Skin Against Skin
Author: Sophie Richard (srichard)
Challenge: Written for the "At Hogwarts" challenge: "The Weasleys disapprove of the Trio."
Title: Skin Against Skin
Summary: One summer at Grimmauld Place, the trio take their relationship to the next level, to the dismay of the Weasleys.
Warning: Underaged sexuality.
Word Count: 2,929
Rating: NC-17
Hermione, Harry and Ron listened politely as Molly raged about what a mess the house was in. Ginny was fortunate enough to be staying with Luna that summer (Molly and Arthur had deemed it safer than letting her stay at Grimmauld Place again - apparently they felt she had gotten entirely too many dangerous ideas the summer before), so they were the only ones available to be bullied into the task.
At first, the work was merely tiring, though it was a relief to have something to do. Something other than practicing wand movements or reading over book after book of defensive spells that Hermione managed to procure through mysterious means (Harry suspected McGonagall). Scrubbing down floors and throwing out old junk was comparatively easy, and gave their overtaxed brains a chance to relax. It gave them a chance to be children again: Ron dousing Hermione in soapy water to see if she would melt when she tried to explain about Muggle perceptions of witches; Harry and Ron competing to see who could get the most sausages down during lunch (Ron won every time); Harry and Hermione playfully smearing each other's heads with floor polish to see if it would tame their wayward locks.
It was all very easy and a pleasant distraction, at least until the afternoon when Ron, not having seen Harry for a bit, opened up a closet door and found his best friend crying over Sirius' old cloak. Ron didn't know what to do, didn't know if there was anything to do, but somehow, he found himself stepping into the closet and curling his lanky frame around Harry's smaller one, holding Harry tightly.
They were still there half an hour later when Hermione grew impatient, working by herself, and came to find them. By that time, though, Harry had stopped crying, and was just leaning his head back against Ron's shoulder, his eyes closed, very quiet. And it should have shocked her, and she should have asked what they were doing, but somehow, the only thing to do was to step into the closet silently, and join them. They were her best friends, after all, and if what they were doing this afternoon was holding each other in a hall closet, then she was going to do it with them.
It was very quiet and innocent, all warm breath and soft jumpers (Grimmauld Place always seemed chilly somehow) and bodies nestled in on each other. Or at least, it was all very innocent until Molly Weasley threw the door open and demanded to know what the hell they thought they were doing.
They were instantly all stammered explanations, none of which involved Harry crying, because that was his business, not hers, and somehow a tale emerged that involved Kreacher having chased them in there with burning fire irons. It was a shame, really, that Kreacher had been missing since the beginning of the summer, the only clue to his absence the uncharacteristically grim look on Remus' face whenever the elf was mentioned. They might really have gotten away with it otherwise.
As it was, she banished each of them to a separate floor to finish their work for the afternoon, and at dinner, her inimical eye on them prevented any sort of normal dinner conversation. Arthur, of course, was bemused by their silence, trying to draw them out about what they'd done that day. It was hardly a rousing success.
After dinner, they moved into the library as if by common consent, plopping themselves down on the worn rug while Remus settled in for his evening reading. Molly hovered in the doorway. "Remus, are you up for a while?"
"I imagine," Remus replied mildly, looking a bit confused.
"You'll be here until the children go to bed, then?" She laid a faint stress on the word "children."
"Unless they kick me out," he said, grinning at Harry.
Molly huffed slightly, and glared at the three of them until Remus finally asked her if something was wrong, then finally left. The three waited quietly until Remus was well absorbed in his book, and if Ron's leg was pressed softly against Harry's and Harry's finger was stroking the hem of Hermione's fuzzy jumper, well, it didn't seem particularly odd. Just nice. The sort of things friends did.
"What did she think we were doing?" Hermione asked quietly, laying her head down on the rug.
Harry and Ron both looked at her rather incredulously. "What do you think she thought?" Ron said sarcastically.
She blushed. "But we're just friends," she said, shifting a bit so that she was curled up closer to the warm length of Ron's body.
"I know," Harry said, awkwardly. "I mean, it's not like we'd ever..." He shifted a bit closer in his turn, twirling a bit of Hermione's hair around his finger.
Ron glanced nervously at Remus, then let his arm stretch across both of them, holding them close. "Of course not."
The cleaning got a lot more interesting after that. There was something different, a new awareness to them, and the next time they were scrubbing the floor in the kitchen, it didn't seem strange at all for Ron to strip off his t-shirt, leaving his chest bare. The kitchen was the warmest room in the house, after all. And it would have been ridiculously prudish for Harry not to follow suit, or so he told himself as he stripped off his own.
Hermione wasn't quite sure how it happened that she ended up lying on her back between the two of them, staring up at them, but it made sense, after all. Simple curiosity, really. "What are boy nipples like?" she asked, dreamily. "Are they sensitive? Do they get harder?"
Ron and Harry glanced at each other, a bit shyly, and then, as if by common consent, each took one of her hands and placed them on their respective nipples. "Don't want to stop you from doing research," Ron said, breathily.
"Couldn't stop her anyway," Harry agreed, moaning slightly as slim, curious finger pinched his nipple.
The kitchen door flew open, and three heads jerked up to see Charlie standing in the doorway, mouth open, frozen. After a long moment, he backed up, looking slightly sick, and said, "Sorry. Didn't know you were busy."
Unfortunately, that became the pattern for most of their little interludes. Brief, heady discovery followed by a shaming discovery of quite a different kind. Ron had a permanent blush for a week after hearing, "Ronald Weasley! I told you to polish the bedknobs, not polish Harry's knob on the bed!"
But they couldn't seem to stop, not even when Arthur took both the boys aside and gave them an angry lecture about responsibility and the difference between sex and friendship. At the same time Molly gave Hermione a talk about virtue during which the young girl politely smothered several yawns. Remus was the exception, though, to the adult policy of intervention. He seemed like a man sleep-walking that summer, and it took more than the sight of Harry sitting on Ron's lap while he kissed Hermione to shake that.
At least one good thing was accomplished of it all though: Arthur, apparently deciding that his third son's betrayal was minor compared to the obstinate iniquity of the youngest, began talking to Percy again, and he became a regular visitor to Grimmauld Place. Strangely enough, he was the only one who never said a word whenever he happened to walk in on the trio, as though the palpable hostility radiating from the three of them, united in their fierce hatred of him, was too much for even his pomposity to venture.
Harry and Ron were moved to separate bedrooms, of course, but to their surprise, they weren't actually separated. Hermione had been rehearsing excuses to her family for a week, and Fred and George had been making ominous sounds about how if Ron tried anything while he was staying with them he'd regret it. But nothing came of it, and for some time, they were completely bewildered as to the reason.
That reason finally made itself apparent one evening as Molly was chasing them out of the kitchen for an Order meeting. Dumbledore stopped them in their flight, and his hand ghosted over Hermione's hair before coming to rest on Harry's shoulder, the other gripping Ron's arm gently. "Stay together," he said, softly, his voice somehow urgent all the same. "Stay together..."
Together, then, they retreated upstairs, and it didn't seem odd to any of them that they went without a word to Sirius' old bedroom, which still stayed empty, and if Harry wondered why it didn't make him want to cry anymore, the question was swiftly answered by a gentle pressure of Ron's hand on his waist. They curled up according to size on the large bed, Harry's chest pressed to Hermione's soft back, Ron's lean body stretched out behind him, holding him close.
"It was Dumbledore, then," Harry said softly. "He kept them from separating us." He gave a little laugh. "It's almost enough to make me not hate him."
"Do you really hate him?" Hermione asked.
Harry thought for a moment. "No. Not really. Not any more than anyone else. I just...don't really like being around anyone but the two of you now. Not that they'll ever understand that."
"It's not as though we're even doing what they think we are," Hermione said pensively, then blushed a little. "I mean, not entirely."
"You are still a virgin," Ron said, after a moment's thought.
"So are you," she shot back. "We all are."
"Seems like - like if we were going to do anything about that - I mean, about not being virgins anymore, we ought to just...do it all at once." Harry's voice was very quiet and hesitant.
"How?" Hermione asked, but her tone was abstracted, as if she were already figuring out different combinations, angles and means of penetration.
"Like...this?" Ron hugged both of them tighter, as if to indicate their current position.
Hermione nodded quietly, so that Harry felt the movement against his chest, and he said, softly, "Yeah. This is good. Only...let's get under the covers and um..." Silly to be unable to say naked, when they'd been unable to keep their clothes on for the past three weeks.
Ron gave a last squeeze, then released them, and they all scrambled to get their clothes off, and then Ron and Harry pulled the covers over them. Hermione, however, sat on the edge of the bed, soft, plump breasts swaying as she rummaged through the bedside drawer.
"What're you looking for?" Ron asked.
Hermione smiled, and held up a small pot of lubrication triumphantly. "Thank you, Sirius Black!" She turned to look at Harry quickly, then, but there was no sorrow in his gaze, only pleasure.
"Right," Ron said. "Didn't think about that."
She sniffed. "You don't think about much." But her smile took away the sting as she handed the pot to Ron, and joined the two of them under the covers.
It was warm, and comfortable like that, skin against skin, sealed in, and they could almost have fallen asleep if it weren't for the excitement that ran through them like a current, humming with energy. Harry moved first, pulling Hermione to him tightly, lifting one hand to stroke at her breasts. They filled his palm nicely, a warm, comfortable weight, and he played with the nipple gently, giving it a little pinch to hear her gasp.
Ron's hand was the next to move, sneaking forward to stroke Harry's cock, rubbing it to full hardness. His voice was a little nervous when he said, "I don't um - I don't exactly know how to do this..."
"Oh, it's very easy," Hermione said cheerfully, sitting up. "You just have to use plenty of the lubricant, and use your fingers first to stretch Harry out. So it's not so much of a shock and all."
Ron frowned, and rose up on his elbow, digging his fingers into the pot of lubricant. "Er - can you get your legs apart a bit more, mate?" Harry pulled one of his knees up, and Ron slowly pressed one finger to Harry's entrance, then let it slide inside. "Just...like that?" He sat, his finger immobile, looking dubious.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, not like that. Here, I'll show you." She took the lubricant, and smeared some on her fingers. After Ron had withdrawn, she pushed one of her own slim digits into Harry's arse. She began sliding it around, teasing, twisting, caressing the sensitive nerves there. "That's better, isn't it?"
Harry was nearly purring, and pushing up against her hand. "God, yes." He made sound almost like a whimper when she pulled her finger out.
Ron began pressing two of his fingers inside, slowly, with a look of fierce concentration on his face. He mimicked Hermione, sliding them around the sensitive ring of muscle, then pushing deeper, making his fingers twist and slide, exploring all of Harry's secret flesh. "Good?" he asked huskily.
"Yeah." Harry arched, impaling himself on Ron's fingers. "Really good." He lifted his head, mouthing Hermione's nipples softly, seeking to pass the pleasure on.
"Reckon I can manage one more," Ron said to himself, pushing a third finger in very carefully, letting it join the other two to stretch Harry out wide, making them squirm around. Harry moaned against Hermione's skin at the combination of slight burn and fierce pleasure. Ron fisted his own cock slowly as he watched them.
Ron continued fucking Harry with his fingers as Harry bucked and groaned and slid his own hand between Hermione's thighs to feel her wetness. Harry craned his neck over his shoulder. "Do you want to do the rest now?" His voice was breathy and eager.
"Yeah," Ron said, dazed, pulling out his fingers. He took a long moment to rub plenty of the lubricant on his cock, then guided it to Harry's entrance. Slowly, he pushed inside, hissing slightly as Harry's tightness encased him, seeming likely to make him die of pleasure right there.
Harry groaned. "I - ah - Hermione..." There was an agonized plea in his voice, and he squeezed her delta firmly, indicating what he wanted.
"Shh," she whispered. "Don't worry." She twisted around, so that she was chest to chest with Harry, and reached down, taking his cock in one hand. Spreading her legs, she shifted, guiding Harry carefully, until he was completely inside her.
She paused, a pensive look on her face. "My cousin Lucy must have been right - she did say if I helped her exercise her pony, it wouldn't hurt much."
Harry and Ron came out of their haze long enough to look at her incredulously, and she blushed. "Well, I was just thinking." Her words broke off on a squeak as Ron reached around to pinch one of her nipples roughly.
Harry grinned. "Focus, Hermione. Focus." He bent his head to suck at her neck, nibbling slightly.
She gave a breathy little moan, and began moving, adjusting to the rhythm Ron made with his thrusts, syncing their bodies into a continuous loop of motion.
Harry was lost in the sensations that threatened to consume him, Hermione warm and wet around him, Ron thick and hard inside him, filling him up...it was too much, in the best way possible. "Love you," he said hoarsely. "Love you so much."
Neither answered with words, but their bodies answered him, Ron pushing into him harder, kissing the nape of his neck, Hermione clenching her muscles so that he gasped, nearly whimpering.
It couldn't last for long, not at that rate, and Hermione reached down between slick bodies to push and stroke at her clitoris. She arched and ground herself against Harry, moaning as Ron continued to caress and pinch her breasts. "So good...can feel it coming...oh, God." With that abrupt exclamation, she came, her muscles clenching tightly around Harry's cock, her whole body taut for an endless moment.
It was far too much for Harry to bear, and he spilled himself into Hermione, his face buried in her bushy hair. He lay there, cradled in her arms, as Ron continued, taking his pleasure from Harry's sated body, pounding into him. His face was screwed up in an expression of intense concentration, and finally, he gave a low shout, and came, grinding himself against Harry's arse.
They lay quietly for a time, catching their breath, and then Harry said, gazing at Hermione, "Potion?" His voice was thick and tired.
Hermione understood perfectly. "Got one at the beginning of the summer. From Professor McGonagall. It's fine." She squeezed Harry's hand reassuringly.
They were just about to drift off to sleep, lulled by the warmth of skin against skin and tired muscles, when the door flew open. Molly Weasley stood in the door for a long moment, staring at them in horror, her mouth opening and closing. Finally, she threw her hand in the air. "I give up. I give up." She exited the room, slamming the door.
"That," Ron said, shifting his head to rest between Harry's shoulderblades, "is the best news I've had all summer."
Challenge: Written for the "At Hogwarts" challenge: "The Weasleys disapprove of the Trio."
Title: Skin Against Skin
Summary: One summer at Grimmauld Place, the trio take their relationship to the next level, to the dismay of the Weasleys.
Warning: Underaged sexuality.
Word Count: 2,929
Rating: NC-17
Hermione, Harry and Ron listened politely as Molly raged about what a mess the house was in. Ginny was fortunate enough to be staying with Luna that summer (Molly and Arthur had deemed it safer than letting her stay at Grimmauld Place again - apparently they felt she had gotten entirely too many dangerous ideas the summer before), so they were the only ones available to be bullied into the task.
At first, the work was merely tiring, though it was a relief to have something to do. Something other than practicing wand movements or reading over book after book of defensive spells that Hermione managed to procure through mysterious means (Harry suspected McGonagall). Scrubbing down floors and throwing out old junk was comparatively easy, and gave their overtaxed brains a chance to relax. It gave them a chance to be children again: Ron dousing Hermione in soapy water to see if she would melt when she tried to explain about Muggle perceptions of witches; Harry and Ron competing to see who could get the most sausages down during lunch (Ron won every time); Harry and Hermione playfully smearing each other's heads with floor polish to see if it would tame their wayward locks.
It was all very easy and a pleasant distraction, at least until the afternoon when Ron, not having seen Harry for a bit, opened up a closet door and found his best friend crying over Sirius' old cloak. Ron didn't know what to do, didn't know if there was anything to do, but somehow, he found himself stepping into the closet and curling his lanky frame around Harry's smaller one, holding Harry tightly.
They were still there half an hour later when Hermione grew impatient, working by herself, and came to find them. By that time, though, Harry had stopped crying, and was just leaning his head back against Ron's shoulder, his eyes closed, very quiet. And it should have shocked her, and she should have asked what they were doing, but somehow, the only thing to do was to step into the closet silently, and join them. They were her best friends, after all, and if what they were doing this afternoon was holding each other in a hall closet, then she was going to do it with them.
It was very quiet and innocent, all warm breath and soft jumpers (Grimmauld Place always seemed chilly somehow) and bodies nestled in on each other. Or at least, it was all very innocent until Molly Weasley threw the door open and demanded to know what the hell they thought they were doing.
They were instantly all stammered explanations, none of which involved Harry crying, because that was his business, not hers, and somehow a tale emerged that involved Kreacher having chased them in there with burning fire irons. It was a shame, really, that Kreacher had been missing since the beginning of the summer, the only clue to his absence the uncharacteristically grim look on Remus' face whenever the elf was mentioned. They might really have gotten away with it otherwise.
As it was, she banished each of them to a separate floor to finish their work for the afternoon, and at dinner, her inimical eye on them prevented any sort of normal dinner conversation. Arthur, of course, was bemused by their silence, trying to draw them out about what they'd done that day. It was hardly a rousing success.
After dinner, they moved into the library as if by common consent, plopping themselves down on the worn rug while Remus settled in for his evening reading. Molly hovered in the doorway. "Remus, are you up for a while?"
"I imagine," Remus replied mildly, looking a bit confused.
"You'll be here until the children go to bed, then?" She laid a faint stress on the word "children."
"Unless they kick me out," he said, grinning at Harry.
Molly huffed slightly, and glared at the three of them until Remus finally asked her if something was wrong, then finally left. The three waited quietly until Remus was well absorbed in his book, and if Ron's leg was pressed softly against Harry's and Harry's finger was stroking the hem of Hermione's fuzzy jumper, well, it didn't seem particularly odd. Just nice. The sort of things friends did.
"What did she think we were doing?" Hermione asked quietly, laying her head down on the rug.
Harry and Ron both looked at her rather incredulously. "What do you think she thought?" Ron said sarcastically.
She blushed. "But we're just friends," she said, shifting a bit so that she was curled up closer to the warm length of Ron's body.
"I know," Harry said, awkwardly. "I mean, it's not like we'd ever..." He shifted a bit closer in his turn, twirling a bit of Hermione's hair around his finger.
Ron glanced nervously at Remus, then let his arm stretch across both of them, holding them close. "Of course not."
The cleaning got a lot more interesting after that. There was something different, a new awareness to them, and the next time they were scrubbing the floor in the kitchen, it didn't seem strange at all for Ron to strip off his t-shirt, leaving his chest bare. The kitchen was the warmest room in the house, after all. And it would have been ridiculously prudish for Harry not to follow suit, or so he told himself as he stripped off his own.
Hermione wasn't quite sure how it happened that she ended up lying on her back between the two of them, staring up at them, but it made sense, after all. Simple curiosity, really. "What are boy nipples like?" she asked, dreamily. "Are they sensitive? Do they get harder?"
Ron and Harry glanced at each other, a bit shyly, and then, as if by common consent, each took one of her hands and placed them on their respective nipples. "Don't want to stop you from doing research," Ron said, breathily.
"Couldn't stop her anyway," Harry agreed, moaning slightly as slim, curious finger pinched his nipple.
The kitchen door flew open, and three heads jerked up to see Charlie standing in the doorway, mouth open, frozen. After a long moment, he backed up, looking slightly sick, and said, "Sorry. Didn't know you were busy."
Unfortunately, that became the pattern for most of their little interludes. Brief, heady discovery followed by a shaming discovery of quite a different kind. Ron had a permanent blush for a week after hearing, "Ronald Weasley! I told you to polish the bedknobs, not polish Harry's knob on the bed!"
But they couldn't seem to stop, not even when Arthur took both the boys aside and gave them an angry lecture about responsibility and the difference between sex and friendship. At the same time Molly gave Hermione a talk about virtue during which the young girl politely smothered several yawns. Remus was the exception, though, to the adult policy of intervention. He seemed like a man sleep-walking that summer, and it took more than the sight of Harry sitting on Ron's lap while he kissed Hermione to shake that.
At least one good thing was accomplished of it all though: Arthur, apparently deciding that his third son's betrayal was minor compared to the obstinate iniquity of the youngest, began talking to Percy again, and he became a regular visitor to Grimmauld Place. Strangely enough, he was the only one who never said a word whenever he happened to walk in on the trio, as though the palpable hostility radiating from the three of them, united in their fierce hatred of him, was too much for even his pomposity to venture.
Harry and Ron were moved to separate bedrooms, of course, but to their surprise, they weren't actually separated. Hermione had been rehearsing excuses to her family for a week, and Fred and George had been making ominous sounds about how if Ron tried anything while he was staying with them he'd regret it. But nothing came of it, and for some time, they were completely bewildered as to the reason.
That reason finally made itself apparent one evening as Molly was chasing them out of the kitchen for an Order meeting. Dumbledore stopped them in their flight, and his hand ghosted over Hermione's hair before coming to rest on Harry's shoulder, the other gripping Ron's arm gently. "Stay together," he said, softly, his voice somehow urgent all the same. "Stay together..."
Together, then, they retreated upstairs, and it didn't seem odd to any of them that they went without a word to Sirius' old bedroom, which still stayed empty, and if Harry wondered why it didn't make him want to cry anymore, the question was swiftly answered by a gentle pressure of Ron's hand on his waist. They curled up according to size on the large bed, Harry's chest pressed to Hermione's soft back, Ron's lean body stretched out behind him, holding him close.
"It was Dumbledore, then," Harry said softly. "He kept them from separating us." He gave a little laugh. "It's almost enough to make me not hate him."
"Do you really hate him?" Hermione asked.
Harry thought for a moment. "No. Not really. Not any more than anyone else. I just...don't really like being around anyone but the two of you now. Not that they'll ever understand that."
"It's not as though we're even doing what they think we are," Hermione said pensively, then blushed a little. "I mean, not entirely."
"You are still a virgin," Ron said, after a moment's thought.
"So are you," she shot back. "We all are."
"Seems like - like if we were going to do anything about that - I mean, about not being virgins anymore, we ought to just...do it all at once." Harry's voice was very quiet and hesitant.
"How?" Hermione asked, but her tone was abstracted, as if she were already figuring out different combinations, angles and means of penetration.
"Like...this?" Ron hugged both of them tighter, as if to indicate their current position.
Hermione nodded quietly, so that Harry felt the movement against his chest, and he said, softly, "Yeah. This is good. Only...let's get under the covers and um..." Silly to be unable to say naked, when they'd been unable to keep their clothes on for the past three weeks.
Ron gave a last squeeze, then released them, and they all scrambled to get their clothes off, and then Ron and Harry pulled the covers over them. Hermione, however, sat on the edge of the bed, soft, plump breasts swaying as she rummaged through the bedside drawer.
"What're you looking for?" Ron asked.
Hermione smiled, and held up a small pot of lubrication triumphantly. "Thank you, Sirius Black!" She turned to look at Harry quickly, then, but there was no sorrow in his gaze, only pleasure.
"Right," Ron said. "Didn't think about that."
She sniffed. "You don't think about much." But her smile took away the sting as she handed the pot to Ron, and joined the two of them under the covers.
It was warm, and comfortable like that, skin against skin, sealed in, and they could almost have fallen asleep if it weren't for the excitement that ran through them like a current, humming with energy. Harry moved first, pulling Hermione to him tightly, lifting one hand to stroke at her breasts. They filled his palm nicely, a warm, comfortable weight, and he played with the nipple gently, giving it a little pinch to hear her gasp.
Ron's hand was the next to move, sneaking forward to stroke Harry's cock, rubbing it to full hardness. His voice was a little nervous when he said, "I don't um - I don't exactly know how to do this..."
"Oh, it's very easy," Hermione said cheerfully, sitting up. "You just have to use plenty of the lubricant, and use your fingers first to stretch Harry out. So it's not so much of a shock and all."
Ron frowned, and rose up on his elbow, digging his fingers into the pot of lubricant. "Er - can you get your legs apart a bit more, mate?" Harry pulled one of his knees up, and Ron slowly pressed one finger to Harry's entrance, then let it slide inside. "Just...like that?" He sat, his finger immobile, looking dubious.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, not like that. Here, I'll show you." She took the lubricant, and smeared some on her fingers. After Ron had withdrawn, she pushed one of her own slim digits into Harry's arse. She began sliding it around, teasing, twisting, caressing the sensitive nerves there. "That's better, isn't it?"
Harry was nearly purring, and pushing up against her hand. "God, yes." He made sound almost like a whimper when she pulled her finger out.
Ron began pressing two of his fingers inside, slowly, with a look of fierce concentration on his face. He mimicked Hermione, sliding them around the sensitive ring of muscle, then pushing deeper, making his fingers twist and slide, exploring all of Harry's secret flesh. "Good?" he asked huskily.
"Yeah." Harry arched, impaling himself on Ron's fingers. "Really good." He lifted his head, mouthing Hermione's nipples softly, seeking to pass the pleasure on.
"Reckon I can manage one more," Ron said to himself, pushing a third finger in very carefully, letting it join the other two to stretch Harry out wide, making them squirm around. Harry moaned against Hermione's skin at the combination of slight burn and fierce pleasure. Ron fisted his own cock slowly as he watched them.
Ron continued fucking Harry with his fingers as Harry bucked and groaned and slid his own hand between Hermione's thighs to feel her wetness. Harry craned his neck over his shoulder. "Do you want to do the rest now?" His voice was breathy and eager.
"Yeah," Ron said, dazed, pulling out his fingers. He took a long moment to rub plenty of the lubricant on his cock, then guided it to Harry's entrance. Slowly, he pushed inside, hissing slightly as Harry's tightness encased him, seeming likely to make him die of pleasure right there.
Harry groaned. "I - ah - Hermione..." There was an agonized plea in his voice, and he squeezed her delta firmly, indicating what he wanted.
"Shh," she whispered. "Don't worry." She twisted around, so that she was chest to chest with Harry, and reached down, taking his cock in one hand. Spreading her legs, she shifted, guiding Harry carefully, until he was completely inside her.
She paused, a pensive look on her face. "My cousin Lucy must have been right - she did say if I helped her exercise her pony, it wouldn't hurt much."
Harry and Ron came out of their haze long enough to look at her incredulously, and she blushed. "Well, I was just thinking." Her words broke off on a squeak as Ron reached around to pinch one of her nipples roughly.
Harry grinned. "Focus, Hermione. Focus." He bent his head to suck at her neck, nibbling slightly.
She gave a breathy little moan, and began moving, adjusting to the rhythm Ron made with his thrusts, syncing their bodies into a continuous loop of motion.
Harry was lost in the sensations that threatened to consume him, Hermione warm and wet around him, Ron thick and hard inside him, filling him up...it was too much, in the best way possible. "Love you," he said hoarsely. "Love you so much."
Neither answered with words, but their bodies answered him, Ron pushing into him harder, kissing the nape of his neck, Hermione clenching her muscles so that he gasped, nearly whimpering.
It couldn't last for long, not at that rate, and Hermione reached down between slick bodies to push and stroke at her clitoris. She arched and ground herself against Harry, moaning as Ron continued to caress and pinch her breasts. "So good...can feel it coming...oh, God." With that abrupt exclamation, she came, her muscles clenching tightly around Harry's cock, her whole body taut for an endless moment.
It was far too much for Harry to bear, and he spilled himself into Hermione, his face buried in her bushy hair. He lay there, cradled in her arms, as Ron continued, taking his pleasure from Harry's sated body, pounding into him. His face was screwed up in an expression of intense concentration, and finally, he gave a low shout, and came, grinding himself against Harry's arse.
They lay quietly for a time, catching their breath, and then Harry said, gazing at Hermione, "Potion?" His voice was thick and tired.
Hermione understood perfectly. "Got one at the beginning of the summer. From Professor McGonagall. It's fine." She squeezed Harry's hand reassuringly.
They were just about to drift off to sleep, lulled by the warmth of skin against skin and tired muscles, when the door flew open. Molly Weasley stood in the door for a long moment, staring at them in horror, her mouth opening and closing. Finally, she threw her hand in the air. "I give up. I give up." She exited the room, slamming the door.
"That," Ron said, shifting his head to rest between Harry's shoulderblades, "is the best news I've had all summer."