Small Fires: A Bedtime Story for SoftObsidian74
folder
Harry Potter › Threesomes/Moresomes
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
12,836
Reviews:
35
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Threesomes/Moresomes
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
12,836
Reviews:
35
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own anything pertaining to Harry Potter - JKR does. I make no money from writing fanfiction.
the last of her kind
Title: Small Fires: A bedtime story for SoftObsidian74
Author: Emily Waters
Pairings: Harry/Ron/Hermione
Warnings: Dark!Fic. Angst, Torture, Character Death.
1.
~ the last of her kind ~
The tent is small, barely enough to contain the three of them. Cozy, Ron had said, cutting off Hermione's complaints. Deep in the enemy territory, they don't dare to use charms and spells, as not to set off Voldemort's wards and attract attention to themselves. Not even the warming spells, no matter how much Hermione sulks. Instead, they spend the nights huddling together for warmth. They spend the days hiking.
The familiar rattling of the autumn rain strikes against the tarp, and the roof of the tent.
Just wonderful, Hermione thinks sleepily. It's fucking raining again. She presses her face deeply into Harry's shoulder. She feels Harry's comforting touch on her spine, as his hand insinuates itself between Ron's chest and her back.
“Cold?” Harry asks.
“I'm always cold,” Hermione murmurs glumly. She is. Cold and tired. She'd grown weaker, she'd lost too much weight. They all had, during the two-week trek through the forest of Northern England, and during the years of the war that preceded it.
The war had dragged out, much longer than anyone had anticipated it might. So many dead. Hermione's parents, Arthur, the twins, Ginny, Hagrid, McGonagall, Flitwick, Dumbledore, Snape, Moody. Eventually, the names and the faces of the departed all started to blur together into one big murky cloud of loss.
So much lost. The world around them becomes more and more sparse every day. Still, somehow the three of them continue to endure and trek on, day after day. They are twenty-five now, but feeling much, much older. And still, there is no end in sight.
“You complain too much,” Ron mutters into her neck, but the rattling of his teeth betrays him. He's cold too. Hermione chuckles quietly.
“Do you suppose we could make fire?” Hermione asks softly.
“I don't know,” Ron says.
“A small one,” Harry concedes.
“A tiny one,” Ron says.
“Barely noticeable,” Harry agrees.
They do that once in a while when it gets too cold. Make small fires, and huddle next to them, soaking in the warmth of the flames, until their anxiety begins to overwhelm their discomfort. Then, they put out the fire hastily, and retreat back to the tent. It's a ritual of its own.
They have them, the rituals. Hermione complains. Ron scolds her. Harry mediates between the two of them. There's a sense of comfort in that. They know they belong to each other.
They crawl out of the tent, and look at the small heap of tree branches and a few logs, dry, wrapped up in a plastic cover. Sitting underneath the tarp, they unwrap their treasure together with great care.
Quickly and skillfully, Hermione arranges the logs, the branches and the kindling into a small heap, which Harry proceeds to light. The are good at this by now. The fire is born at once, and the bright, inviting flames of it dance and flicker wildly, radiating warmth. Hermione stretches her hands towards the heat and smiles. For a few minutes they sit in silence, staring at the fire that burns between them.
The fire continues to grow, and small sparks escape into the night. Ron's expression becomes alarmed.
“Enough,” Harry says quickly, and turns the logs over. He kicks them, stomps on them, and the fire dies under his boots. Too soon. Always too soon.
“Fine. I'm warm anyway,” Hermione says.
“You bloody well better be, sharing the tent with two sexiest men alive,” Ron tells her with a wry grin.
Given how few of us are left, that's not saying much, she almost retorts, but bites her tongue.
“Sexiest and cleverest,” she says instead.
“And bravest,” Harry adds quickly, beating his chest for emphasis, causing Ron to double over in laughter.
“Oh, and so humble too,” Hermione purrs, rubbing her face against Harry's bony shoulder.
“Humility is overrated,” Ron points out. Harry gives one of those earthy, low chuckles that Hermione loves.
They crawl back into the tent, and under the blanket. Hermione is sandwiched between the two of them again. To her delighted surprise, she feels Ron's erection pressing against her backside. She whimpers quietly, as the familiar tingle of arousal is born between her legs. Harry's chest presses against her breasts as his own manhood grinds against the front of her thighs.
“Boys, have you no shame?” Hermione protests unconvincingly.
“It's your fault,” Ron says instantly.
“That's right. You seduced us,” Harry whispers in her ear, as his hot tongue trails her cheek. “Beguiled us with your feminine wiles.”
“Yes. You must be part-veela,” Ron asserts, as his erect member's pressing into her lower back becomes more and more insistent.
“Yes. Muggle-born veela,” Hermione says somberly. “Our sort are rare these days. I might be the last one of my kind.”
The protests, the teasing, and the reassurances are all a part of the ritual. She needs this as much as they do, if not more. She needs to know that they're together, in every sense of the word.
Harry's hand reaches under her shirt, and slips into her jeans, sliding between her knickers and her flesh. She moans softly, and reaches down to unbutton her jeans and slide them down. Ron issues a rather loud gulp, as he always does, as if each time she does that, he can't help but be astonished by her shameless, easy acceptance. She pushes her backside back, pressing it against Ron's thighs, and reaches back with her hands to undo the button of his trousers. When Harry's fingers reach for her sex and dive into it, she lifts her leg and drapes it around Harry's thigh, pressing her lips to his throat. His skin is cool to the touch. She bites down, and sucks gently, undoubtedly leaving a red mark on his pale skin. He doesn't seem to mind, if the throbbing of his cock is any indication.
She gasps when Ron's fingers join Harry's inside her. Their sleek digits covered in her fluids are entwined together, as they thrust inside her. She feels full, so full, full of those wonderful fingers that are so deep inside her, and she pushes against them furiously, eager to drive herself to completion. The arousal continues to build, with agonizing slowness. Ron's lips are now on the nape of her neck, licking down the trickle of sweat. Harry's mouth is on hers, drinking down her moans and whimpers. She's close, so close, so fucking close... and then, Harry's thumb flicks quickly and firmly against her clit. She shudders wildly when that single touch brings her over the edge. The pleasure of the climax is sweet, so piercingly sweet that she finds herself fading into a dreamlike fuzzy state, even as the aftershock of the orgasm continues to course through her entire body.
She is barely cognizant of Harry snagging her waist and turning her over. She's facing Ron now, whose needy erection is pressing against her belly. She buries her face in Ron's shoulder.
She feels Harry's fingers dive back into her sex, collecting her release. A moment later, a single sleek finger presses against her anus, rubbing it in soft, gentle, seducing circles. He pushes past her guardian muscle, sliding deeper inside her, stretching her with playful, tender care that she's used to seeing from him. A moment later, the second finger joins the first, curling inside her, stretching her. Even though the pleasure and arousal begin building again, she is too tired to push against those invading digits. All she can do is lie helplessly, and issue soft, plaintive whimpers with every burst of delight that Harry's fingers force on her.
Ron's own fingers toy with her clit carelessly and mindlessly, and the familiar sweetness of arousal is back.
“Ron,” she mumbles into his shoulder, and Ron's hand rests on the back of her head.
“Shhh,” Ron whispers, and his fingers card through the mess of her hair.
Harry's hand enters her sex again, collecting more of her fluids, that he proceeds to smear onto his cock. A moment later, the tip of his penis presses against her entrance, and he pushes into her. Ron grabs her leg and lifts it. His other hand now rests against her abdomen, the flat palm applying firm pressure. She issues a soft hiss, as Ron proceeds to push her away from him slightly, impaling her on Harry's erect member, until her buttocks are pressed against Harry's thighs. It burns some, as her channel stretches to accommodate the invasion.
Ron's adjusts his position slightly, and his erect member drives into her moist sex, causing her to gasp again. She throws her arms around Ron and hugs him tightly. The pleasure is so intense, so overwhelming that she almost cries out. Her eyes fill with tears as she feels both of them inside her at the same time, sharing her, sharing themselves with her. Her body welcomes them both.
She's held between the two of them, Harry's chest against her back; Ron's, against her front. Her face pressed into her shoulder. They begin to thrust together, setting a fast, furious pace. Stuck between the two of them, she has no room to move, and she is too exhausted to even try anyway. All she can do is whimper quietly with every thrust.
Her eyes are closed, but she senses another kind of movement. Harry and Ron strain to reach for each other, and she hears their lips meet in a kiss.
“Oh, god,” Harry whispers mindlessly between the kisses. “Ron, I can feel you.”
“Harry!” Ron exclaims, thrusting harder inside her.
“What?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Hermione giggles into Ron's shoulder, and Harry chuckles as well. They laugh and come at the same time. As they flood her with their release, she finally cries out. The second orgasm lasts longer. Tremors run through her entire body, over and over again, until blissful exhaustion claims her, and she begins to drift.
She's barely aware of Harry's cock slipping out of her, and of Ron significantly deflated member withdrawing from her sex. She issues a tiny murmur of protest at the abandonment, but Ron and Harry embrace her together.
One of them kisses her forehead, and the other rubs her shoulders soothingly. She's not longer certain who is doing what. She only knows that for as long as her boys continue to hold her, everything is fine.
To Be Continued...
Author: Emily Waters
Pairings: Harry/Ron/Hermione
Warnings: Dark!Fic. Angst, Torture, Character Death.
1.
~ the last of her kind ~
The tent is small, barely enough to contain the three of them. Cozy, Ron had said, cutting off Hermione's complaints. Deep in the enemy territory, they don't dare to use charms and spells, as not to set off Voldemort's wards and attract attention to themselves. Not even the warming spells, no matter how much Hermione sulks. Instead, they spend the nights huddling together for warmth. They spend the days hiking.
The familiar rattling of the autumn rain strikes against the tarp, and the roof of the tent.
Just wonderful, Hermione thinks sleepily. It's fucking raining again. She presses her face deeply into Harry's shoulder. She feels Harry's comforting touch on her spine, as his hand insinuates itself between Ron's chest and her back.
“Cold?” Harry asks.
“I'm always cold,” Hermione murmurs glumly. She is. Cold and tired. She'd grown weaker, she'd lost too much weight. They all had, during the two-week trek through the forest of Northern England, and during the years of the war that preceded it.
The war had dragged out, much longer than anyone had anticipated it might. So many dead. Hermione's parents, Arthur, the twins, Ginny, Hagrid, McGonagall, Flitwick, Dumbledore, Snape, Moody. Eventually, the names and the faces of the departed all started to blur together into one big murky cloud of loss.
So much lost. The world around them becomes more and more sparse every day. Still, somehow the three of them continue to endure and trek on, day after day. They are twenty-five now, but feeling much, much older. And still, there is no end in sight.
“You complain too much,” Ron mutters into her neck, but the rattling of his teeth betrays him. He's cold too. Hermione chuckles quietly.
“Do you suppose we could make fire?” Hermione asks softly.
“I don't know,” Ron says.
“A small one,” Harry concedes.
“A tiny one,” Ron says.
“Barely noticeable,” Harry agrees.
They do that once in a while when it gets too cold. Make small fires, and huddle next to them, soaking in the warmth of the flames, until their anxiety begins to overwhelm their discomfort. Then, they put out the fire hastily, and retreat back to the tent. It's a ritual of its own.
They have them, the rituals. Hermione complains. Ron scolds her. Harry mediates between the two of them. There's a sense of comfort in that. They know they belong to each other.
They crawl out of the tent, and look at the small heap of tree branches and a few logs, dry, wrapped up in a plastic cover. Sitting underneath the tarp, they unwrap their treasure together with great care.
Quickly and skillfully, Hermione arranges the logs, the branches and the kindling into a small heap, which Harry proceeds to light. The are good at this by now. The fire is born at once, and the bright, inviting flames of it dance and flicker wildly, radiating warmth. Hermione stretches her hands towards the heat and smiles. For a few minutes they sit in silence, staring at the fire that burns between them.
The fire continues to grow, and small sparks escape into the night. Ron's expression becomes alarmed.
“Enough,” Harry says quickly, and turns the logs over. He kicks them, stomps on them, and the fire dies under his boots. Too soon. Always too soon.
“Fine. I'm warm anyway,” Hermione says.
“You bloody well better be, sharing the tent with two sexiest men alive,” Ron tells her with a wry grin.
Given how few of us are left, that's not saying much, she almost retorts, but bites her tongue.
“Sexiest and cleverest,” she says instead.
“And bravest,” Harry adds quickly, beating his chest for emphasis, causing Ron to double over in laughter.
“Oh, and so humble too,” Hermione purrs, rubbing her face against Harry's bony shoulder.
“Humility is overrated,” Ron points out. Harry gives one of those earthy, low chuckles that Hermione loves.
They crawl back into the tent, and under the blanket. Hermione is sandwiched between the two of them again. To her delighted surprise, she feels Ron's erection pressing against her backside. She whimpers quietly, as the familiar tingle of arousal is born between her legs. Harry's chest presses against her breasts as his own manhood grinds against the front of her thighs.
“Boys, have you no shame?” Hermione protests unconvincingly.
“It's your fault,” Ron says instantly.
“That's right. You seduced us,” Harry whispers in her ear, as his hot tongue trails her cheek. “Beguiled us with your feminine wiles.”
“Yes. You must be part-veela,” Ron asserts, as his erect member's pressing into her lower back becomes more and more insistent.
“Yes. Muggle-born veela,” Hermione says somberly. “Our sort are rare these days. I might be the last one of my kind.”
The protests, the teasing, and the reassurances are all a part of the ritual. She needs this as much as they do, if not more. She needs to know that they're together, in every sense of the word.
Harry's hand reaches under her shirt, and slips into her jeans, sliding between her knickers and her flesh. She moans softly, and reaches down to unbutton her jeans and slide them down. Ron issues a rather loud gulp, as he always does, as if each time she does that, he can't help but be astonished by her shameless, easy acceptance. She pushes her backside back, pressing it against Ron's thighs, and reaches back with her hands to undo the button of his trousers. When Harry's fingers reach for her sex and dive into it, she lifts her leg and drapes it around Harry's thigh, pressing her lips to his throat. His skin is cool to the touch. She bites down, and sucks gently, undoubtedly leaving a red mark on his pale skin. He doesn't seem to mind, if the throbbing of his cock is any indication.
She gasps when Ron's fingers join Harry's inside her. Their sleek digits covered in her fluids are entwined together, as they thrust inside her. She feels full, so full, full of those wonderful fingers that are so deep inside her, and she pushes against them furiously, eager to drive herself to completion. The arousal continues to build, with agonizing slowness. Ron's lips are now on the nape of her neck, licking down the trickle of sweat. Harry's mouth is on hers, drinking down her moans and whimpers. She's close, so close, so fucking close... and then, Harry's thumb flicks quickly and firmly against her clit. She shudders wildly when that single touch brings her over the edge. The pleasure of the climax is sweet, so piercingly sweet that she finds herself fading into a dreamlike fuzzy state, even as the aftershock of the orgasm continues to course through her entire body.
She is barely cognizant of Harry snagging her waist and turning her over. She's facing Ron now, whose needy erection is pressing against her belly. She buries her face in Ron's shoulder.
She feels Harry's fingers dive back into her sex, collecting her release. A moment later, a single sleek finger presses against her anus, rubbing it in soft, gentle, seducing circles. He pushes past her guardian muscle, sliding deeper inside her, stretching her with playful, tender care that she's used to seeing from him. A moment later, the second finger joins the first, curling inside her, stretching her. Even though the pleasure and arousal begin building again, she is too tired to push against those invading digits. All she can do is lie helplessly, and issue soft, plaintive whimpers with every burst of delight that Harry's fingers force on her.
Ron's own fingers toy with her clit carelessly and mindlessly, and the familiar sweetness of arousal is back.
“Ron,” she mumbles into his shoulder, and Ron's hand rests on the back of her head.
“Shhh,” Ron whispers, and his fingers card through the mess of her hair.
Harry's hand enters her sex again, collecting more of her fluids, that he proceeds to smear onto his cock. A moment later, the tip of his penis presses against her entrance, and he pushes into her. Ron grabs her leg and lifts it. His other hand now rests against her abdomen, the flat palm applying firm pressure. She issues a soft hiss, as Ron proceeds to push her away from him slightly, impaling her on Harry's erect member, until her buttocks are pressed against Harry's thighs. It burns some, as her channel stretches to accommodate the invasion.
Ron's adjusts his position slightly, and his erect member drives into her moist sex, causing her to gasp again. She throws her arms around Ron and hugs him tightly. The pleasure is so intense, so overwhelming that she almost cries out. Her eyes fill with tears as she feels both of them inside her at the same time, sharing her, sharing themselves with her. Her body welcomes them both.
She's held between the two of them, Harry's chest against her back; Ron's, against her front. Her face pressed into her shoulder. They begin to thrust together, setting a fast, furious pace. Stuck between the two of them, she has no room to move, and she is too exhausted to even try anyway. All she can do is whimper quietly with every thrust.
Her eyes are closed, but she senses another kind of movement. Harry and Ron strain to reach for each other, and she hears their lips meet in a kiss.
“Oh, god,” Harry whispers mindlessly between the kisses. “Ron, I can feel you.”
“Harry!” Ron exclaims, thrusting harder inside her.
“What?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Hermione giggles into Ron's shoulder, and Harry chuckles as well. They laugh and come at the same time. As they flood her with their release, she finally cries out. The second orgasm lasts longer. Tremors run through her entire body, over and over again, until blissful exhaustion claims her, and she begins to drift.
She's barely aware of Harry's cock slipping out of her, and of Ron significantly deflated member withdrawing from her sex. She issues a tiny murmur of protest at the abandonment, but Ron and Harry embrace her together.
One of them kisses her forehead, and the other rubs her shoulders soothingly. She's not longer certain who is doing what. She only knows that for as long as her boys continue to hold her, everything is fine.
To Be Continued...