Ron knew there used to be a time he could take a shower without thinking of Harry, just as there used to be a time he could wank without thinking about Hermione, he just couldn’t remember when that time was.

When he felt the water sluice over his body, down his shoulders, his chest and into the hair around his cock, he now could only think of how Harry loved to trace those water droplets with his tongue, how Harry would follow the rivulets down until he engulfed Ron’s cock in his mouth.  Then Ron didn’t think at all.

When he lay alone in bed, one hand stroking up and down his cock, he could only remember the feel of Hermione’s small hand as she tried to encircle him but was unable.  Not to be defeated, she slithered down his body, wrapped both hands around the base of his cock, and took the head into her mouth.  Ron met her eyes and didn’t think at all.

When he tried to indulge his voyeuristic fantasy about watching someone without their knowledge, he could only recall the time he encountered Harry and Hermione in the kitchen as he bent her over the table and fucked her mercilessly, listened as she begged for more.

With that last memory, he came, grunting, over his hand.  The water washed him clean but the climax hadn’t eased any of the tension inside him.  With only a towel around his waist, he stalked to the bedroom where his lovers still slept despite the fact it was his flat.

“That’s it!” he nearly shouted, startling both Harry and Hermione awake.  Harry blinked owlishly at him before grabbing his glasses; Hermione, out of habit, pulled the sheets to her chin.  They were both sleep-tousled and Ron wanted nothing more than to climb into bed with them and lose himself in them.

“We have to move in together.  I can’t take this any more.”

Harry grinned, tugged the sheets from Hermione and patted the bed between them.  “I have a place ready for all of us,” he murmured, eyes glittering like jewels as he watched Ron crawl up the bed.  Hermione whimpered.  “I’ve just been waiting for you.”