heather11483 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heathershaped) wrote2007-12-12 10:07 am
heathershaped) wrote2007-12-12 10:07 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Complete (Hermione/Harry/Ron, Adult)
Title: Complete
Pairing: Hermione/Harry/Ron
Word Count: ~2771
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: She can't sleep without them there.
Author's note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
simons_flower in the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hermione_smut exchange. Thanks to inell for the readthrough.
She can't sleep without them there. It's not something she expected would affect her so much, the lack of their presence a few feet away from her. Maybe it isn't so surprising, though, after months in a cramped tent and night after night spent with the sound of the boys' breathing and snoring. Now that it's all over and they have the luxury of space and privacy, Hermione spends half of most of her nights at Grimmauld Place staring at the ceiling and waiting for sleep to come.
Most of the time, if she strains her ears she can hear something; Harry and Ron are only in the next room, but it isn't the same. This bed, and this room, feel huge now. It doesn't help that she can still close her eyes and hear her own screaming, once she finally does drift off. During the day, she distracts herself from dealing with what happened at Malfoy Manor, but it's harder to do that at night, when her boys aren't close to her.
Their shirts help. Kreacher never lets the laundry sit for too long, but most of the time, she's able to nick one of Ron's or Harry's t-shirts before he takes it away. She's very meticulous about putting their things straight back into the laundry in the morning, and they aren't likely to miss the odd shirt here and there, anyway. They're big on her, Ron's even more than Harry's, and it's easier to sleep with their scent in the fabric wrapped around her.
Ron doesn't know, as far as she can tell. It's not as if she thinks either of them will mind, but she doesn't know what it would mean to them to discover that she can't sleep unless she's in their clothes. She doesn't know what it means to her.
Harry found out one night, though, in the second floor corridor between her room and the one he shares with Ron. She can't remember now whether she was the one going to the loo, or the one coming back. But she remembers that they brushed past each other, her hand coming up automatically to his chest.
"Alright?" he asked, glancing down at her. His gaze lingered on her in a way that made her acutely aware of the thin t-shirt and the way it skimmed her thighs.
"Of course," she murmured, reddening, because that night, she'd selected one of his. He didn't say anything else, except to mumble, "Night," gruffly, as he continued past.
~~~
Usually, she only wears the shirt, but there's a chill over the house tonight, and so she drags on a pair of Harry's pyjama bottoms with one of Ron's old, thin t-shirts. The bottoms are impossibly loose, but her hips flare where his don't, and so she draws the string tight and slips beneath the covers as she begins to read. They're late getting home tonight; it makes her frown, even though she knows it's how they deal with things. Ron can't sit still, not after Fred, and Harry needs to feel alive. She just needs them. Needs them to need her, but they don't seem to, not anymore. She reads until her eyes won't stay open, and only then does she turn off the light.
It isn't much later that she feels the bed sink once, then twice, and she jolts awake, feeling about frantically for her wand as her eyes open to darkness. It wasn't Malfoy Manor tonight, but seeing Harry being carried out of the forest, and the panic afterward as Ron had yelled out to Voldemort. Eyes wide, her head darts around.
"Relax, Hermione -- it's only us," Ron says, his voice low. Focusing, she can see the whites of his eyes, and Harry's too as he moves them over her. They've sat right on her bed, on either side of her.
"What are you doing in here?" she asks once she's caught her breath, looking between the two of them.
"You were screaming," Harry says quietly. "And we came in and you were -- thrashing about, and such."
Mortified, Hermione closes her eyes and sits up. "I'm fine, really," she says, as casually as she can manage. She hates for them to worry, because really, they don't handle it well at all.
"You're bloody well not," Ron says, loudly. "You don't scream and call out for us when you're fine."
Oh bloody hell. She had said their names? This couldn't get any more embarrassing. "Yes, well, obviously I was delirious," she said briskly, studying her quilt. She holds up a hand before Harry can interject that being delirious isn't a sign of being 'fine', either. "You can just go back to your room, now, both of you. Please?"
A pause.
"Well, maybe we could --" Harry breaks off and glances at Ron before he continues, tentatively. "Stay in here with you. I mean. If it helps at all."
She looks between them again, not wanting to acknowledge how much she'd actually like that. Being close to them again, and hearing their breathing lull her to sleep. Ron is giving her a furtive sort of look now, and a slight nod. "C'mon, Hermione," he says softly. "It'll help, we can be here. It's just us."
That feels like such an understatement. Slowly, she nods as well. "I -- yes, I guess that would be alright."
They get beneath the covers with her. They haven't slept this close to each other since the night after the battle, when they'd really not been able to be apart yet. The boys lie on either side of her, facing her on their sides, and she doesn't know which way to turn. Ron is closest to her, though, so she turns toward Harry so she can see him and feel Ron at her back. There's no time to be awkward; her eyes are already drooping.
"Is this my shirt?" Ron asks suddenly. Harry chuckles lowly, and she laughs softly as she drifts off.
~~~
She wakes feeling a finger tip trail up her arm. It's not a jolt this time, but a slow, sluggish return to consciousness. Ron is snoring lightly, his arm around her waist, so it's Harry's hand that's moving on her skin, as he's very much awake and lying closer to her than he was when they fell asleep. His face is only centimeters from her own, and she looks at him for a few beats as she wonders if she's actually woken up after all. Harry doesn't look at her this way. Ron ... sometimes he does, though he's never seemed inclined to do anything about it even after their kiss at the battle. Harry has never made any sort of move toward her. This confuses her, but, apparently not enough to pull away.
By the time she shakes herself out of her thoughts, their foreheads are touching and Harry licks his lips. "I didn't mean to wake you," he says quietly. "But ..." He traces her cheek with his fingers, and trails off.
"But what?" she whispers.
Harry shakes his head and moves his thumb over her cheekbone. With his face this close, she can see the sweat that's beaded along his hairline.
"You were dreaming."
He moves his shoulder in a half shrug. "I'm okay," he murmurs, "Just wanted to make sure you were ..." He looks at her helplessly. "Here."
Lifting her own hand, she moves it through his hair and shifts closer. "I'm always here. We both are."
"Yeah," he says hoarsely. He's still watching her in that way that makes her flushed and tense, still touching her face, and then his lips are on hers. Her eyes widen even as she responds to his kiss. He kisses her slowly, with focused intensity, like he's memorizing her lips with his own and prolonging the contact as much as he can. When he pulls back, breath shaky, her hand is on his waist, bunched in the fabric of his shirt.
"Harry." Her hands feel so cold still. She relaxes her grip on his shirt and inches up the fabric, feeling his skin, warm and tight beneath her fingers. He's breathing more quickly now, and she has no idea what she's even doing. Such a bad idea, but ... she wants so much to touch him. Harry covers her hand with his own and she splays it on his chest a bit more, inching it up toward his nipples. She gasps when he tugs at her own shirt, quick fingers brushing her belly through the thin cotton.
It isn't until Ron stirs that they realize he's stopped snoring. Hermione freezes, her heart making a frantic pace against her ribs as she feels Ron's arm loosen from around her waist. Harry looks over her shoulder at Ron for what feels like forever, his expression difficult for her to decipher, and then Ron does something totally unexpected, and pushes Harry's hand down, slowly. His breathing is ragged in her ear. Oh god. What are they doing? What is she doing?
Harry dips his hand beneath her shirt, trails it down her belly, and as her muscles tremble under his touch, she wonders if it isn't best to analyze this later. Ron is helping Harry, easing her shirt up now, and she feels a distinct hardness against her bum as he shifts closer. Her eyes track to the front of Harry's pyjamas; he's hard as well, and she becomes painfully aware that her hand is still on his chest. She moves it even higher, until she reaches the hardened nubs of his nipples. Tentatively, she circles one with her fingertip, hearing his breath catch before he sighs. Biting her lip, she shyly does it again.
Ron drags her shirt up higher, pressing against her from behind, and she tries to keep still, but it's hard not to arch her back as Ron grips her breast lightly. His hand is warm and roughened, his breath is on her neck with Harry's breath on her face, and it seems almost right that she feels so safe and loved while doing something so scary. They won't hurt her, she knows, and they're so close and it just feels too good to stop. Harry kisses her while stroking her lower belly and she gasps into his mouth, rubbing her legs together when Ron brushes a shaking finger over her nipple.
"Alright?" he asks, a bit unsteadily.
She pulls back from Harry's mouth long enough to nod as she licks her lips. She moves her hand down Harry's chest. "Yeah," Ron rasps, in a way that makes her eyes go wide again. Does that mean ... Swallowing, she trails her fingers over the dark hair on Harry's lower belly, feeling his muscles clench as she explores this part of him she's never known before. When she reaches his waistband, she feels Ron's lips on her neck and closes her eyes. "Keep going," she hears him say as he caresses her breast. As she dips her hand below Harry's waistband, tugging it down, she wonders if Harry and Ron are as unsure as she is in this, but Ron's encouragement echoes in her ears and somehow, she doesn't think so.
When she wraps her fingers around Harry, he groans and rocks forward into her hand. Panicking, she freezes again. Bloody hell, she doesn't know how to do this. She's never even thought about doing this with Harry in any serious way, and now his hands are pulling at the drawstring of her pyjama bottoms and Ron is rolling her to her back. He props up onto his elbow and looks down at her before he reaches across her body and covers her hand on Harry's cock. "Like this."
She shudders out a breath while Ron helps her to stroke Harry, entwining his fingers with hers so that he touches Harry's skin as well, and she can't take her eyes away from their joined hands. How long have they been doing this without her? Jealousy and hurt, mingled with a healthy amount of fascination, well up inside her, but once Ron's mouth closes over her nipple and makes her whimper, she can't think at all.
"Faster," he murmurs against her skin, removing his hand and reaching down to grip his own erection while she speeds up her stroking. Ron watches as Harry bucks against her hand, his fingers awkwardly beginning to explore her in turn. God, it feels -- it's -- she closes her eyes and spreads her legs slightly wider under his touch, shaking as much from her nervousness as what Harry's doing with his fingers. He slides them slowly along her folds, back and forth, while Ron curls his tongue around her nipple. "Oh," she whispers softly, rolling her hips up slowly as her thighs shake.
It's too much. Too much sensation, too intense, too much feeling without having had any time to think first. Her free hand fists in the damp sheet beneath them as Ron leans right over her and captures Harry's mouth in a kiss. They're both groaning and moving their hips -- Harry into her hand and Ron into his own, and they're just beautiful to watch, even from this awkward position. Just feel, she tells herself as she watches Harry's tongue slide into Ron's mouth, her own mouth falling open as they taste each other. She tightens her grip on Harry's cock, twisting slightly with her wrist the way Ron showed her and she relishes the long moan he makes, muffled by Ron's mouth.
In response, Harry's hand moves faster between her legs, fingers skirting around her opening before flicking up and moving quickly over her clit. She gasps and bucks her hips up into his hand, barely able to catch her breath; the harsh breaths she manages to take don't sound like her at all. Ron tears his mouth from Harry's to watch, licking his lips as he watches her move, his hand moving in a frantic rhythm. Suddenly, he makes a strangled sound and drops his head to her shoulder, jerking forward as he comes with a splash against her partially-exposed thighs. Harry isn't long after, coming with a harsh sob as warm liquid coats her fingertips.
She still feels flushed, her body tense as she writhes between them. Harry's moving his finger in tight circles around her clit and she can't stop moving even as she feels her face grow hot with the knowledge that they're watching. Ron's hand slides down her sweat-slicked belly to help her along, fingers joining Harry's, moving with his, faster until she cries out, closing her eyes as the tension breaks and she comes under both their hands.
It's a few moments of lying there before any of them can completely catch their breath. Her skin is damp with sweat but cooling now, and looking down she wants nothing more than to cover herself. Her shirt is pushed up, the sleep bottoms untied and around her thighs. she shifts, but they're both holding her so tightly. "Ron -- Harry," she murmurs, pushing at their hands across her middle and trying to get some control over the situation. "Can you -- I need to move."
"Mmm," Harry murmurs against her skin, "why?"
Ron's grunt of agreement is muffled against her neck. "C'mon, Hermione."
Her head is spinning, and it's not just because they've made her feel so good, but because she's utterly lost as to what to do now. That's never a feeling that she likes. Does this mean that she's perverted? Are they still friends, now they've done this thing that's decidedly nonfriendly? She looks between them. "Should we ---"
"No," they both say, decisively.
Hermione tuts. "Well, that's ridiculous; you don't even know what I was --"
"Yeah we do," Ron says, lifting his head. "You want to talk about it. We don't."
"Yeah, not really," Harry puts in, kissing her shoulder. "Feels good, like this, yeah?"
She closes her eyes as they both press closer, letting herself relax. It won't last, this relaxation; she knows herself too well to believe that. But ... it does feel good. "Feels right," she whispers aloud.
"See?" She can feel Ron's lips curving against her neck as he speaks. "We're alright."
She sighs, for the moment feeling nothing more than safe and sated here between them. She drifts off feeling more secure than she has in months, because no matter what else happens they're together, so there's no way they couldn't be alright.
Pairing: Hermione/Harry/Ron
Word Count: ~2771
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Summary: She can't sleep without them there.
Author's note: Written for
simons_flower in the hermione_smut exchange. Thanks to inell for the readthrough.She can't sleep without them there. It's not something she expected would affect her so much, the lack of their presence a few feet away from her. Maybe it isn't so surprising, though, after months in a cramped tent and night after night spent with the sound of the boys' breathing and snoring. Now that it's all over and they have the luxury of space and privacy, Hermione spends half of most of her nights at Grimmauld Place staring at the ceiling and waiting for sleep to come.
Most of the time, if she strains her ears she can hear something; Harry and Ron are only in the next room, but it isn't the same. This bed, and this room, feel huge now. It doesn't help that she can still close her eyes and hear her own screaming, once she finally does drift off. During the day, she distracts herself from dealing with what happened at Malfoy Manor, but it's harder to do that at night, when her boys aren't close to her.
Their shirts help. Kreacher never lets the laundry sit for too long, but most of the time, she's able to nick one of Ron's or Harry's t-shirts before he takes it away. She's very meticulous about putting their things straight back into the laundry in the morning, and they aren't likely to miss the odd shirt here and there, anyway. They're big on her, Ron's even more than Harry's, and it's easier to sleep with their scent in the fabric wrapped around her.
Ron doesn't know, as far as she can tell. It's not as if she thinks either of them will mind, but she doesn't know what it would mean to them to discover that she can't sleep unless she's in their clothes. She doesn't know what it means to her.
Harry found out one night, though, in the second floor corridor between her room and the one he shares with Ron. She can't remember now whether she was the one going to the loo, or the one coming back. But she remembers that they brushed past each other, her hand coming up automatically to his chest.
"Alright?" he asked, glancing down at her. His gaze lingered on her in a way that made her acutely aware of the thin t-shirt and the way it skimmed her thighs.
"Of course," she murmured, reddening, because that night, she'd selected one of his. He didn't say anything else, except to mumble, "Night," gruffly, as he continued past.
~~~
Usually, she only wears the shirt, but there's a chill over the house tonight, and so she drags on a pair of Harry's pyjama bottoms with one of Ron's old, thin t-shirts. The bottoms are impossibly loose, but her hips flare where his don't, and so she draws the string tight and slips beneath the covers as she begins to read. They're late getting home tonight; it makes her frown, even though she knows it's how they deal with things. Ron can't sit still, not after Fred, and Harry needs to feel alive. She just needs them. Needs them to need her, but they don't seem to, not anymore. She reads until her eyes won't stay open, and only then does she turn off the light.
It isn't much later that she feels the bed sink once, then twice, and she jolts awake, feeling about frantically for her wand as her eyes open to darkness. It wasn't Malfoy Manor tonight, but seeing Harry being carried out of the forest, and the panic afterward as Ron had yelled out to Voldemort. Eyes wide, her head darts around.
"Relax, Hermione -- it's only us," Ron says, his voice low. Focusing, she can see the whites of his eyes, and Harry's too as he moves them over her. They've sat right on her bed, on either side of her.
"What are you doing in here?" she asks once she's caught her breath, looking between the two of them.
"You were screaming," Harry says quietly. "And we came in and you were -- thrashing about, and such."
Mortified, Hermione closes her eyes and sits up. "I'm fine, really," she says, as casually as she can manage. She hates for them to worry, because really, they don't handle it well at all.
"You're bloody well not," Ron says, loudly. "You don't scream and call out for us when you're fine."
Oh bloody hell. She had said their names? This couldn't get any more embarrassing. "Yes, well, obviously I was delirious," she said briskly, studying her quilt. She holds up a hand before Harry can interject that being delirious isn't a sign of being 'fine', either. "You can just go back to your room, now, both of you. Please?"
A pause.
"Well, maybe we could --" Harry breaks off and glances at Ron before he continues, tentatively. "Stay in here with you. I mean. If it helps at all."
She looks between them again, not wanting to acknowledge how much she'd actually like that. Being close to them again, and hearing their breathing lull her to sleep. Ron is giving her a furtive sort of look now, and a slight nod. "C'mon, Hermione," he says softly. "It'll help, we can be here. It's just us."
That feels like such an understatement. Slowly, she nods as well. "I -- yes, I guess that would be alright."
They get beneath the covers with her. They haven't slept this close to each other since the night after the battle, when they'd really not been able to be apart yet. The boys lie on either side of her, facing her on their sides, and she doesn't know which way to turn. Ron is closest to her, though, so she turns toward Harry so she can see him and feel Ron at her back. There's no time to be awkward; her eyes are already drooping.
"Is this my shirt?" Ron asks suddenly. Harry chuckles lowly, and she laughs softly as she drifts off.
~~~
She wakes feeling a finger tip trail up her arm. It's not a jolt this time, but a slow, sluggish return to consciousness. Ron is snoring lightly, his arm around her waist, so it's Harry's hand that's moving on her skin, as he's very much awake and lying closer to her than he was when they fell asleep. His face is only centimeters from her own, and she looks at him for a few beats as she wonders if she's actually woken up after all. Harry doesn't look at her this way. Ron ... sometimes he does, though he's never seemed inclined to do anything about it even after their kiss at the battle. Harry has never made any sort of move toward her. This confuses her, but, apparently not enough to pull away.
By the time she shakes herself out of her thoughts, their foreheads are touching and Harry licks his lips. "I didn't mean to wake you," he says quietly. "But ..." He traces her cheek with his fingers, and trails off.
"But what?" she whispers.
Harry shakes his head and moves his thumb over her cheekbone. With his face this close, she can see the sweat that's beaded along his hairline.
"You were dreaming."
He moves his shoulder in a half shrug. "I'm okay," he murmurs, "Just wanted to make sure you were ..." He looks at her helplessly. "Here."
Lifting her own hand, she moves it through his hair and shifts closer. "I'm always here. We both are."
"Yeah," he says hoarsely. He's still watching her in that way that makes her flushed and tense, still touching her face, and then his lips are on hers. Her eyes widen even as she responds to his kiss. He kisses her slowly, with focused intensity, like he's memorizing her lips with his own and prolonging the contact as much as he can. When he pulls back, breath shaky, her hand is on his waist, bunched in the fabric of his shirt.
"Harry." Her hands feel so cold still. She relaxes her grip on his shirt and inches up the fabric, feeling his skin, warm and tight beneath her fingers. He's breathing more quickly now, and she has no idea what she's even doing. Such a bad idea, but ... she wants so much to touch him. Harry covers her hand with his own and she splays it on his chest a bit more, inching it up toward his nipples. She gasps when he tugs at her own shirt, quick fingers brushing her belly through the thin cotton.
It isn't until Ron stirs that they realize he's stopped snoring. Hermione freezes, her heart making a frantic pace against her ribs as she feels Ron's arm loosen from around her waist. Harry looks over her shoulder at Ron for what feels like forever, his expression difficult for her to decipher, and then Ron does something totally unexpected, and pushes Harry's hand down, slowly. His breathing is ragged in her ear. Oh god. What are they doing? What is she doing?
Harry dips his hand beneath her shirt, trails it down her belly, and as her muscles tremble under his touch, she wonders if it isn't best to analyze this later. Ron is helping Harry, easing her shirt up now, and she feels a distinct hardness against her bum as he shifts closer. Her eyes track to the front of Harry's pyjamas; he's hard as well, and she becomes painfully aware that her hand is still on his chest. She moves it even higher, until she reaches the hardened nubs of his nipples. Tentatively, she circles one with her fingertip, hearing his breath catch before he sighs. Biting her lip, she shyly does it again.
Ron drags her shirt up higher, pressing against her from behind, and she tries to keep still, but it's hard not to arch her back as Ron grips her breast lightly. His hand is warm and roughened, his breath is on her neck with Harry's breath on her face, and it seems almost right that she feels so safe and loved while doing something so scary. They won't hurt her, she knows, and they're so close and it just feels too good to stop. Harry kisses her while stroking her lower belly and she gasps into his mouth, rubbing her legs together when Ron brushes a shaking finger over her nipple.
"Alright?" he asks, a bit unsteadily.
She pulls back from Harry's mouth long enough to nod as she licks her lips. She moves her hand down Harry's chest. "Yeah," Ron rasps, in a way that makes her eyes go wide again. Does that mean ... Swallowing, she trails her fingers over the dark hair on Harry's lower belly, feeling his muscles clench as she explores this part of him she's never known before. When she reaches his waistband, she feels Ron's lips on her neck and closes her eyes. "Keep going," she hears him say as he caresses her breast. As she dips her hand below Harry's waistband, tugging it down, she wonders if Harry and Ron are as unsure as she is in this, but Ron's encouragement echoes in her ears and somehow, she doesn't think so.
When she wraps her fingers around Harry, he groans and rocks forward into her hand. Panicking, she freezes again. Bloody hell, she doesn't know how to do this. She's never even thought about doing this with Harry in any serious way, and now his hands are pulling at the drawstring of her pyjama bottoms and Ron is rolling her to her back. He props up onto his elbow and looks down at her before he reaches across her body and covers her hand on Harry's cock. "Like this."
She shudders out a breath while Ron helps her to stroke Harry, entwining his fingers with hers so that he touches Harry's skin as well, and she can't take her eyes away from their joined hands. How long have they been doing this without her? Jealousy and hurt, mingled with a healthy amount of fascination, well up inside her, but once Ron's mouth closes over her nipple and makes her whimper, she can't think at all.
"Faster," he murmurs against her skin, removing his hand and reaching down to grip his own erection while she speeds up her stroking. Ron watches as Harry bucks against her hand, his fingers awkwardly beginning to explore her in turn. God, it feels -- it's -- she closes her eyes and spreads her legs slightly wider under his touch, shaking as much from her nervousness as what Harry's doing with his fingers. He slides them slowly along her folds, back and forth, while Ron curls his tongue around her nipple. "Oh," she whispers softly, rolling her hips up slowly as her thighs shake.
It's too much. Too much sensation, too intense, too much feeling without having had any time to think first. Her free hand fists in the damp sheet beneath them as Ron leans right over her and captures Harry's mouth in a kiss. They're both groaning and moving their hips -- Harry into her hand and Ron into his own, and they're just beautiful to watch, even from this awkward position. Just feel, she tells herself as she watches Harry's tongue slide into Ron's mouth, her own mouth falling open as they taste each other. She tightens her grip on Harry's cock, twisting slightly with her wrist the way Ron showed her and she relishes the long moan he makes, muffled by Ron's mouth.
In response, Harry's hand moves faster between her legs, fingers skirting around her opening before flicking up and moving quickly over her clit. She gasps and bucks her hips up into his hand, barely able to catch her breath; the harsh breaths she manages to take don't sound like her at all. Ron tears his mouth from Harry's to watch, licking his lips as he watches her move, his hand moving in a frantic rhythm. Suddenly, he makes a strangled sound and drops his head to her shoulder, jerking forward as he comes with a splash against her partially-exposed thighs. Harry isn't long after, coming with a harsh sob as warm liquid coats her fingertips.
She still feels flushed, her body tense as she writhes between them. Harry's moving his finger in tight circles around her clit and she can't stop moving even as she feels her face grow hot with the knowledge that they're watching. Ron's hand slides down her sweat-slicked belly to help her along, fingers joining Harry's, moving with his, faster until she cries out, closing her eyes as the tension breaks and she comes under both their hands.
It's a few moments of lying there before any of them can completely catch their breath. Her skin is damp with sweat but cooling now, and looking down she wants nothing more than to cover herself. Her shirt is pushed up, the sleep bottoms untied and around her thighs. she shifts, but they're both holding her so tightly. "Ron -- Harry," she murmurs, pushing at their hands across her middle and trying to get some control over the situation. "Can you -- I need to move."
"Mmm," Harry murmurs against her skin, "why?"
Ron's grunt of agreement is muffled against her neck. "C'mon, Hermione."
Her head is spinning, and it's not just because they've made her feel so good, but because she's utterly lost as to what to do now. That's never a feeling that she likes. Does this mean that she's perverted? Are they still friends, now they've done this thing that's decidedly nonfriendly? She looks between them. "Should we ---"
"No," they both say, decisively.
Hermione tuts. "Well, that's ridiculous; you don't even know what I was --"
"Yeah we do," Ron says, lifting his head. "You want to talk about it. We don't."
"Yeah, not really," Harry puts in, kissing her shoulder. "Feels good, like this, yeah?"
She closes her eyes as they both press closer, letting herself relax. It won't last, this relaxation; she knows herself too well to believe that. But ... it does feel good. "Feels right," she whispers aloud.
"See?" She can feel Ron's lips curving against her neck as he speaks. "We're alright."
She sighs, for the moment feeling nothing more than safe and sated here between them. She drifts off feeling more secure than she has in months, because no matter what else happens they're together, so there's no way they couldn't be alright.
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