his fingers against Harry’s nape, scratching him.  Harry trembled, moaning deeply in reaction.

And he realized that any moment now, if Hermione kept up her actions, she would discover his other secret.  Before he could break free of Ron’s mouth, she undid his flies.

She gasped in surprise, then moaned in appreciation.

“Ron,” she whispered hoarsely.

Ron reluctantly broke the kiss, looking at Hermione.  Then he noticed.  And groaned.

Harry didn’t wear boxers or briefs.  He didn’t wear anything.

With an almost feral growl, Hermione bent and wrapped her mouth around Harry, slowly working her lips down to the base.

“Hermione,” he moaned, arching his hips.

He tried to watch her, to see her mouth moving on him, but Ron placed a hand to his forehead, forcing him to lie flat.

“Let her work, mate,” he grinned, then went back to kissing.

I’m losing my mind, Harry thought.  Hermione is going to suck it right out of the one body part she hadn’t touched before now.

In less than a minute, Harry groaned deeply into Ron’s mouth as he came.  Hermione choked for a moment, but once Harry was done, she sat back and – when his eyes were focused on her – swallowed.

“Don’t you love the way she does that?” Ron whispered wickedly.

It was difficult to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head when Ron then pulled Hermione to him over Harry’s stomach and thrust his tongue into her mouth.  Even more difficult when Ron pulled back and asked, “Is that what he tastes like?”

Hermione nodded, then slid herself up the bed to kiss Harry.  When she drove her tongue into his mouth and tasted himself, he couldn’t hold back his groan.  He noticed only vaguely that Ron was stripping Harry from the waist down as Hermione unbuttoned his shirt and, pulling him up, slid it off his shoulders.

“You’ve been hiding yourself, mate,” Ron laughed once Harry was nude.  Harry blushed, trying to think of a way to cover himself.  Hermione grabbed his hands and, pushing him back once again, held them over his head.

“We’re going to look our fill,” she said in a low voice.  Whatever protest Harry may have had died when he felt Ron’s hands on his thighs.

“Muscles,” he murmured, kneading Harry’s thighs gently before bending his head to kiss his way between knee and groin.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Hermione asked.

Harry was suddenly glad that Ron and Hermione had knowledge of each other before now.  When he had thought about it in the past, it made him feel uncomfortably jealous.  However, now, he felt incredibly lucky for it.  Ron knew how Hermione gave a blow job and could use the knowledge against Harry.  Hermione knew how Ron kissed his way to his goal and could torment Harry with it.

Even as he closed his eyes, whimpered and arched his hips toward Ron, he thought, Yes, a very good thing.

“Who do you want first, Harry?” Hermione whispered in his ear before delicately licking the shell of it, making him shudder and tremble.

Who did he want first?  Did he want to slide himself into Hermione’s wetness, bury himself inside her, feel her clench around him?  Or did he want Ron to drive himself into his arse, to feel that sensation of being ridden, being fucked?  He’d had fantasies about both at the same time – Hermione underneath him, Ron behind him – but decided that if he felt this overwhelmed with sensation before he’d actually done the act, a true ménage a trois would be too much for the first time.

“You, Hermione,” he rasped just as Ron touched his tongue to his hardening cock.  He pulled one of his hands free from Hermione’s grasp to tangle it in Ron’s red hair.  He wasn’t sure if he was urging Ron to continue or silently asking him to back away.

Ron looked up, blue eyes fastening on green.  And grinned.  Turning to Hermione, he said in a husky voice, “He’s all yours...for now.”

For now.  Harry felt the blood rush to his groin again, making him suddenly harden uncomfortably.

Hermione, for her part, merely laughed.  “Don’t worry, I’ll share.”

Harry came to the conclusion they were trying to kill him.  He could see the headline in the Prophet already:  The Boy Who Lived Shagged to Death.

She reared back and slipped off her bra before laying back on the bed.  When she reached for her knickers, Harry stopped her.

“I want to do that,” he said.  She smiled, then bent to remove her shoes.  Harry stopped her again, this time with a grin.  “Leave them on.”

“Kinky, Harry,” Ron said, his voice low with arousal.

“I only said I was a virgin, not that I didn’t have fantasies,” he retorted, moving between Hermione’s thighs.

She wiggled, trying to entice him to move faster.  He slid his hands up her thighs, marveling at how soft her skin was, how differently she was made from he and Ron.

Ron lay on the bed next to them, one hand propping his head up, one on his hip.  “What sort of fantasies?”

Harry bent and pressed a hot kiss to Hermione’s stomach, making her twitch and moan.  He slid his hands higher, resting on her hips, toying with the elastic of her knickers.  She writhed under his hands, mewling softly.  It was making him crazy to hear those sounds from her, from Hermione, and to know that he was the cause.

“Well, there was the one about you in your school uniform,” he began, sliding his fingers under the elastic.  Ron groaned.  “Just your school uniform, no knickers.”

In the corner of his eye, Harry could see that Ron had slipped his boxers off – dear god, how was he going to fit? – and was slowly running a hand over his length.  Their eyes met, sending a frisson of lust down Harry’s spine.

Then Hermione moaned again.  Harry returned his attention to her, pulling off her knickers by ripping the sides apart.  She gasped, then whimpered, her hands moving to her breasts, her fingers pinching her nipples.  Harry was transfixed by the sight.  He didn’t know Hermione had such a sensual nature.  Even now, she was arching her hips seeking his touch.

He looked over at Ron again.  Tentatively, he asked, “Is she always like this?”  Ron smiled wickedly and nodded.  “No wonder there’s a grin on your face after you’ve been with her.”

Ron laughed, but it was apparently too much for Hermione to take.  She sat up, hooked a hand behind Harry’s neck and pulled him down on top of her.  At the last second, he managed to brace his hands on either side of her torso so he didn’t crush her.

Skin.  Soft skin.  For a moment, he reveled in feeling her tight nipples against his chest, feeling that damp triangle at the apex of her thighs against his thigh.

“I need you inside me, Harry,” she begged.  He was at a loss, but then felt her reach down and take him in her hand, her hand which was very warm now, and guide him to her entrance.  “There.  Inside me now.”

“Bossy, isn’t she?” Ron asked.

But Harry couldn’t reply.  One surge and he was buried inside her wet warmth.  It was overwhelming.  Dimly, he felt her wrap her legs around him, her heels against his arse, trying to pull him deeper.  Tentatively, he pulled back then surged forward again.

“Brilliant,” Harry gasped.  Hermione opened her eyes and smiled.  Then she squeezed the muscles surrounding him, laughing when his eyes rolled back into his head.

How could I have gone 25 years without this? he wondered as she squeezed him again.  Instinct took over at that point, driving his hips to piston himself in and out of her.  The mewling sounds she was making in the back of her throat were making him crazy, spiraling his need higher.

He had completely forgotten about Ron until he pressed a kiss to the back of Harry’s neck.

“You two look good together,” Hermione gasped.  Ron continued pressing kisses to the back of Harry’s neck, then down his spine.

It all became too much for Harry.  He was close, he knew – he’d had enough practice with his own hand to know that.

“Hermione,” he moaned.

“Yes, Harry, go ahead,” she replied, seeming to read his mind about what her moaned name meant.

He didn’t need permission twice.  He braced his hands on the mattress and drove himself hard into her, feeling that electric current through his system as he came, pouring himself into her welcoming warmth.  Vaguely, he felt her fingernails on his shoulders, her moans, her trembling, but he was caught in his own sensations.

Then it was over.  Gasping, he dropped onto his elbows and eased out of her, making her whimper.  He felt her run her hand through his hair, her fingernails eliciting a shiver of delight from him.

He felt Ron’s tongue on his back, tracing his spine upward, and moaned.  He hadn’t thought he could be aroused so quickly after climax, but Ron was proving that wrong.

“Mmm, salty,” Ron said.

“Just like something else,” Hermione leaned up and whispered in his ear.  Harry laughed, and felt her tighten around him again, making him moan.

“Oh, no, Hermione, you said you’d share,” Ron barked, pulling at Harry and rolling him onto his back between the two of them.  Harry merely stretched, feeling the cool air against his damp skin.

“Did...did you come, Hermione?” he finally managed.

“No,” she admitted.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quickly, but she brushed away his apology.

“That was for you.”  Then she grinned wickedly.  “I’ll teach you how to please me later.”

Harry thought it might be the first time he was actually looking forward to lessons.

“You’re in for it now, Harry.  Tongue lashings and everything.”  To demonstrate, Ron climbed over Harry and bent his head between Hermione’s thighs, flicking his tongue across her center.

Harry watched as Hermione tangled her hands in Ron’s hair.

“Ron,” she moaned hoarsely, trying to pull him away by his hair.  He stayed, bracing his hands on her thighs.  It looked to Harry like Ron slid his tongue inside her when she fell apart, arching hard against Ron’s mouth and nearly screaming.

So that’s what a woman’s orgasm can be like, he thought to himself, feeling his cock slowly harden again.

Ron pulled his face away, licked his lips and smiled.  Hermione only moaned, a tired sound this time.  Ron turned his attention to Harry, pulling him up and slanting his mouth possessively over Harry’s, tangling his fingers into his black strands, holding him still.

Sort of sweet, definitely different, Harry thought, tasting Hermione on Ron’s lips.  Then he didn’t think again when Ron moved his hand down to Harry’s cock.

The feel of Ron’s hand was quite different than feeling Hermione’s, it was more bold, rougher, and excited him further.  Ron rubbed his thumb over the head, his fingers stroking Harry’s length.

Harry broke the kiss, gasping, and dropped his head onto Ron’s shoulder.

He started when Ron whispered in his ear, “You inside me or me inside you?”

Harry trembled with the question.  He hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t truly realized that two men had a choice.  He shifted his gaze to meet Ron’s, amazed at how dark Ron’s eyes had become.

“You inside me,” Harry replied, groaning when Ron’s hand tightened around him in surprise.

“You are feeling adventurous tonight, aren’t you, Harry?” Ron murmured, then eased Harry back onto the bed.  He moved off the bed to his trousers, retrieved a small tube, then returned with a grin.

Not saying a word, Ron opened the tube, spread some of its contents onto his fingers, then closed the tube, tossing it aside.  He bent and kissed his way down Harry’s chest, eliciting appreciative moans.

Nothing could have prepared Harry for a moment later when he felt Ron’s fingers against his arse.  He startled, which Ron soothed by moving upward and kissing Harry on the lips.

“Relax,” he whispered, nibbling Harry’s lightly-stubbled jaw.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Harry replied, nerves and arousal making his voice tremble.  “You aren’t going to be buggered.”

“True,” Ron allowed, “but if you don’t relax, neither will you.”

“Honestly,” Hermione muttered.  Harry felt the bed shift as she moved to his other side.  “Feet flat on the bed.”

Startled, he obeyed.  Ron laughed even as he eased the first finger into Harry.  Just as Harry might have protested the invasion, Hermione straddled his mouth.  He vaguely noted she’d taken off her shoes.

“So you can have a taste, too,” she whispered wickedly.

Definitely trying to kill me, but at least I’ll die happy.

Harry reached up to part Hermione’s folds with his fingers, exposing her.  Then he lifted his head and gently flicked his tongue over her, making her shudder.

Ron wiggled the finger inside him and hit a spot that made him see stars.  Harry figured he must have groaned or moaned just right because Ron hit that spot again.

“Like that, do you?” Ron teased before easing a second finger inside.

It hurt, Harry wasn’t about to admit it didn’t hurt, but it also felt good.  Stretching, which was painful, pressure, which was uncomfortable, but also an arousal underlying it all.

For the next several minutes, Harry concentrated on relaxing for the invasion of Ron’s fingers – adding a third just hurt – even as he slid his tongue over and inside Hermione.  Between the two things, he could almost ignore how desperate his own arousal was, how hard his cock had become.

He whimpered when Ron gently pulled his fingers out then scrambled off the edge of the bed.  Harry had no opportunity to ask where Ron might have gone because Hermione flipped herself over, settling over his mouth once again but positioning her mouth so she could take his weeping cock into her mouth once again.

Before he could be overwhelmed, Ron returned, grabbing his thighs and lifting his arse slightly off the bed.  Hermione pulled back to allow Ron access.  Panic skittered across Harry’s skin when he felt Ron at his entrance.  He wondered again how in the world Ron would fit.

Ron seemed to realize this and eased in as slowly as he could, groaning with the effort it took to hold back.  Harry, for his part, was panting, both with arousal and pain.  Hermione writhed at the sensation of Harry’s breath washing over her, moaning deeply once and engulfing Harry once again.  As she did that, Ron buried himself inside Harry to the hilt.

Fire.

It was the only conscious thought through Harry’s mind when Ron began to move.  It did hurt, but the more Ron moved, the better it felt.  He wrapped his legs around Ron’s waist, silently encouraging him to move faster.

Ron gripped Harry’s hips to hold him still – at which point Hermione slid her mouth down the entire length of Harry’s cock, teasing the base of it with her tongue – and drove himself into Harry.

“Hermione,” Harry panted.  She seemed to understand once again that he was close and rolled off him.  He began to protest until she turned and straddled his waist, lowering herself onto his cock.

He clutched her thighs, unable to loosen his grip even though he knew he must have been causing her pain.  She only moaned in response, pistoning herself over him.

Harry opened his eyes, meeting her brown ones.  He had a fleeting thought that they looked more like melted chocolate, but that quickly fled his mind when she clamped down around him as Ron swept her hair back and nibbled the back of her neck.

The sight of them together when the three of them were so intimately joined was too much for Harry.  With a hoarse shout, he came, driving himself upward into Hermione.  Ron slipped one hand around Hermione, fingering her and driving her over the edge just after Harry.

Still buried inside Harry, Ron let he and Hermione relax.  Watching Hermione roll to the side, he grinned, tightened his grip and drove into Harry.

“Is he hurting you?” Hermione whispered in Harry’s ear after he groaned again.

“No,” Harry barked.  He might be sore in the morning, but at that moment he needed whatever Ron was doing.

“You two look hot, you know,” she continued.

“Hermione, you’re bad,” Ron said, slightly breathless.  She merely grinned, then reached down to grip Harry, stroking him in counterpoint to Ron’s thrusts.

“That’s it,” Ron urged, voice low.  “One more time for me, Harry.”

That growl in Ron’s voice was Harry’s undoing for the last time.  When he came for the fourth time, it was with a deep groan, spilling over Hermione’s hand and blacking out.

When he awoke, he found himself under the blankets and snuggled between Hermione and Ron.  Reaching up, he pulled her hair out of his mouth.  She murmured incoherently and rolled onto her back.

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.  The blankets fell away when she moved, leaving her breasts bare.  Only then did he notice all three of them were nude.  He watched her breathe, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her nipples hardening in the cool air of the bedroom.

He nearly jumped when Ron whispered in his ear, “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Harry whispered in return.

“This was her idea, you know.”

Harry had reckoned as much.  “I doubt her idea was the three of us, though.”

Ron chuckled softly.  “You’d have to ask her, mate.”  He slithered his hand down to wrap around Harry’s hardening cock.  “I certainly don’t mind.”

Harry flipped over within Ron’s embrace and pinned the redhead to the bed.  With a wicked grin, he bent and hovered his lips just above Ron’s mouth, licking the bottom one with the tip of his tongue.  When he straddled Ron, their erections brushed, making each of them moan.

Just before capturing Ron’s mouth in a bruising kiss, Harry replied, “I don’t mind either.”