The Little Games We Play (Ch. 4)

( Every character in this story is a legal adult over the age of 18 )

The Little Games We Play

Chapter 4

Hermione spent the entire next day at her desk, failing to do even the most basic Ministry paperwork. There were stacks of case files to review, a memo about someone letting a banshee loose in the Magical Creatures department, and three different requests for her to sign off on an interdepartmental luncheon. She stared at the first page for twenty minutes before she realized she’d drawn a line of penises all the way down the margin.  

Hermione promptly snapped the file shut, slammed her quill into the drawer, and pressed her forehead to the desk. It was official … she’d lost her damn mind, and it was entirely Ron’s fault.

Last night, through Ginny’s piercing shrieks of pleasure, Ron had rolled over in bed and laid it out, as blunt as a sledgehammer. “I want you to fuck Harry.”

He didn’t say it like a joke. He didn’t say it like he was drunk or having some kind of post-traumatic Weasley episode. He said it in the weird, calm voice he used for things like “I ate the last piece of roast” and “My mum wants us to go pick apples for a pie.” 

He’d explained, at length, about how he knew their relationship was in trouble, and how he couldn’t take care of her needs. Then he told her how maybe watching her with someone else would make things better, and how Harry would be the least threatening possible choice since, in Ron’s words, “He’s basically family anyway, right?”

Hermione had wanted to throw the lamp at his face. Instead, she’d told him he was disgusting and completely out of his mind. She’d spent the rest of the night clutching her pillow, wide-eyed and utterly appalled at the male brain’s capacity for self-destruction. However, that was last night. At some point during the night, she had begun to rationalize.

Sex with Ron had never blown her socks off. He was untalented and unimaginative, and the worst part was that he couldn’t last long. After three years, it was just … dull, predictable, and, if she was being completely honest, not nearly enough. So, when Ron talked to her about it again in the morning, Hermione finally agreed. She mostly agreed to get him to shut up, thinking that Harry would never go for it. Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

She pressed the side of her face harder into the desk. Her mind, as usual, wandered to Harry. There was a reason she’d never truly let go of her infatuation, and it wasn’t just the heroic stuff or the scar or even the broad shoulders he’d started sporting after sixth year. No, it was simpler than that. She wanted to know what it was like to fuck a man who seemed to love danger and violence as much as he hated bureaucracy. The only problem was that this was real life, and not one of Ginny’s trashy romance novels.

Ron’s plan was obviously a non-starter. Harry would never go along with it. He’d slept with so many beautiful women, and there were many more waiting their turn to jump into bed with him. Why would he agree to do it with her? However, she still couldn’t stop thinking about the possibilities. Her internal monologue, normally so logical, had collapsed into a series of erotic images. She imagined Harry naked, Harry using his tongue to make her scream, and Harry pressing her into a desk and fucking her until she forgot her own name. The images repeated on a loop until the crotch of her panties was sticking to her skin.

She was so busy trying to get these images out of her mind that she didn’t hear Ron open the door to her office. He burst in with a stupid grin and a takeout cup from the Auror canteen, sloshing weak coffee over the rim and onto her case files. “You look like you haven’t slept in days,” he said, like this was a fun fact and not an open insult.

Hermione shot him a look. “You’re not helping, Ron.”

He took a long, obnoxious sip, then set the cup directly atop the most sensitive folder. “You want to hear something mad?”

“What is it now?” she asked. Nothing he said would surprise her at this point.

He grinned wider. “I talked to Harry this morning.”

Hermione’s mouth went dry, and her heart began beating faster.

“He’s coming over tonight,” Ron said, then paused, weighing whether to say the next bit. “He wants to talk about … you know.”

She looked at him like he’d just told her the house was on fire. “Are you actually serious?” Hermione asked. “He’s coming tonight?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, looking delighted with himself. “He said he’d be off shift by seven. I told Mum we’d be upstairs and not to bother us.”

Hermione opened her mouth, closed it, and tried again. “You’re insane.”

“I know,” Ron said, beaming. “Isn’t it brilliant?”

She was about to launch into a lecture about how this was not, in fact, brilliant, but Ron had already left, whistling off-key and banging the office door shut behind him.

Hermione’s first instinct was to hyperventilate. Her second was to find a nice, nasty curse to hit Ron with. She opted for the third, which was to stand up, walk to the window, and stare at the fountain in the Ministry atrium while weighing the possibility of throwing herself into it.

Harry was coming over tonight. Harry wanted to talk … about having sex with her … while Ron watched.

She pressed a hand to her chest and felt her heart beating like a snare drum. Her stomach churned. If Harry was coming over, she needed to be ready. Hermione gathered her things and stomped down the hall. She needed a plan. She needed to look spectacular, and most of all, she needed to do something about the wild, untamed bush growing between her legs. Since Ron wasn’t getting access to her downstairs, she hadn’t taken the time to properly groom herself. Now, she was kicking herself for it. She needed to buy some supplies, and she needed to do it now.

The Little Games We Play

At six, Hermione took a long shower and scrubbed every inch of herself until her skin was raw. She inspected her legs, her armpits, and especially her pussy. Nothing escaped her attention. She made sure there wasn’t a single hair on her body below her neck. Then she spent a full ten minutes staring at her own reflection, silently reciting all the reasons she was too sensible for this.

She wrapped herself in a towel and got out her best underwear. It was black, lacy, and not particularly supportive, but it was a step up from anything Ron had seen her in. She paired it with a button-down blouse and a pencil skirt, telling herself it was “professional” rather than “easy access.” She did her makeup twice and changed her hair three times before finally admitting that nothing she did would make a difference once Harry got an eyeful of her naked body.

At 7:15, Hermione was a nervous wreck. She paced back and forth across the length of the small room. She considered telling Ron that she’d changed her mind, but then she remembered the look on his face that morning. He wanted this, maybe more than she did. And, for reasons she couldn’t explain, that made her want it too.

She was so lost in thought that she almost didn’t notice the time. She squeaked in panic and ran to the mirror to check herself one last time. There was a knock on the door. Ron poked his head in. “He’s here,” he said, barely hiding his excitement.

Hermione nearly tripped on her way to the mirror. “Give me five minutes!” she barked, then realized her voice was an octave too high.

Ron grinned as if he’d just won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. “Take your time. He’s in the living room. Don’t worry, Mum’s gone out with Fleur for the evening.”

Hermione’s hands shook as she reapplied lipstick and smoothed her skirt. She took a deep breath, fixed her hair, and stared at herself one last time.

The Little Games We Play

Hermione perched on the edge of the bed, her knees pressed tightly together, and her arms folded nervously. Ron paced the floor in front of her, running a hand through his hair every ten seconds, sometimes even glancing at her with a lopsided smile.

“He’ll be here in a second. He’s having tea with Bill,” Ron told her.

Hermione stared at the warped, dented spot on the floorboards when a soft knock at the door made her jump.

“Yeah?” Ron called, his voice cracking.

The door swung open, and Harry stepped in. He looked annoyingly casual in jeans and a dark button-down. His hair was still wet from the shower and sticking up at odd angles. He hesitated at the threshold, giving her a chance to call the whole thing off. Instead, Hermione felt her mouth go dry.

“Hey,” Harry said, looking at her, then at Ron, then back again.

“Hi,” Hermione replied. She tried to keep her voice steady, but it came out quite high-pitched.

Ron shot Harry a shaky smile. “Ready?”

Harry leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “Not unless she is.”

Hermione’s stomach fluttered. She wasn’t exactly sure, but she’d already made up her mind. This was going to happen, and all she could do now was survive it.

“I’m ready,” she told him.

Harry nodded once. “Alright.”

Ron crossed the room and sat down in the ratty desk chair, pushing it back so he had a full view of the bed. He looked giddy, almost delirious. He fidgeted with his shirt, popping the buttons one by one, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be clothed or not.

Hermione stared at Harry. Harry stared at her. There was an unspoken agreement that this wasn’t about romance or love. It was about lust, pure and simple. Harry crossed to the bed, his boots thudding on the floorboards. He held out his hand, and Hermione took it.

Harry pulled her up so their bodies were pressed together. He was warm, and he smelled really good. He ran a hand up her back, his fingers trailing the line of her spine. Then he cupped the back of her neck and tilted her face up to his. She almost expected him to make a joke to crack the tension. Instead, Harry kissed her.

It was nothing like Ron’s kisses. His were always sloppy and unskilled. Harry’s mouth was soft and skillful, and his grip was firm and sure. He tilted his head, pressed in, and deepened the kiss without waiting for permission. Hermione felt her knees wobble, and then he slid his tongue past her lips, filling her with a shock of pleasure so intense she forgot where she was. She moaned. It was embarrassing, but she couldn’t help it.

Harry pulled back, still holding her gaze. “You okay?” he asked.

Hermione nodded, stunned. Behind them, she heard Ron’s breath catch.

“Good,” Harry said, and kissed her again.

This time, he moved his hands. He slipped them down her back, over her waist, and around to cup her ass. He squeezed, hard enough to make her gasp. Then he lifted her just enough to slide his leg between hers, grinding his thigh against her crotch. Hermione bucked against him without thinking, desperate to feel more friction.

Her face burned, and she glanced around Harry’s shoulder to see Ron. His eyes were wide, and his hand was frozen halfway to his zipper. Harry saw it, too. “Do whatever you want. This is your show,” he said to Ron, not even bothering to turn around.

Ron hesitated, then did exactly that. He pushed his jeans and boxers down to his knees, and his already hard cock twitched in the open air. Hermione felt another flush, this one of pure humiliation. She didn’t feel it for herself but for Ron. Even so, he appeared to be enjoying this.

Harry looked back at her and then began unbuttoning her blouse, one slow button at a time. Hermione trembled. She had never been more aware of her own body. She could feel how her nipples were already hard through her bra, and how her thighs trembled as Harry’s hands traced the curve of her waist. He finished with the last button and pushed the blouse off her shoulders, letting it slide to the floor.

He reached behind her and unclasped her bra. She almost laughed. Ron still struggled with the clasp, even after all these years. Harry undid it with two fingers and peeled it away, exposing her breasts to the warm air and the relentless gaze of both men.

Harry cupped her breasts, weighed them in his palms, and ran his thumbs over the nipples. “You’ve got amazing tits,” he said, and it wasn’t a compliment so much as a statement of fact.

Hermione’s cheeks went red, and her heart thundered in her chest. Harry pinched one nipple, making her squirm, then ducked his head and sucked it between his lips. He rolled his tongue over it, then bit down gently, just enough to make her yelp. She heard a sharp inhale from the chair, and she looked over to see Ron openly stroking himself now, his eyes glazed as he watched Harry play with her body.

Harry kissed his way down her chest, licking and biting until her skin was flushed. He unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in only her black, lacey panties that were already wet at the crotch. He slid his fingers along the waistband, then turned her so Ron could see the curve of her ass.

He pressed his mouth to her neck and sucked hard, leaving a mark on her skin. He licked it once, then whispered, “Let me taste you.”

Hermione nodded, unable to form words. Harry knelt and pulled her panties down her legs, exposing her to the room. She remembered, with a wave of relief, the effort she’d put into grooming. Her pale mound was perfectly smooth, and her pussy lips were delicate and pink.

Harry stared at her pussy like it was the greatest thing he had ever seen. Harry then lifted her leg and draped it over his shoulder before dragging his tongue up the length of her slit. He found her clit immediately, then he kissed, licked, and sucked it before burying his face in her cunt like he meant to drown in it.

Hermione grabbed his hair and ground against his mouth, moaning as he licked her with slow, careful circles. He sucked her clit again, then pushed two fingers inside her. She nearly collapsed. Behind her, Ron groaned out a low and raw sound. She looked back at him. His cock wasn’t anything to write home about, but he was jerking it so hard it almost disappeared in his fist. His face was twisted with arousal.

Harry worked her pussy with expert efficiency. He licked every inch with his hot, slick tongue, then curled his fingers until he found the spot that made her vision go white. Hermione came so hard her knees gave out. Harry caught her, lifted her back to standing, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

She was breathless and shaking. Harry stood up, unbuttoned his shirt, and let it fall. He was more muscular than she remembered. He kicked off his boots and undid his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down in a single motion. His cock sprang free.

Hermione had seen penises before, obviously, but never anything like this. It was thick and so long that she thought he might be part centaur. It hung halfway down his thigh, and when he stroked it, the veins bulged under his fingers. She looked at Ron, saw his cock shrivel at the sight, and felt a perverse thrill. Harry walked to her, cupped her chin, and forced her to look him in the eye. “You want this?” he asked, his voice low and lustful.

Hermione nodded, unable to speak. Harry smiled, and it was equal parts cocky and affectionate. He bent and kissed her, and she tasted her pussy on his lips and tongue. He then pressed the head of his cock against her belly, and Hermione instantly wrapped her hand around his shaft and began stroking. Hermione shuddered when she felt how hot it was.

“On the bed,” Harry demanded.

Hermione climbed onto the bed, the springs creaking beneath her knees, and she was acutely aware of Ron’s eyes burning into her back. It gave her a strange thrill, as if she were finally being seen for what she truly was. She didn’t look at him, afraid the awkwardness would kill the mood, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him watching. She lowered herself to her hands and knees, the thin sheet bunching under her palms, and waited. Harry moved onto the mattress and positioned himself behind her. His big, steady hands landed on her hips, squeezing gently, then more possessively.

She felt Harry’s huge cock trace the length of her pussy. He teasingly pressed just the head inside, making her breath catch. The anticipation was almost unbearable, and when he finally began to push in, she gasped, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. She turned her head to glance at Ron. He sat perched in his old, rickety chair, his cock in his hand, stroking in slow, almost reverent pulls. His lips were parted, his eyes wide and glazed, and for a moment she thought he might cry again, but he just stared at her, hungry and desperate for more.

Harry thrust deeper, inching forward until Hermione felt him everywhere. He was stretching her and filling her in a way she’d only imagined. She collapsed forward, her chest pressed to the sheets, as Harry began to move with slow, deliberate strokes. She could feel every slick inch of his cock sliding along her silken walls. He gripped her hips tightly, dragging her back with each punishing thrust, and it sent a jolt up her spine. She couldn’t believe how good it felt. She’d dreamed about this, yes, but the reality was so much better. The only sounds in the room were the slap of flesh and Ron’s increasingly frantic breathing.

Harry was relentless. He fucked her with a steady, mechanical rhythm, but every so often he leaned forward, his chest damp with sweat, and bit playfully at her shoulder or the back of her neck. Sometimes he’d grab a fistful of her hair and pull her head up just so he could whisper her name. "Hermione," he groaned, each time making her shudder. She could barely keep herself upright. Her arms trembled, and her thighs began to ache, but she didn’t want to stop. She didn’t want to give up the feeling of being completely taken in front of Ron.

It was impossible to ignore Ron’s presence. His breathing was loud, and every time she heard his hand slap against his cock, it made her feel a pang of guilt. His best friend was fucking her, and she could feel her slutty pussy dribbling all over his shaft. She wondered what he was thinking … if he was relishing the humiliation, or just desperate to lose himself in the fantasy that he was Harry. Maybe both, Hermione thought. He moaned her name once, and it was a broken, pleading sound.

Harry sped up, slamming into her with a force that made the headboard rattle. Hermione buried her face in the pillow, muffling her moans, but she didn’t want to hide the way she felt. She wanted Ron to see and to understand just how much she needed this. She twisted her hips, grinding back against Harry, matching him stroke for stroke, and she felt the pressure building deep in her belly. She braced herself, knowing what was coming. Hermione knew she wouldn’t be able to hold back.

Harry’s grip on her hips tightened. He drove into her over and over, faster and rougher, until she finally broke. Her orgasm ripped through her so violently she almost screamed. Her pussy clenched around him, spasming, and she could feel the slick gush of her release on his cock. She desperately cried out Harry’s name as he kept pounding her and chasing his own climax.

She barely had time to recover before he came. He buried himself to the hilt, fingers digging into her flesh, and let out a deep groan. She felt him throbbing inside her, filling her with his sticky seed, and the sensation was so overwhelming that she came again. Harry slumped forward, draping himself over her back. Hermione was panting and trembling.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room were their ragged breaths and the faint, sticky noises from Ron. Hermione collapsed to her side, legs shaking, and glanced at Ron. His cock was still in his hand, though he’d stopped stroking, and his chest rose and fell in shallow bursts. He looked incredibly aroused, and his eyes were fixed on the mess between her legs. She could feel Harry’s cum leaking out of her and pooling onto the sheets, and the sight of it seemed to turn him on even more. It only took a few more strokes before a small spurt of watery cum erupted from the tip of his cock. Ron groaned and collapsed boneless into his chair. 

Hermione was about to ask how he felt about this, but she was interrupted by Harry sliding between her legs and penetrating her freshly-fucked pussy. Hermione squealed as her orgasm started up again. As Harry fucked her over and over, she put Ron out of her mind for the time being. Besides, as Ron instantly became hard again and started jerking his meat, Hermione wagered that he was feeling pretty okay about the whole thing.