December Ficlet - 10
For desfinado who wanted HP: Ron/Harry/Hermione
She blames the Horcrux.
She’s not wearing it right now, Ron is. She can see it dangling from his neck as he thrusts into Harry, bending him over the side of the cot until they look like one, just shocks of dark and red hair to tell them apart. Even that’s not easy, sweat matting Ron’s ginger hair to brown, both wide sets of shoulders braced, muscles quivering with tension and need.
The air feels like it’s on fire, boiling over with all the emotions inside the locket, and it makes perfect sense for Harry to be gasping, aching for air in his lungs that the heat just burns away. She wants to help him, give him air, breath into his lungs and fill him up with it like Ron is filling him with his prick. She wants to breathe for him, feel him, be him until there’s nothing separating them either, until they’re one and one and one and three, so she strips off her clothes, hair falling over her shoulders as she walks to the cot, spreading out her legs so they rest on Harry’s hands, opening her up to him.
Harry’s glasses are askew and he’s panting, begging, and Hermione eases them off his nose, folding them neatly to the side before sliding her hands through Harry’s damp hair and pulling him in, burying his mouth against the heat of her. He begs against her skin and then he’s tasting her, tongue sliding over her and inside her and it’s perfect, it’s everything as she reaches out and wraps her fist around the locket chain, pulling Ron deeper inside Harry as he meets her for a kiss.
She blames the Horcrux.
She’s not wearing it right now, Ron is. She can see it dangling from his neck as he thrusts into Harry, bending him over the side of the cot until they look like one, just shocks of dark and red hair to tell them apart. Even that’s not easy, sweat matting Ron’s ginger hair to brown, both wide sets of shoulders braced, muscles quivering with tension and need.
The air feels like it’s on fire, boiling over with all the emotions inside the locket, and it makes perfect sense for Harry to be gasping, aching for air in his lungs that the heat just burns away. She wants to help him, give him air, breath into his lungs and fill him up with it like Ron is filling him with his prick. She wants to breathe for him, feel him, be him until there’s nothing separating them either, until they’re one and one and one and three, so she strips off her clothes, hair falling over her shoulders as she walks to the cot, spreading out her legs so they rest on Harry’s hands, opening her up to him.
Harry’s glasses are askew and he’s panting, begging, and Hermione eases them off his nose, folding them neatly to the side before sliding her hands through Harry’s damp hair and pulling him in, burying his mouth against the heat of her. He begs against her skin and then he’s tasting her, tongue sliding over her and inside her and it’s perfect, it’s everything as she reaches out and wraps her fist around the locket chain, pulling Ron deeper inside Harry as he meets her for a kiss.