FIC: 'Kismet', Harry/Ron/Draco
Many thanks to underlucius for inviting me to post my story here. :)
Title: Kismet
Pairings: Harry/Ron/Draco (sort of), Harry/Ron, Harry/Draco
Rating: Adult
Summary: Harry sees only what he wants to see.
Warnings: Uh. Infidelity? Coitus interruptus. Voyeuristic thoughts.
Spoilers: None for HBP.
Kismet
Harry tastes a foreign tang on Ron's cock. It's ridiculous, of
course, because it's not like you can taste someone else's saliva on your
lover's skin--not even if said lover stays over at the Ministry more nights than
not, not even if Harry knows that Ron's probably fucking someone else, because
Harry's not stupid, and Ron's smiles are almost too comfortable over breakfast
these days. I love you, Ron whispers into Harry's ear, although he never
used to say it before--whispers it as though Harry's the one straying,
the one coming back with a smell on his skin just a little too clean, as if a
spell's been cast over it.
Harry pushes Ron onto his back and sucks his cock gently,
thoroughly, sliding careful hands along the sharp rises of Ron's hipbones, the
freckled curves of his thighs. I'll make you come. Harry sucks Ron like
they're still back at school, still boys trying this out for the first time, and
when Ron's gasping Harry finally stops what he's doing and climbs onto Ron
instead, lowering himself onto Ron's cock, fucking Ron slowly and stroking his
own prick, keeping one hand always on Ron's heartbeat, and then on the pulse of
his neck, so that when Ron comes it is with Harry's hand against his throat,
gentle as a threat.
*
Malfoy meets them in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, scowling
into his cup of tea. 'You're bloody late,' he says to them before giving them
what they need--names, dates, coordinates--but not too much in case Voldemort
suspects. Harry notices that Malfoy's hair is pale in the dull light, that his
hands are pale on the table's dark wood--that Malfoy's avoiding Harry's gaze but
not Ron's, and that Ron's face is pale too, paler than usual, jaw clenched and
eyes narrowed as he takes in every word Malfoy says.
It's hatred, Harry knows, of course it is--that's all Ron feels
for Malfoy, ruddy fucking Malfoy who probably thinks he can take this
away from Harry, doesn't he, some sort of stupid revenge for losing every
Quidditch match to Harry all those years ago. Ron still hates Malfoy, Harry's
quite sure of that; yeah, of course he does, Malfoy in his tall dark cloak with
the Mark curling on his arm, his spiteful eyes the colour of dull metal, of
mercury. Poison. Malfoy's doing this, causing this, whatever it is--and
Harry's suddenly sure that Ron's not spending nights at the Ministry at all, but
using their Floo password to get into Grimmauld Place at pre-determined
times--where he shags Malfoy against the rotting walls, lifting Malfoy's legs
about his waist, grunting like something foreign, like an animal. Perhaps that's
why Draco's selling himself to the Order. Selling himself like a whore, white
thighs parted for Ron's shadowed shape--eyes glinting at Harry over Ron's
shoulder, taunting him.
*
That's the image, at last, that leads Harry to Grimmauld
Place--later that week, after Ron's sent him another owl about being late at the
Ministry tonight. It doesn't occur to Harry to notice that Ron isn't there when
he finally finds Malfoy in what used to be Snape's room. It doesn't occur to him
to notice the startled shine of Malfoy's eyes in the dark, his bark of: 'Potter?
What are you--' before he grabs Malfoy by the neck and throws him against the
wall.
'Wait,' Malfoy says as he tries to break out of Harry's grip,
'wait--' But Harry doesn't listen, only saying, 'Do you know what he tastes
like, now? Do you?' before kissing Draco to find out, kissing him hard, forcing
Draco's mouth open with his tongue.
Ron still belongs to him. Of course he does. Now this bit of
Ron, whatever he leaves with Draco, belongs to Harry too--at least that's what
Harry tells himself, that's the reason he keeps coming back here. That's why he
returns whenever he manages to confirm that Ron does have work at the
Ministry, whenever Ron's assigned a mission from the Order that's made plain to
them all at a meeting. That's why he returns to fuck Malfoy again, and again,
and again--against the wall, just like a whore, because Malfoy's a whore who
moans no matter who fucks him, and he deserves nothing better. That's why he
stays inside Malfoy even after he's come, pressing slow bites into Malfoy's
throat--that's why he reaches down and wanks Malfoy off with a rough, callused
hand, feeling the wool of Draco's lifted robes rasp against his wrist.
*
It's kismet, perhaps. Kismet that Harry and Ron should meet,
entering or leaving Grimmauld's rancid air--kismet that one of them should be
found out by the other, discovered, until there were no secrets left to keep.
Strangely enough, Harry never expects it to be him--never thinks that
he'll be the one caught with his pants down, his prick in Draco's arse--never
thinks that Ron will be the one standing in the doorway, wand drawn and knuckles
white around it, eyes wide as Malfoy looks at him over Harry's moving shoulder,
as Harry doesn't care to stop.
Harry's surprised that Ron leaves then, and that he
himself doesn't follow--instead he stays inside Malfoy, fucking him as slowly as
he used to fuck Ron, pulling out only when he feels his own come clinging
stickily to Malfoy's thighs. 'Potter,' Malfoy says afterwards, voice careful,
heavy with thoughts--but Harry doesn't bother listening, because he doesn't
listen to whores. He only belts his trousers and picks up his wand and Floos
back home--home to Ron, who sits on the edge of their bed saying: 'I knew it, I
knew it,' and who almost doesn't respond when Harry kisses him gently, kisses
him with the taste of Malfoy in his mouth.
*
Harry doesn't expect Ron to leave their apartment as well. Not
so quietly, not without a fight--although Ron had spoken to Harry, last night,
asking Harry if he'd really wanted Malfoy all along.
Still, the bedroom isn't that empty, the walls not too silent
now that Ron has left. He's probably living with Bill now, because Fleur had
died last year and Bill's always willing to have someone over to help with his
son. Harry doesn't make a firecall to Bill's home, doesn't send an owl--and Ron
doesn't send any owls either, although they do see each other at Order meetings,
where they often chance to see Malfoy too. Harry keeps returning to fuck Malfoy,
strangely relieved that he doesn't have to be careful anymore--that he's the
only one fucking Malfoy, that there are no shifting boundaries now, no taste of
foreignness to jar him out of every fuck. He keeps returning although he doesn't
like how Malfoy looks at him now--doesn't like how Malfoy sucks his cock,
doesn't like how much of victory there is in the shape of Malfoy's mouth, how
Malfoy's eyes glitter in the dark.
*
It's only several months later, when Ron's moved in with one of
the newest additions to the Order, an Auror only recently graduated, that Harry
cares to listen to what Malfoy says. Harry thinks of Ron fucking someone else,
waking up with someone else, and lets Malfoy into his apartment at last. They
fuck more often then, on a proper bed instead of against a wall or chair--and
it's only when Malfoy sleeps that Malfoy's mind is open enough to look into, to
understand, and Harry wonders why Malfoy's never told him that Ron never fucked
Malfoy at all.
Ron starts talking to him again, during meetings, as though
Harry were just another member of the Order--and on those days Harry lets Malfoy
fuck him, sitting astride Malfoy's thighs and riding him slowly, hearing Malfoy's
gasp as he comes. When Harry finally falls asleep it is with his palm against
Malfoy's throat, feeling out the pulse, but when he wakes up it is with the
memory of Ron's come in his mouth.
FIN
Please review.
Title: Kismet
Pairings: Harry/Ron/Draco (sort of), Harry/Ron, Harry/Draco
Rating: Adult
Summary: Harry sees only what he wants to see.
Warnings: Uh. Infidelity? Coitus interruptus. Voyeuristic thoughts.
Spoilers: None for HBP.
Kismet
Harry tastes a foreign tang on Ron's cock. It's ridiculous, of
course, because it's not like you can taste someone else's saliva on your
lover's skin--not even if said lover stays over at the Ministry more nights than
not, not even if Harry knows that Ron's probably fucking someone else, because
Harry's not stupid, and Ron's smiles are almost too comfortable over breakfast
these days. I love you, Ron whispers into Harry's ear, although he never
used to say it before--whispers it as though Harry's the one straying,
the one coming back with a smell on his skin just a little too clean, as if a
spell's been cast over it.
Harry pushes Ron onto his back and sucks his cock gently,
thoroughly, sliding careful hands along the sharp rises of Ron's hipbones, the
freckled curves of his thighs. I'll make you come. Harry sucks Ron like
they're still back at school, still boys trying this out for the first time, and
when Ron's gasping Harry finally stops what he's doing and climbs onto Ron
instead, lowering himself onto Ron's cock, fucking Ron slowly and stroking his
own prick, keeping one hand always on Ron's heartbeat, and then on the pulse of
his neck, so that when Ron comes it is with Harry's hand against his throat,
gentle as a threat.
*
Malfoy meets them in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, scowling
into his cup of tea. 'You're bloody late,' he says to them before giving them
what they need--names, dates, coordinates--but not too much in case Voldemort
suspects. Harry notices that Malfoy's hair is pale in the dull light, that his
hands are pale on the table's dark wood--that Malfoy's avoiding Harry's gaze but
not Ron's, and that Ron's face is pale too, paler than usual, jaw clenched and
eyes narrowed as he takes in every word Malfoy says.
It's hatred, Harry knows, of course it is--that's all Ron feels
for Malfoy, ruddy fucking Malfoy who probably thinks he can take this
away from Harry, doesn't he, some sort of stupid revenge for losing every
Quidditch match to Harry all those years ago. Ron still hates Malfoy, Harry's
quite sure of that; yeah, of course he does, Malfoy in his tall dark cloak with
the Mark curling on his arm, his spiteful eyes the colour of dull metal, of
mercury. Poison. Malfoy's doing this, causing this, whatever it is--and
Harry's suddenly sure that Ron's not spending nights at the Ministry at all, but
using their Floo password to get into Grimmauld Place at pre-determined
times--where he shags Malfoy against the rotting walls, lifting Malfoy's legs
about his waist, grunting like something foreign, like an animal. Perhaps that's
why Draco's selling himself to the Order. Selling himself like a whore, white
thighs parted for Ron's shadowed shape--eyes glinting at Harry over Ron's
shoulder, taunting him.
*
That's the image, at last, that leads Harry to Grimmauld
Place--later that week, after Ron's sent him another owl about being late at the
Ministry tonight. It doesn't occur to Harry to notice that Ron isn't there when
he finally finds Malfoy in what used to be Snape's room. It doesn't occur to him
to notice the startled shine of Malfoy's eyes in the dark, his bark of: 'Potter?
What are you--' before he grabs Malfoy by the neck and throws him against the
wall.
'Wait,' Malfoy says as he tries to break out of Harry's grip,
'wait--' But Harry doesn't listen, only saying, 'Do you know what he tastes
like, now? Do you?' before kissing Draco to find out, kissing him hard, forcing
Draco's mouth open with his tongue.
Ron still belongs to him. Of course he does. Now this bit of
Ron, whatever he leaves with Draco, belongs to Harry too--at least that's what
Harry tells himself, that's the reason he keeps coming back here. That's why he
returns whenever he manages to confirm that Ron does have work at the
Ministry, whenever Ron's assigned a mission from the Order that's made plain to
them all at a meeting. That's why he returns to fuck Malfoy again, and again,
and again--against the wall, just like a whore, because Malfoy's a whore who
moans no matter who fucks him, and he deserves nothing better. That's why he
stays inside Malfoy even after he's come, pressing slow bites into Malfoy's
throat--that's why he reaches down and wanks Malfoy off with a rough, callused
hand, feeling the wool of Draco's lifted robes rasp against his wrist.
*
It's kismet, perhaps. Kismet that Harry and Ron should meet,
entering or leaving Grimmauld's rancid air--kismet that one of them should be
found out by the other, discovered, until there were no secrets left to keep.
Strangely enough, Harry never expects it to be him--never thinks that
he'll be the one caught with his pants down, his prick in Draco's arse--never
thinks that Ron will be the one standing in the doorway, wand drawn and knuckles
white around it, eyes wide as Malfoy looks at him over Harry's moving shoulder,
as Harry doesn't care to stop.
Harry's surprised that Ron leaves then, and that he
himself doesn't follow--instead he stays inside Malfoy, fucking him as slowly as
he used to fuck Ron, pulling out only when he feels his own come clinging
stickily to Malfoy's thighs. 'Potter,' Malfoy says afterwards, voice careful,
heavy with thoughts--but Harry doesn't bother listening, because he doesn't
listen to whores. He only belts his trousers and picks up his wand and Floos
back home--home to Ron, who sits on the edge of their bed saying: 'I knew it, I
knew it,' and who almost doesn't respond when Harry kisses him gently, kisses
him with the taste of Malfoy in his mouth.
*
Harry doesn't expect Ron to leave their apartment as well. Not
so quietly, not without a fight--although Ron had spoken to Harry, last night,
asking Harry if he'd really wanted Malfoy all along.
Still, the bedroom isn't that empty, the walls not too silent
now that Ron has left. He's probably living with Bill now, because Fleur had
died last year and Bill's always willing to have someone over to help with his
son. Harry doesn't make a firecall to Bill's home, doesn't send an owl--and Ron
doesn't send any owls either, although they do see each other at Order meetings,
where they often chance to see Malfoy too. Harry keeps returning to fuck Malfoy,
strangely relieved that he doesn't have to be careful anymore--that he's the
only one fucking Malfoy, that there are no shifting boundaries now, no taste of
foreignness to jar him out of every fuck. He keeps returning although he doesn't
like how Malfoy looks at him now--doesn't like how Malfoy sucks his cock,
doesn't like how much of victory there is in the shape of Malfoy's mouth, how
Malfoy's eyes glitter in the dark.
*
It's only several months later, when Ron's moved in with one of
the newest additions to the Order, an Auror only recently graduated, that Harry
cares to listen to what Malfoy says. Harry thinks of Ron fucking someone else,
waking up with someone else, and lets Malfoy into his apartment at last. They
fuck more often then, on a proper bed instead of against a wall or chair--and
it's only when Malfoy sleeps that Malfoy's mind is open enough to look into, to
understand, and Harry wonders why Malfoy's never told him that Ron never fucked
Malfoy at all.
Ron starts talking to him again, during meetings, as though
Harry were just another member of the Order--and on those days Harry lets Malfoy
fuck him, sitting astride Malfoy's thighs and riding him slowly, hearing Malfoy's
gasp as he comes. When Harry finally falls asleep it is with his palm against
Malfoy's throat, feeling out the pulse, but when he wakes up it is with the
memory of Ron's come in his mouth.
FIN
Please review.