She knew, intellectually, that they weren’t doing it on purpose.  That didn’t stop her hormones though.  She was trying to concentrate on the ancient Black tome that was damn near crumbling in her hands, trying to come up with some information about the missing Horcruxes.

But her eyes kept drifting to the couch.  Specifically, to the boys on the couch.  And every time her eyes drifted over, her concentration was shot to hell and she felt so very warm she could have walked outside in the early fall rain and been fine.

Ron took up the far left third of the couch.  He was, surprisingly, engrossed in a book, just as Harry was.  Ron’s shirt advertised the Chudley Cannons, frayed at the sleeves and too small.  His jeans stretched over his muscular thighs and gripped his calves in such a way that Hermione wondered if he’d had to charm them before he could put them on.  Added to that was the fact they were nearly threadbare in some places from frequent washings.

She wouldn’t think about the place high on his left thigh...that place that she thought if she tilted her head just the right way....

Huffing, she tried to settle herself on the floor once again.  Her own jeans were tight against her center but she’d resisted the urge to discreetly rub that inseam against her nub.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the boys exchange a look then return to reading.

Further movement distracted her once again.  Harry had begun to swing his foot.  His bare foot.  He and Ron were both barefoot.  It made Hermione want to suck each one of their toes before....

She huffed and shifted again.

Harry’s jeans were just as threadbare.  She thought they might have been his cousin Dudley’s at one point, but were now so old and so worn they fit Harry like a second skin.  His black t-shirt appeared to be painted on him, at least a size too small since it had been purchased at the beginning of summer.

Another huff, another shift.  Her nipples were stiff, the fabric of her bra arousing them further with every movement.

Harry’s foot continued its arc, heel to the floor then toes to the arm of the couch before moving back again.

With her next impatient shift, she noticed Harry’s head was practically on Ron’s thigh.  Ron’s muscular, jean-clad thigh.  Harry’s dark hair looked good there.  Too good.

Harry’s foot hit the couch in his next arc, hit it with enough force to make him wince and drop the book he’d been reading onto his chest.

Because the only thing she wanted to do was to caress that foot, kiss it to make it better, she huffed angrily and jumped to her feet.  Throwing her notes at the boys, she growled, “You’re making too much noise!”

She stormed out of the room on a wave of sexual frustration.  All three of them had engaged in heavy petting but they’d not made love yet.  Though if I were honest with myself, Hermione thought, it would just be dirty sex right now and it would be wonderful.

Her heavy footfalls on the stairs masked the sound of the boys ascending behind her.  Her intent was to get herself off in her room, then take a cold shower and do it again.

A squeal escaped her when Ron pinned her to the wall at the top of the stairs, hands stretched over her head so she couldn’t hex him.  He learned his lesson the second day at Grimmauld Place after destroying Hufflepuff’s Cup when she Stunned him, sending him down the staircase head over arse.

“What is your problem, Hermione?” Ron demanded, standing well within her personal space.  Harry stood to her right, the stairs on her left.  She hazarded a glance at Harry, a small whimper of breath escaping her when she saw his arms crossed over his chest, his forearms flexing as if he was resisting the urge to do something.

Harry’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses.  She felt her face heat as his eyes scanned her body.

“She’s horny, Ron,” Harry said, sparing her a reply.

“What?” Ron said, confused, turning to Harry.

Harry grinned.  “Look at her nipples.”

Her arousal and embarrassment rose in equal measure as they took in the sight of her nipples straining against her shirt, made more apparent by the way Ron had her pinned.

Ron turned back to her, taking a step closer.  She could almost feel the heat radiating from him as he loomed over her.  Yet all she could think about was running a finger between those frayed threads near the crotch of his jeans to stroke him.

“So she is,” Ron murmured.  With a wicked smile, he bent his head and captured Hermione’s lips, kissing her hard.

She struggled in his grasp, though she wasn’t sure if it was to be freed to continue into her room or to be freed so she could wrap herself around him and demand he relieve her ache.

Ron broke the kiss, leaving her both breathless and restless.  She wanted them, both of them, right now.  She knew how to relieve her own ache but wanted them to do it for her.  This awareness of them had been there all summer.  Well, were she honest with herself, she would admit the awareness of Ron had been present for longer than that, but the awareness of Harry was a new thing.  The awareness of them began after one of Harry’s frequent nightmares when she awoke to see Ron carding his finger through Harry’s hair to soothe him.

A whimper escaped her.  Her clothing was driving her mad; her jeans taunted her with a gentle pressure against her center, her bra bound her breasts until they felt like nerve bundles encased in cotton.

“I think the witch has an itch,” Harry said, his grin widening.

Ron released her hands, bent down and hefted her over his shoulder.  She would normally vociferously protest the treatment, but this angle gave her a great view of his denim-clad arse.  She smacked it for good measure, making him yelp and Harry laugh.

He carried her into the room he and Harry shared, tossing her unceremoniously onto Harry’s bed.  Before she could shove her hair out of her face or even sit up, the boys descended.

Harry crawled slowly over her, trailing his hand over her chest and covering her mouth with his.  Ron, not to be outdone, moved to her other side and began to caress her center through her jeans.

It took less than a minute for her to come, but it didn’t ease the arousal within her.  If anything, it made it worse, made her skin hypersensitive.  A soft moan escaped her when both boys slid their hands under her shirt.

The three of them – or even Hermione individually with each of them – had fooled around with their clothing on over the summer.  She wanted more than that now.  When Harry’s hand slid under her bra, she moaned and arched upward into his touch.

“Off,” she growled, “clothes off now.”

“You sure?” Ron asked.

“Now!”

Harry lifted his head and looked at Ron.  “You heard her.”  He released her, his hands moving to the bottom hem of his shirt, when she stilled him.

“My clothes off, yours stay on.”  Her voice was breathy and, given how Ron shifted against her leg, aroused them.

“Kinky,” Ron murmured, reaching for the fastenings on her jeans.

Some part of her was aware she was writhing wantonly between her best friends – and soon-to-be lovers – but the bit of logic she still retained told her it was because she was due to start her courses in two days.  She always became aroused at the smallest thing – the way Ron’s hair could fall across his forehead, the way Harry chewed on his lip when he concentrated – in those few days.

She lifted her hips so Ron could pull her jeans down, then sat up so Harry could pull her shirt off.  Her bra, while simple white cotton, was made of lace.  When Harry realized he could see her nipples, stiff and eager for his touch, through the cups, he moaned softly.  Ron tossed her jeans aside, then stared.  Until now, all their groping had been above clothes.  Well, her clothes at least.  She’d had her hands all over the boys.  She knew her knickers were damp, she’d felt it against the seam of her jeans.  She briefly wondered if it made her knickers transparent.

That thought left her mind when Harry bent down again and captured her mouth.  While he kissed her frantically, his hands made their way around her back to the clasp of her bra.  The ease with which he undid the clasp amused her – Ginny hadn’t told her everything about what she and Harry had done.

Amusement fled when he pulled her bra off and cupped her breasts in his calloused palms, thumbing her hardened nipples.  She broke the kiss to gasp.  He was entirely too knowledgeable about his actions, but she wasn’t going to say a thing except more.

The blood fled her brain when she felt Ron’s hands spread her thighs.  His hair tickled the insides of her thighs when he bent his head.  Then he sniffed deeply.

She slammed her hands to the mattress, arched upward hard and came.  Before she recovered, Ron had removed her knickers and was sliding one finger against her clit.  It was inexpert and a bit too rough for her taste, but she was beyond protest, lost in a world of sensation.

She wanted to grab Ron’s head, to force his mouth where his finger was, but she couldn’t reach that far.  Instead, she tangled one hand tightly into Harry’s hair, so tightly that she had to be hurting him, but his soft moan indicated he liked the roughness.  With tugs and pushes, she indicated he should move his mouth to her breast.  When he latched onto a nipple and sucked hard, sensation shot through her feeling as if there was a direct connection between her nipples and her clit.

“More,” she breathlessly demanded.  Ron stilled her restless legs with his hands.  It aroused her further to feel his damp fingertip against her thigh.  She had only a moment to process the sensation of Ron’s stubble against her inner thigh before the tip of his tongue teased her clit.

“Put a finger inside her,” Harry said, roughly pinching her other nipple.

Ron lifted his head.  “What?”

“Two fingers inside her, Ron,” he said.

She moaned when she felt Harry’s hand slide down her stomach, then to her thigh.  Harry grabbed Ron’s hand and brought it to her center.  Manipulating Ron’s hand a bit, he then took two of Ron’s fingers and moved them to her opening.  She spread her legs further apart to allow them better access.  She needed them, something, anything, to ease this ache.  Pain and delicious fire speared through her when Harry guided Ron’s two fingers and one of his own inside her.  She was wet enough but not quite ready for that intrusion.  The pain was welcome, though and, she knew from experience with her own fingers, that the pain would lessen soon.

“Inside, then out,” Harry instructed, sliding his finger out.  She moaned incoherently.  Ron followed suit, pulling his fingers back then sliding them inside again.  She whimpered.  Harry pulled his finger out, then moved his head back so she could see:  he’d held that finger to Ron’s lips and Ron sucked it into his mouth.

“Oh,” she moaned, closing her eyes and panting.

Harry grinned at her briefly, then bent his head once again to suckle her.  When she felt Harry’s damp finger against her stomach and Ron’s tongue against her clit again, it was too much.  Panting and writhing between them, she came once again.

She was beginning to feel wrung out, but still on edge.  Her entire body ached with need.  She wanted them.  She wanted those tight, tight jeans to be tugged off, she wanted those too small t-shirts yanked over their heads, she wanted their sweaty male skin against hers.  She wanted them.

“Naked,” she whispered.

They both lifted their heads, questions in their eyes.  The dampness, her dampness, on Ron’s chin was enough to eliminate the doubt for now.  She might reconsider afterward, but not right now.

“Naked,” she repeated.  “Now.”

Ron pulled his fingers from her slowly, tormenting her and eliciting a deep moan.  Harry grabbed his hand once it was free and sucked Ron’s fingers into his mouth.  Hermione responded by sliding her hand down her stomach to rub her clit with two fingers.

“That’s hot,” Ron moaned.

“Naked!” she demanded, arching her hips.

With a few grunts and a good-natured elbow in the ribs between them, the boys climbed off the bed.

“Undress each other,” she panted.  She wanted to see them remove each other’s clothing, to watch Ron’s hands slide up Harry’s ribcage, to watch Harry’s hands slide into Ron’s waistband.

Her fingers moved faster as she watched.  It was her fantasy come to life.  She hadn’t expected the boys to be so easy with each other – for all you know, Hermione, they could have been shagging for a year – so the last thing she was going to do was question it.

Harry tugged on Ron’s shirt first, pulling it up and off to reveal Ron’s chest.  During their hunt for the Horcruxes, Ron had taken up some heavy lifting.  It had served to fill out his chest and bulk his arms somewhat.  His skin was lightly dusted with freckles, a scattering of hair across his chest.  Before she could study him more, he practically pounced on Harry, yanking his shirt over his head with such force that a seam ripped.

She rolled slightly to her side, fingers moving more slowly as she savored the sight of both of them half-naked.  She stilled entirely when Harry dragged Ron toward himself, tangled his hands in that red hair and kissed him.

They have been shagging.

Her fourth climax took her by surprise, overwhelming her senses.  The idea that they’d been together, that they been intimate, was as arousing as watching them earlier.  When she became aware again, her boys were bracketing her on either side, all three of them gloriously naked.

“You look beautiful when you come,” Ron whispered as he moved between her legs.

She had done this exactly once with a boy whose name she no longer remembered.  Since he’d been a Muggle, someone her parents set her up with, she doubted she’d see him again in any case.  That experience had taught her that boys don’t last long and she could expect little enjoyment from the act itself.

As Ron slowly entered her, Harry captured her mouth in a carnal kiss.  He mimicked Ron’s motions with his tongue, thrusting into her mouth as Ron thrust into her.  Her hands fluttered on the blankets before catching and clutching them tightly.  This experience had already wildly exceeded her expectations...but not about one thing:  when she wrapped her legs around Ron’s waist, and clenched around him, he came.

Before she could be disappointed, Ron pulled out and Harry took his place.  Something about having sex with two men, making love with two men, at once sent that thrill through her, that special shiver rocketing through her that she was doing something she shouldn’t.  Despite her words to the boys most days – she thought it was her place to at least attempt to be the voice of reason – she did like breaking some rules.  If she didn’t, the Sorting Hat would have put her in Ravenclaw rather than Gryffindor.

So moaning deeply as Ron kissed Harry while he had sloppy seconds with her tripped those wicked, rule-breaking circuits.  They each took one of her breasts into their hands, kneading them differently, rolling and pinching her nipples differently.  She was slowly becoming a mass of sensation once again, sensation concentrated on Harry’s cock and three hands for Ron’s fingers were rubbing her clit even as Harry drove his cock into her.

“Come for us, Hermione,” Ron murmured in her ear.  “I would have lasted longer, but I’ve wanted you for so long that I couldn’t take it any more.  Though, if you keep moaning like that, I’ll be hard again when Harry’s done.”  A broken whimper escaped her as she tossed her head from side to side.  “Would you like that?  To spend all afternoon at our mercy?”

“Fuck, Ron,” Harry growled.  Both his hands were now on Hermione’s hips, holding her still.  “Keep that up and I won’t last either.”

Hermione took a gasping breath.  “You...together...watch....”

The mental image of that, of Harry face-first against the wall, Ron behind him, driving into him while whispering dirty things in his ear, sent her tumbling toward her fifth climax.  Her entire body stiffened, her hands clutching the blankets so tightly her knuckles turned white, her core clenching Harry’s cock so tightly that it took only one more thrust to have him climaxing within her as well.

Before she could process that, to regain her senses, Ron said softly, “You want to watch Harry and I together?”  She whimpered, unable to vocalize a reply.  Ron laughed darkly.  “I think we can arrange that.”

Harry collapsed onto the mattress between her and Ron.  “After I recover,” he groaned.

Hermione sighed deeply, then sat up.  She was light-headed for a moment so thrust a hand against the wall to steady herself.  Her eyes trailed down Harry’s chest – no hair or freckles there – before widening when she saw Ron’s hand wrapped around Harry’s cock.

“You’re eighteen, it won’t take that long,” Ron laughed.

Harry growled and flung himself backward, landing both boys on the floor.  They wrestled until Ron pinned Harry face-down on the rug.  Harry murmured a spell Hermione was annoyed she didn’t know.  Her eyes widened, shocked, as she watched Ron drive into Harry with much more force than they’d used with her.  Her fingers twitched with the urge to rub her clit.  Watching them, hearing them groan, hearing their skin slap together, all of it was primal and rough.

A melting sensation spilled through her when Ron bit the back of Harry’s neck, making him come.  A moment later, a shove and grunt, and Ron came as well.

“When did we become hedonists?” Hermione asked softly, flopping back against the mattress.

“No big words, Hermione,” Ron mumbled, rolling off Harry’s back.

Harry merely grunted, “If it means enjoying sex, I’d say a while ago.”

“I feel debauched,” she added.  Now that she was alone on the bed, though naked with an uncomfortable dampness between her thighs, her arousal was cooling.

Until she felt a hand on her ankle, tugging her off the bed.  The boys cuddled her between them, slowly stoking that fire within her once more.  She wasn’t sure if she was shocked or amused when she felt them hardening again.

I can probably handle them once more before I have to look up spells for soreness.

“What brought this on, Hermione?” Harry asked, sliding his hand up her ribcage.

“Your jeans,” she hissed, arching into Harry’s palm as he cupped her breast again.

Ron kissed the back of her neck.  “Then we’ll have to wear them more often.”

She wasn’t sure if she moaned or groaned, but it didn’t matter once Ron muttered a cleaning charm and slipped inside her again.