Talking Body

talking body header


As he watched them glide together across the hotel ballroom, he had to admit, even if just to himself, that they were sickeningly perfect together.

 

After the war, Harry wanted nothing more than peace and anonymity.  He did his duty, standing with the Weasleys as they buried Fred.  As Teddy’s godfather, he assisted Andromeda with the funerals for Remus and Nymphadora.  Then, he left.  He left England, Ginny, The Golden Trio, The Chosen One, and magic itself behind him, wanting to travel and explore the world as a Muggle.

 

Last he’d seen, six years earlier, Ron and Hermione were inching toward the couple they’d been meant to be since Fourth Year.  When she understandingly kissed him goodbye, Ginny smiled through her tears and simply said that she’d miss him.  He didn’t ask her to wait for him and she didn’t offer.

 

When his exploring was done, he retrieved his wand from his Muggle safe deposit box and slipped unnoticed into The Leaky Cauldron, intending to eavesdrop on the latest Wizarding World gossip.  The late afternoon hour ensured a thin crowd and Harry felt luck was with him that his chosen booth had a copy of that morning’s Daily Prophet.

 

The engagement of Quidditch superstars Marcus Flint and Ginevra Weasley was front page news.  More than anything, when he looked at the picture of his ex on her broom next to the burly former Slytherin, he was pleased that she seemed happy.  A few pages later there was a small picture of Ron and George opening a Hogsmeade location of the joke shop.  Angelina Johnson stood proudly next to the older brother while Katie Bell had her arm wrapped affectionately around the waist of the younger.  What had happened to Hermione?  Why was she not at Ron’s side?

 

“Blaise, you know as well as I do that he wants it for his birthday.  All you have to do is say ‘yes’,” a familiar voice said from the Diagon Alley entrance.  It reminded Harry of the cajoling tone used on the boys to get them to do their homework in the Gryffindor common room.

 

“I said no Granger, and no amount of puppy eyes or pouty lips are going to change my mind.  He’s the best friend I have in the world and I love him like a brother, but that’s as far as it goes.  I don’t swing that way and I’m not willing to muck up a thirteen-year friendship by trying to force it.  He knows this; it’s why it’s never happened.”  The dark-skinned man with spring-green eyes glowered at the curly-haired brunette.  “You asked me for a birthday gift idea; I gave you one.  It’s up to you to see it through to fruition.”

 

“Damn it, Zabini.  I can’t think of anyone else.  It has to be someone we both trust and are both attracted to.  Someone who won’t overstay their welcome.  This is strictly a one-time thing…” she said in the same persuasive voice.

 

“Still not interested.  Drop it, Granger,” he said with a growl, watching to crowd grow in the dingy pub.  With an impressive swish of his robes, he turned and stormed out the way he entered.

 

“Shit,” Hermione muttered to herself and stared blankly around the dark paneled room.  In a dimly lit corner, she noticed a head of messy black hair that she’d recognize anywhere.  In four long strides, she approached the booth with a beaming smile.  “Harry!  I’ve missed you so much!  When did you get back?”

 

“My plane from Stockholm landed at Heathrow just before noon.  I made a few stops in London before coming here.  It was time to come home.  I was looking over The Prophet and I’m a little shocked at how much has changed.  I mean, Ginny and Flint?  Ron and Katie?  What’s next, you and Malfoy?”  The Boy Who Lived chuckled, expecting his friend to join him.

 

To his surprise, her cocoa eyes narrowed and her smile disappeared.  “Draco is a good man, Harry.  A lot of things did change when the war ended; you just didn’t stick around to see them happen.  I get why you left, probably more than anyone else you know.  But you can’t blame to world for continuing to spin.”

 

Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow.  “Malfoy changed?  He’d no longer a prejudiced git who wants to Avada you just for existing?  Did you forget that his aunt tortured you in front of him and he did nothing?”

 

Nothing is what kept him and his parents alive.  Nothing is what gave him night terrors for over a year.  Nothing caused him to cry out in his sleep and kick his mother in the ribs when she tried to wake him.  I was on-duty when Lucius flooed into St. Mungo’s.  When a house-elf told Draco what happened, he followed.  I was still training, but I had the bone-mending charm down pat.  I gave Narcissa a calming draught then left her to rest while her ribs healed.  Draco was in the hall, devastated that he’d hurt his mum, and blaming himself all over again.  I got a calming draught for him too and took him to the tea room during my break.

 

“He was forced into most of the things we vilified him for.  They pensieved his memories when they were on trial.  Voldemort threatened Draco with his mother’s life, Bellatrix threatened Narcissa with Draco’s, and both of them were held over Lucius’ head.  Yes, they were pureblood supremacists, but that was all they knew.  Since the war ended, they’ve opened their minds a bit,” Hermione explained right before her face lit up in a blinding smile.

 

“Evening, love.  I missed you today,” said an aristocratic voice as it approached the table.  A tall, well-built platinum blond slid into the booth next to Hermione and kissed her cheek soundly before inspecting her companion.  “Potter,” he said politely with a nod of his head.  “Welcome back to the UK.”

 

“Malfoy,” Harry responded, bewildered by the former Slytherin’s congenial tone.  “Thanks.  It’s good to be back.  I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until I was home.”

 

As Draco and Hermione chattered about their days and plans for the evening, Harry reflected on why he ultimately left Sweden.  Brynn was sweet, smart, and beautiful.  Her long, strawberry-blonde hair fell just past her shoulder blades in gentle waves and she had turquoise eyes that had a way of seeing into his soul and knowing exactly what he needed.

 

Almost two of his six years abroad were spent with the attractive Swede.  Things started as fun, but got serious after a little more than a year.  After a few months, she made arrangements to introduce him to her intimidatingly large family of scary older brothers.  Gustav, Bjorn, and Jan all glared at him over dinner for compromising their little sister’s virtue.  Then there was Leif.

 

The middle brother was laid-back and relaxed where the majority of the family had a similar mindset to Percy Weasley.  He laughed loudly and often, teasing and playing with Brynn as opposed to lecturing and sermonizing to her about her choices in life.

 

When the holiday was over, Harry and Brynn returned to their small northern town; Leif kept in touch with the couple and began visiting as often as he was able.  It became nothing for Harry and Leif to spend time alone while Brynn was either working or studying for her university classes.

 

They were playing chess when Harry decided to study the man who would likely become his brother-in-law.  His hair was dark blonde, just a shade or two too light to be called brown.  It was long, just past his shoulders, and tied back with a leather cord.  Narrowed in concentration, Harry noticed that Leif’s eyes were icy, a unique shade between gray, green, and blue.  They tended to change colors depending on his mood; almost always they were blue and sparkling with humor.

 

The man was tall, like all of Brynn’s brothers, but at 6’4”, only one of them was taller than Leif.  His body was long and lean with muscle from skiing and swimming.  Like his sister, no matter the season, his skin kept a healthy golden glow.  With a high forehead, sharp cheeks, and full lips, he was a model of stereotypical Scandinavian male beauty.

 

Harry had never thought of a man as beautiful before.  As the weeks and months passed, the green-eyed man realized that he was just as attracted to Leif as he was to Brynn and it shook him.  After a night of pub crawling, Harry learned that the attraction was mutual.

 

Brynn was passed out in their room; Harry was in the wide-awake stage of his inebriation.  Leif had stayed mostly sober in case he needed to drive.  The two men played a racy game of Twenty Questions to pass the time.  In his accented baritone, Leif asked, “Have you ever kissed another man?”  When the younger man shook his head the blond quickly followed up with, “Have you ever wanted to?”

 

If they hadn’t been Muggles, Harry would have sworn he was dosed with Veritaserum.  Blushing furiously, he couldn’t help but nod.  Moving slowly, giving the raven-haired man a chance to stop things if he wanted, Leif leaned in to brush his lips over those of his sister’s boyfriend.  It was an unfamiliar sensation, but not unpleasant in the slightest.  He deepened his kiss with the taller man and tried to understand why he liked it just as much as kissing Brynn.

 

Over the next couple of months, the two men secretly explored the chemistry between them.  After they had sex though, they both knew it had to end.  Harry was sick with himself for betraying Brynn and Leif couldn’t stand the thought of hurting his beloved little sister.

 

Using the excuse of needing to return home, Harry ended his relationship with the Swedish girl.  Both cried; one because she was in love and the other because he didn’t love enough.  After a last, lingering kiss, Harry packed his meager belongings and booked a flight back to London.

 

“… since you’re back Potter, you’re free to come as well.  You haven’t had the privilege of attending a Malfoy ball,” Draco said, interrupting Harry’s thoughts.

 

“Sorry, what?” he asked, still not used to manners and smiles from the blond man.

 

“Draco’s birthday ball in two months,” explained Hermione.  “It’s second only to the annual New Year’s Ball.  It’s quite the event.  You should come; it’ll give you a chance to catch up with everyone.”  She rested her head on her… what exactly were they to each other?

 

The dark haired man gestured between the two sitting across from him.  “How long has… this been going on?”

 

The witch rolled her eyes, but the man next to her answered.  “It will be three years in July.  Mother is in heaven because not only is she planning my birthday gala, but she’s truly in her element, organizing the Wizarding World’s ‘wedding of the century’ for December,” he said with an eye-roll of his own.  “You’ll be invited also, of course.”

 

The three ordered dinner and drinks, filling their stomach as they caught Harry up on current events.  Neville was the Herbology professor at Hogwart’s and married to Hannah Abbott.  Luna was off traveling, searching for creatures that didn’t exist and occasionally reporting for The Quibbler.  Lavender Brown ended up marrying a pureblood from Beauxbatons while Seamus and Dean finally came out.  They opened a café in Hogsmeade, putting Seamus’ proclivity for flambé to practical use.

 

Draco updated him on the lives of the Slytherins in their year.  Nott Sr. and Goyle Sr. were both in Azkaban as they willingly followed the Dark Lord.  Their sons, Theo and Greg, were contributing large portions of their family vaults to charities for war orphans and widows as well as the rebuilding efforts just to be able to go out in public.  Astoria Greengrass had taken an apprenticeship with Madame Malkin, whose shop was starting to feature the witch’s exclusive designs.  Blaise, proficient in potions and charms, had opted to go into healing.  Hermione worked in spell damage while the dark wizard dealt with magical bugs.  While they no longer felt any animosity toward each other, no one with sense would call them friends.

 

Hermione’s eyes started to droop and her fiancé called for the check.  Harry told them that he intended to inhabit Grimmauld Place until he found a more comfortable place to hang his hat… with fewer painful memories.

 

On her mid-week afternoon off, his curly-haired friend flooed in with a warm cauldron of beef stew (Kreacher had been squished by a stumbling giant during the final battle), her favorite blend of tea, and a ready ear.  Although she maintained her other friendships from her Hogwart’s days, Hermione would always consider Harry her best friend, as he did with her.

 

After filling their bellies with delicious food from Malfoy Manor’s house-elves (the freedom of which Hermione and Narcissa had agreed to disagree about), the pair settled in the relatively comfortable sitting room to talk for the first time in many years.  Despite the time and distance, their friendship was as strong and intact as ever.

 

Although the fact hadn’t escaped him in The Leaky Cauldron, sitting there with her alone, Harry had to admit that the years had been kind to Hermione.  When the war ended, she had been skinny, bedraggled with shadows below her eyes, and jumpy from being tortured.  Six years later, her once-frizzy hair fell in a wild cascade of curls to her elbows.  No longer emaciated and malnourished, her breasts and hips filled out, proportionate to her petite frame, making her already trim waist seem ever smaller.  The sparkle in her mocha eyes and clarity of her peaches-and-cream complexion testified to the happiness and health of her current lifestyle.  He’d always thought she was cute.  When she’d gotten her teeth fixed in Fourth Year and he’d seen her dressed up for the Yule Ball, he could concede that she was kind of pretty.

 

Now, no longer a girl, no longer on the run from demented dark wizards, happy and secure with her place in the world, and blooming with the love of a man who she loved in return, he had to admit.  She was beautiful.  The longer he looked at her, he realized that while the potential was always there, her outside finally reflected the good, kind, generous – yes, beautiful – soul that was inside.

 

She also always kept his secrets, even if it would have been better if she hadn’t.  Harry told Hermione about Sweden, Brynn, and Leif.  He could tell by her expression that she didn’t judge him for either his infidelity or his surprise bisexuality.  “Do you even have a type, Harry,” she asked with a giggle.  “First a petite Asian, then a slender, freckled ginger with an athletic build, a taller-than-average blonde muggle and her much-taller-than-average brother!  They only thing they have in common is long hair.  Is that your thing?”

 

He chuckled himself at his unwitting diversity.  “I don’t think that was a factor, just a coincidence.  I’ve never really thought about what attracts me.  What is it about Malf… Draco? What happened with Ron?”

 

The witch gave her friend a dreamy smile reminiscent of Luna.  “Ron and I would have never worked long-term.  He wanted a young, hot version of Molly.  You know me Harry.  I never wanted to put my life and dreams on hold to be a housewife and mum.  Katie is good for him, plus she loves Quidditch as much as he does.

 

“Draco knows being a healer is important to me and that I fully intend to stay at St. Mungo’s after we marry.  He also knows nothing is certain after we have children.  When we started dating, he was all about extravagance – fancy dress robes, exclusive clubs, expensive restaurants – just like every pureblood witch he dated before expected.  When he asked me to plan a date, I flipped it on him.  I made some sandwiches, biscuits, and lemonade and took him to the shore for a picnic.  When he proved to be just as impressive with no frills – just as intelligent, charming, and attractive – in jeans and a t-shirt as he is in designer robes, he had me

 

“He lets me… explore.  I never had the inclination or opportunity to go through normal teenage rebellion and experimentation.  You know Ron never dealt well with change or anything unconventional.  Draco is very free and confident in who he is and what we have.  It’s taken some adjustment on my part because I can’t remember a time in my life where I haven’t had to hide some part of myself… yes, even with you, Harry,” she said in response to her friend’s skeptical glare.  “But when I’m with Draco, he just wants me to be me, no matter who that me happens to be at the time.  I’m the same with him.  There’s no part of Draco that he doesn’t feel he can’t tell me.”

 

The wizard accepted Hermione’s reasoning, even if he was still a little hurt that Malfoy knew his best friend better than he did.  The pair continued to spend time together in the weeks before Draco’s birthday, occasionally joined by one or more of the Weasleys or the fiancé himself.  When Hermione left the parlor to work on dinner, Harry thought perhaps he was delusional because there was no way the blond wizard would be gazing hungrily… at him.  He was also certain that once or twice, the witch Malfoy was engaged to had seen him returning the stare.

 

Tall, lean but muscular.  If Harry had a type for men he was attracted to, that would seem to be it.  It was quite unfortunate then, that the one he wanted to play with was in a committed relationship with a woman who was almost like a sister… except for the fact that he’d come in his hand to fantasies of her and daydreams of what her lusciously full lips would feel like.

 

The week before Draco’s birthday, Harry and Hermione went shopping together for their formalwear.  Harry’s dress robes were easy: bottle green damask that brought out the vivid color of his eyes.  Hermione’s dress was harder.  As much as it turned her fiancé on to see her dressed in his former house colors, the cool green and silver didn’t compliment her warm complexion.

 

It wasn’t until they ventured into Muggle London that Hermione found her dress.  A deep wine-red sheath with delicate spaghetti straps.  The raw silk clung to her curves from chest to ankle, with a hip-high slit for movement.  Her strappy gold heels pulled everything together.  When she stepped out of the dressing room, she posed for her friend.  “Well?” she asked uncertainly.

 

All complex thoughts were wiped from his head at the same time his blood-flow pumped south.  His focus was on the single smooth leg framed by the luxe burgundy fabric and highlighted by the metallic shoe.  “You… uh… you look amazing, ‘Mione,” the man stammered, awed by the beauty his friend had become.

 

She kissed his cheek in thanks and returned to the cubicle to change again.  After making her purchases, the pair stopped by an outdoor café for tea and afternoon sunlight.  Hermione sipped her beverage and gave her friend a penetrating stare.  “So when did you become attracted to my fiancé, Harry?”

 

He choked on his drink at the blunt question.  When he finally cleared his throat, he managed to answer.  “Changing after Quidditch at that pick-up game a few weeks ago.  He’s built similarly to Leif.  When he’s not being a prejudiced bullying prat, he’s actually very smart and funny in the same dry, intellectual way that you are.  Yes, I’m attracted to him, but I’d never dream of doing anything about it.  He’s yours.”

 

“Yes he is,” she agreed.  “He does everything in his power to make me happy, just as I do for him.  I’m also a hell of a lot more observant than he gives me credit for.  I’m going to ask you a question Harry, and I want you to answer honestly, without regard to my feelings.  Can you do that?”

 

Harry nodded uncertainly, curious as to what his friend would ask with a precursor like that.  She fixed him with that intense gaze again.  “If you had one night – and one night only – with Draco, could you live with that?  And,” she said, holding up a hand to stop him from answering yet, “would it matter if the sole qualification to have that night would be my presence?  I’d say my participation, but I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

 

“Honestly, ‘Mione?  The night with Malfoy, if he were to agree, is something I’ve dreamed about.  To have you included as well… I’d be lying if I said that didn’t sweeten the pot.  But I’m not willing to do anything that could hurt or ruin our friendship.”

 

Hermione smiled and reached across the table to ruffle his perpetually messy hair.  “Silly Harry, if that were a risk, I wouldn’t make the offer.  Here’s what I’m thinking…”  The brunette detailed her plans for her fiancé’s birthday gift.  While Blaise had nudged her in the right direction, only she had all the information and connections to put everything together.

XxXxXxXxXx

Imperial Gardens was more than a mere hotel.  The ballroom was spacious and immaculate.  Dinner was gourmet and made to order.  The music was both elegant and current, classic and popular, appealing to most of the guests, regardless of age.  The courtyard gardens for which the inn was named were spectacular.  Roses, hibiscus, lilies, tulips, and orchids perfumed the evening breeze.  But it was the birthday boy in his platinum blond glory, dancing gracefully with his petite, beautiful betrothed, which was the subject of envious sighs, covetous grumbles, whispered rumors, and hazy-eyed daydreams.  Harry couldn’t help but feel jealousy spike through his system when Draco’s large hand cupped Hermione’s waist and pulled her close.  The thing was… he wasn’t sure who he was jealous of.

 

Per the plan, at half past midnight, Harry found himself outside Suite 605.  With the door discreetly propped open, he paused – as instructed – to eavesdrop on the pair.  Between the wet sounds of kissing and pleasured sighs, he heard his friend say (somewhat breathlessly), “I can’t wait to give you your birthday gift.  I think I found something for the man who has everything.”

 

A masculine growl sent shivers down Harry’s spine.  “I don’t need anything but you, love.  You know that.”

 

She giggled.  “Need and want are totally separate creatures.  Do you remember how you got me what I wanted for my birthday?”

 

The sound of skin smacking skin startled the man in the hall, followed by a soft whimper.  “I remember you watching me fuck Daphne as you straddled her face.  I remember you leaning down to lick us both at the same time.  I remember watching the two of you kiss and paw at each other and felt amazed that it was a gift for you.  You really are perfect for me.”  Harry heard another high-pitched sigh and wished he could see what was causing those sounds.  “I fucking love you, Mya.”

 

‘Stop for a second so I can explain your gift,” Hermione gasped a few moments later.  Harry heard Malfoy’s grunt of displeasure, but his fiancée continued.  “Something I never thought of until recently.  I saw you in a third floor alcove while doing patrols in Fifth Year.  Adrian Pucey had you pinned against the wall and you were snogging the hell out of each other.  I thought it might have been a one-time, experimentation thing.”  Harry heard the man try to interrupt, but his witch stopped him.  “Over the years, I’ve seen how you look at Blaise sometimes.  I know you’re just friends and neither of you would cross that line, but… I know you’ve thought about him like that.”

 

The silence that followed was heavy.  Even without being able to see her, Harry knew that Hermione was anything but upset by her light tone.  When she spoke again, her voice was softer, but still playful.  “What do Pucey and Zabini have in common?  Quidditch builds, green eyes, and dark hair.  Who did you spend six-plus of your formative years focusing on?  Who have you been starting at when you thought I wasn’t looking?”  Her voice sounded closer and a second later her hand slipped out the cracked door to beckon him with a slender finger.  “Who recently confessed to me that he shares that attraction?  Who confided that he’s dreamed about having a night to play with you?  Who said he wouldn’t mind my presence… or participation?”  Harry pushed open the door.

 

Draco was sitting on the bed, still in his dress slacks, his white formal shirt unbuttoned, and barefoot.  Harry was silently awed by the defined porcelain-pale chest and abdomen.  He was even more dumbstruck when he turned to his oldest friend.  Coffee-colored curls tumbled wildly down her back and over her chest.  A midnight-blue lace slip that skimmed her thighs and framed her breasts left little to the imagination.  The gold heels Hermione still wore made her legs – already long despite her petite frame – seem even longer.  Harry’s mouth went dry at the sheer beauty of the pair.

 

She closed the door behind Harry then crossed the room to kneel in front of the still-sitting, silent form of Draco.  His face was a stoic, emotionless mask that Harry hadn’t seen since their Hogwarts days.  Hermione looked up at her fiancé with worried eyes.  “Was I wrong?  I misread everything, didn’t I?  I’m so sorry, love. I…”

 

The witch was silenced by her wizard’s finger over her lips.  “You weren’t wrong.  How the bloody hell did an arsehole like me get so lucky?  I don’t deserve you, Mya, but I’m selfish enough to keep you anyway.”

 

Harry marveled at the smile that lit up her face before Draco captured her mouth in a breathtaking kiss.  The raven-haired man felt almost like an unwelcome voyeur watching them together, but was powerless to turn away.

 

The blond broke the kiss and smirked at his panting woman before taking the several steps to stand before their guest.  He was taller than Harry’s 5’11”, but not as tall as Leif had been.  Harry guessed Draco was 6’1” or 6’2” before rational thought left him.  The taller wizard cupped his palm against the darker man’s jaw and tilted his head up so emerald eyes could meet Arctic gray.  Seeing no ambivalence or uncertainty in those green orbs, Draco lowered his head slowly and gently pressed his lips to Harry’s.

 

Although he didn’t have extensive experience to compare different styles or techniques, Harry could already tell he would forever be able to tell the difference between a man’s kiss and a woman’s.  The lips were usually thinner and slightly rougher.  He could feel the hint of stubble, no matter how clean-shaven he might look.  Hands were larger, touches were stronger.  After that first testing, tentative kiss, Draco pulled away and waited for Harry to make a move.

 

He didn’t waste time.  Harry slid his hands up the other man’s bare chest, behind his neck, and up into his hair.  It was softer, silkier, and finer than he’d imagined.  He combed his fingers through the strands a few times then pulled down.  Their lips met again without hesitancy and Harry felt Draco’s hand wrap around the back of his neck to pull him closer.

 

The shorter wizard couldn’t tell if it was seconds, hours, or days before they separated.  Both participants were breathing heavily when their eyes met again.  A few, silent moments later, silver turned to meet chocolate.  “Mya, what are the rules for tonight?”

 

The witch grinned at her fiancé.  “Same as they were on my birthday, love.  If all parties are consenting, nothing is off-limits.  If you and Harry want to play alone tonight, I have no problem with that.  I’d only ask that you let me watch.  You’re both gorgeous men Dray, and I can’t think of anything hotter than seeing you enjoy each other.

 

Even though he didn’t want to waste time talking, Harry had to ask, “What was that about your birthday, ‘Mione?  You said something while I was in the hall…”

 

Both Draco’s and Hermione’s smiles widened.  “I told you he encouraged experimentation.  We spent a night talking about our fantasies.  I mentioned that I’d always wanted to know what it was like to be with another girl.  I’m not gay or even bi, but I was curious.  So Draco lined up a surprise for me.”

 

The blond continued.  “I thought about approaching Pansy at first, but even though we’re still friends, she and Mya don’t really get along.  I went through a mental roster of all the women we knew and trusted, who was attractive, and who could be considered at least a little adventurous.  I was about to owl the Lovegood girl when I remembered Daphne Greengrass.  She responded immediately.  Said she’d always found Hermione attractive, even back at school.”

 

“I was intimidated at first,” picked up Hermione.  “I wanted Draco there with me.  Daphne was fine with it because she thought he was hot too and was more than a little curious about the Slytherin Sex God rumors.  But none of us wanted more than a night.  The three of us had a lot of fun, but in the end, Draco and I fell asleep together and Daphne went on her merry way.”

 

“Consenting adults, Potter,” Draco said.  “I trust my woman.  I know she loves me.  She knows that she’s my life.  But sex and love are not exclusive.  I arranged for her and Daphne to have a night, not knowing I’d be invited to participate.  She knows that if either you or I were uncomfortable with her participation, she’d sit quietly in that chair over there and watch,” he said, adding with a smirk, “probably with her fingers in those naughty lace knickers of hers.

 

“But that’s a deal breaker for me, I’d be lying if I said I don’t want you.  It would be a lie if I said I never came thinking about you.  I want this, but only if my witch, your friend, joins us.  And no strings.  After tonight, everything goes back to the way it was yesterday.  If you can’t handle or accept that, you need to tell us now.”

 

Hermione looked at him anxiously, waiting for his decision.  Harry rushed through his thoughts based on the new information.  Could he have a single night, have sex with Draco and possibly Hermione, then tomorrow morning act like it never happened?

 

He thought of the way Draco and Hermione looked at each other and interacted.  They were solid and a playful encounter like this wouldn’t change that.  Hermione’d practically guaranteed that this wouldn’t change their friendship.  Maybe this was what was needed to resolve the stifling sexual tension he felt for Malfoy.  If anything, it would be fun to find out.  He nodded in agreement to the couple’s terms.

 

Draco took his witch by the hand and gently tugged her forward.  “Kiss your friend, love.  He tastes like chocolate and champagne,” the blond murmured in her ear.  Even in high heels, Hermione had to stretch up on her toes to reach Harry’s mouth.  When her tongue brushed his, she sighed with pleasure.

 

He gave in and wrapped his arms around the petite woman that he’d known most of his life, her form familiar in a night of newness.  He coiled her curls around his hand to tilt her head back when he jumped, feeling a warm mouth on the side of his neck and a large hand sliding around his waist to unfasten his robes.

 

Hermione tasted like berries and cream while Draco’s flavor was darker.  Cherries and firewhisky.  One was sweet, clean, pure and good.  The other was capable of clouding the mind.  Sweet in a different way, but with a dangerous bite.  Delicious, decadent, and intoxicating.  Harry broke the kiss with his friend and turned his head over his shoulder to taste Draco again.

 

Unoccupied, the witch’s swift and sure hands took over for her distracted fiancé, carefully ridding Harry of his fine damask robe and the dress shirt underneath.  During their six years at Hogwarts and one on the run, Hermione had seen her friend shirtless many times.  The years had been kind to him and he, like her, filled back out impressively after the months of deprivation during the horcrux hunt had left him malnourished and slightly emaciated.  As she took in his broad shoulders and defined chest she smiled.  Yes, very kind.

 

Once Harry was free of his dress garments above the waist, Hermione focused on the blond man who was absorbed with running his hands over the bare skin of the darker man’s torso and softly moaning in his mouth.  She slid her hands up Draco’s sides from his waist to his shoulders, then down his arms, gripping the fine silk of his dress shirt.  After undoing his platinum and emerald serpent cufflinks, she removed the material and again marveled that this pale, Adonis-like perfection was hers.

 

The men were fairly involved in each other, but Hermione didn’t feel left out or neglected.  In fact, she sat back in the chair Draco had mentioned and did exactly as he predicted.  She watched her best friend and the love of her life kiss, fondle, and rub against each other as though their existences depended on it.  The curly-haired witch rubbed her thighs together and softly whimpered to herself as the sight of the two men fired up her libido more than it already was.  The thought sparked a memory and she discreetly grabbed her wand to cast a nonverbal spell over the suite.

 

Having the dominant Malfoy persona, Draco felt free to take the lead.  Confidently, he ran his hand over the front of Harry’s trousers, smirking into their kiss at the heat and hardness of the other man’s erection.  He pulled the shorter man closer and pressed his hips forward, letting him know that he was just as aroused.  As the two kissed and ground their pelvises together, Draco beckoned blindly for his fiancée to join them again.

 

Hermione stepped behind him, fine with simply observing but more than happy to participate if it pleased her man.  Skillfully she unbuckled his belt and lowered his slacks.  He stepped out of them distractedly then moaned into Harry’s mouth when her small hand gripped and stroked him over his emerald green silk boxers.  Her other hand captured Harry’s wrist and brought his hand down to hers.  With her hand as a guide, she taught her friend how to touch her fiancé to bring him the most pleasure.

 

So turned on by the blond’s gratified grunts, Harry barely noticed Hermione stripping him.  Shoes and socks were removed, belt unfastened, and trousers vanished.  He had Muggle taste in undergarments and was straining the confines of his simple black boxer-briefs.

 

The witch grinned to herself when she saw that her friend’s hand had worked under Draco’s silk waistband.  Deciding to relieve Harry of any discomfort, she lowered his pants so he was totally bare.

 

Draco took immediate advantage and fell to his knees.  The darker man’s erection was impressive – a fair eight inches in length and girth sure to bring pleasure to his partner without causing pain.  Although he and Adrian had fooled around as schoolboys, Draco had never had the courage to try this.  Opting to do what he himself liked, he licked Harry from base to head before suckling lightly on the tip.

 

Hermione had to bite back a giggle when her friend’s knees nearly gave out.  She was so aroused that the lightest touch might make her combust.  She’s never seen anything sexier than the pair before her.  Harry with his hands fisted in Draco’s hair, eyes closed, glasses askew, jaw tense, and head thrown back.  Draco’s eyes were wide open and looking up to Harry’s face, one arm wrapped around her friend’s hips to help keep him steady, the other hand stroking what he couldn’t manage with his mouth.  She knew that Draco was a master at cunnilingus and based on her friend’s reactions, he could add fellatio to his list of erotic skills.

 

The brunette wanted to join in and in the spirit of “no rules”, got on her knees perpendicular to her fiancé.  When he opened his mouth to take a breath, the witch stuck her tongue between his lips and together they blew Harry’s mind.

 

Feeling two hot, talented mouths on him was almost more than he could endure.  He knew he was going to come soon and didn’t have to wait for his rebound.  Harry forced his eyes open, looked down, and almost exploded then and there.

 

Draco and Hermione were kissing around his cock, their tongues twisting and wrestling.  The witch had rid her fiancé of his boxers and was stroking him in counter-rhythm to his hand on Harry.  Her other hand was in her knickers; Harry could see the muscles in her forearm twitch with her actions and he felt the vibration of her moans through every nerve.  He kept himself edging, thoroughly enjoying every sensation, until Hermione removed her mouth.  He felt like crying until she adjusted her position, ducked her head, wrapped those gorgeous rose lips around his balls, and tickled his sensitive sac with the tip of her tongue.  He didn’t have a chance to more than hoarsely grunt as warning for Draco before he came.  Despite his inexperience, the blond swallowed every pulse and licked him clean afterward.

 

With one man satisfied for the moment, Hermione focused her attentions and affections on the man she was set to marry.  She crawled to his panting form, still on his knees, and kissed him sensuously.   She could taste Harry and firewhisky on his tongue; the combination was strangely potent, fueling her lust.  Draco grabbed the hem on her flimsy nighty and pulled it roughly over her head, exposing her to the cool air of the suite.

 

Still dazed from his orgasm, he wasn’t too blissed out to notice his best friend clad in only tiny dark blue lace knickers.  “Bloody hell, she’s got gorgeous tits,” his mind groaned as Draco sucked a pebbled, dark peach nipple into his mouth.  He felt himself start to get hard again watching the blond tease his witch with his lips and teeth, suckling, nipping, pinching, and scraping those sensitive nubs.  In the vein of “no rules”, he placed his smeared and sweaty glasses on the nearest nightstand, took the unoccupied peak between his lips and sucked, flicking it with his tongue at the same time.

 

Hermione’s ecstatic squeal was like music to his ears.  Feeling bold, he cupped her sex and felt the wetness that had soaked the delicate lace.  He kissed his way up, from breast to collar bone, over her shoulder and up her neck to breathe hotly in her ear, “I bet those are uncomfortable, kitten.  How about you slip those off?”  He had no idea where the pet name came from, but went with it, which seemed to be the theme of the night.

 

Draco nipped her other earlobe and growled, “That aphrodisiac charm of yours is a miracle, love.  If any of us are able to walk straight when the sun comes up, I’ll be shocked.”

 

The witch breathlessly giggled.  “They don’t call me ‘the brightest witch of the age’ for nothing, you know?  I made an adjustment so that neither you nor Harry will have to worry about rebound time.  Both of you should be able to go all night and only need a tiny break between rounds.”

 

Draco’s face lit up in a glowing smile.  “You truly are my brilliant little know-it-all.  Now… Potter is right, love.  Those delicious little knickers need to go.  I suggest Potter pull them down for you… with his teeth.  Let him get a little taste of your honey.”

 

Knowing there was an aphrodisiac charm on the room helped Harry understand the sudden overwhelming lust he felt for both the witch that had been his best friend since he was eleven and the angst-ridden bully who had attempted to make his life hell from the same age.  It wasn’t off-putting; he’d felt attraction for them both before.  Accepting the reason for his heightened arousal, he smirked at Hermione.  “That is a smashing idea.  I bet Kitten has a fucking gorgeous little pussy.”

 

The dark-haired wizard licked and nipped his way down his friend’s body, shamelessly lingering at her breasts.  When he met the sodden blue scrap, he flicked his eyes up to her face.  “Your kitty smells like ambrosia, ‘Mione.  Peaches and berries, honey and cream… I can’t wait to taste you…”  He grabbed the delicate lace with his teeth and pulled, ripping the flimsy material.  Disregarding her squeak of surprise, his tongue swept through her folds, adding an extra flick over her clit.

 

Hermione made an odd sound like a mix of a shriek and a moan.  Her fiancé sat back and watched with a grin, lazily stroking himself in time to match Harry’s tongue.  His betrothed looked like a goddess in her pleasure.  The sight alone turned him on, no matter who was getting her off.

 

Harry ate her voraciously – licking, sucking, teasing.  He only got harder when she pulled his hair or clenched her thighs around his head.  Though he didn’t have extensive experience – Ginny and Brynn having been the only women he’d practiced this particular act with – Hermione’s arousal was sweet and slightly tart, truly like honey and cream.  The longer the tasted her, the more he wanted.  He spread her lips with calloused fingers and swirled his tongue in the hot cavern of her core.

 

When the witch’s eyes rolled back in her head, the blond on the bed moaned softly with his own pleasure.  He had a sudden idea and sat up, calling a time-out to the floor show.  “I didn’t think of this until after our night with Daphne.”  He sat at the foot of the bed with his feet flat on the floor.  “You, love, will sit here like a good little witch and ride my cock and Potter’s face at the same time.  Maybe if our friend is feeling generous, He’ll throw in a birthday gift or two for me.  A bloke doesn’t turn twenty-four every day, you know?”

 

Neither Harry nor Hermione had any objection to Draco’s plan.  The witch caught her breath and got to her feet.  She settled on her fiancé’s lap, her back to his chest, his cock nestled snugly inside her.  She mewled at the feeling of fullness; her wizard was well above-average and slightly larger than her impressive raven-haired friend.  He braced her to his body with an arm under her breasts and when her thighs straddled his, he spread his legs, effectively opening her wide.

 

Harry took a moment and started at the view of his friend and Malfoy connected so intimately.  Hermione’s hips her rocking as much as they could with the position she was in.  Green eyes shifted up; Draco’s eyes were closed and the cords in his neck strained as he willed himself not to come yet.  His long, pale fingers teased and pinched his fiancée’s nipples; his other hand rested on her thigh, absently stroking the silky skin.

 

Espresso eyes were dark and hazy with both arousal and frustration.  With the way the blond was holding her combined with her legs braced over his, her range of motion was severely limited and she squirmed impatiently, aching for some kind of relief.

 

The dark man knelt between Malfoy’s marble-pale legs, lightly furred with blond hair as fair and fine as that on his head.  The scent of Hermione’s arousal mixed with the erotic view before him made his mouth water.  He leaned in and lightly ran his tongue from the lighter wizard’s perineum, over his sensitive bollocks, past the witch’s core where the two were connected, to flick over her pearl, making her twitch and moan.

 

The salty, earthy flavor of Draco’s body blended perfectly with Hermione’s sweeter taste.  Harry suddenly couldn’t get enough.  Placing his hands on the other man’s inner thighs, he leaned in eagerly.  He would graze Draco’s balls gently with his thumbs as he ravaged the witch with his mouth.  Before she could break, he’d switch, suckling Malfoy’s tender scrotum and licking the root of his cock while using his digits to tease his friend, keeping her on edge, but never letting her fall.

 

Before long, Hermione was actively struggling against her man’s hold, aching and nearly delirious from being nearly brought to orgasm multiple times before having it snatched away.  If her friend and beloved were going to treat her so cruelly, she would take her pleasure into her own hands.

 

When her fingers started creeping toward her center, icy gray met glittering green and speechlessly, the men agreed to end the witch’s torment.  With surprising grace, their positions changed:  Harry on his back, Hermione kneeling over his head, and Malfoy straddling his chest, still inside his witch.  The black-haired wizard stroked himself and the fair man grabbed the curvy hips of his fiancée and pushed in, deep and hard.

 

After having spent what felt like an eternity on the edge, four of Draco’s perfectly aimed thrusts turned Hermione into a wailing, shaking, gasping mess of senseless bliss.  Her sugary release coated Malfoy’s bollocks and Harry saw no reason why he shouldn’t have another taste.

 

With his hand still on his member, Harry inched his body down until all he had to do was lift his head and open his mouth.  The thin skin was slightly sticky against Harry’s lips and he groaned at the flavor as he caressed the orbs with his tongue.

 

Draco also moaned at the twin sensations: His wife-to-be pulsing around him and her best friend tasting and tickling his occasionally-neglected sac.  His stomach tensed involuntarily and before he could pull it back, he came so hard that spots filled his vision.

 

Shaky after such a powerful release, the taller wizard allowed himself to slip from Hermione’s core, soft and sated for the moment.  Harry was transfixed by the pearly, translucent seed slowly leaking down his friend’s thigh.  He arched up again and let the new taste coat his tongue.  Salty mixed with sweet, slightly bitter but not at all unpleasant.  The witch’s breathless moans only encouraged him to lick her clean.

 

Harry sought out every trace of that unique flavor at the apex of her thighs.  Soon, Hermione was squirming and bowing her back, mouth open in a silent scream, coming hard on her best friend’s tongue as he swirled and rolled the talented muscle inside her.

 

Both the aphrodisiac charm and the sight of his fiancée’s orgasm had Draco hard again in minutes.  To give his witch some recovery time, he threaded his fingers through the other wizard’s messy back hair and pulled him up for a wet, brutal kiss.  Their teeth clacked together as the blond searched out the taste that the dark man had gorged on.  Hermione reclined on her elbows and caught her breath.  Although still dazed from multiple releases in a fairly short period of time, she couldn’t help but get turned on again by seeing the two men she adored more than anyone else thoroughly enjoying themselves.

 

The wizards stood by the bed, completely absorbed in each other.  Their hands roamed the other’s body and they ground their pelvises together.  One erection rubbed against the other, creating a sensual friction that had them moaning into each other’s mouth.  When Harry nipped his way to Draco’s neck, the fair-skinned wizard slid his fingers down Harry’s spine to press lightly against his back hole.  “I’m going to take you here tonight, Potter.  And I’m going to let you take me.  Nothing is off limits while we’re here, so I’m making the most of our time.  I’ve wanted you like this longer than I was willing to recognize.”

 

If he was shocked or stunned by Malfoy’s words, it didn’t show.  Harry was too absorbed in exploring the blond’s body with his mouth and hands.  He was fascinated with the feel of Draco’s small, pale tan nipples against his tongue and the sounds the man made when he scraped over them with his teeth.  All the while, the taller man used his long arms to his advantage, rimming and priming Harry for what he’d been subconsciously fantasizing about for almost nine years.

 

Gray eyes flicked to the left and watched the brunette witch watching them.  Draco couldn’t help but smirk at the flush that colored his fiancée from the roots of her sweaty curls to the tops of her delicious breasts.  Even in the romantic dimness of the room, he could see green and gold sparks like fire in her mocha eyes.  He knew that sight of him with her best friend got her hot and for the nth time since she said yes to his initial offer for dinner, he thanked the gods for gifting him with a woman so understanding and indulgent of his untraditional desires.  That she not only tolerated but encouraged his curiosity in regards to his own sexuality was unexpected but absolutely appreciated.

 

With a quick silent spell, Draco felt his fingers grow slick with lubrication and he pressed more firmly on Harry’s passage.  Both the raven-haired wizard in front of him and the curly-haired witch watching rewarded him with breathy moans.  Keeping his eyes on his squirming, aroused fiancée, he captured the shorter wizard’s mouth with his own, further exploring the wet cavern that brought his Mia such pleasure.  Even as he imagined Harry on his knees before him, he plied and played with the not virginal – but still tight – ring of muscle.

 

The darker man was in heaven.  Although he’d experimented (and more) with the tall, charismatic Swede, the attraction Harry felt for Draco was surprising and unprecedented.  The blond’s slender fingers pressing against that forbidden spot so brazenly made his eyes roll back.  The addition of cold, slippery gel on those digits gave him delicious chills of anticipation.

 

Not wanting to ask, but relying that he would be told if he was doing something painful or wrong, Draco wrapped his left hand around the other man’s impressive cock and stroked; at the same time, he pressed harder with his right fingers and felt muscle relax then give as it finally allowed passage.

 

He couldn’t help a relieved smirk at Potter’s combination gasp-moan.  Forcing himself to be gentle, he kept a rhythm with his right hand’s thrusts and the push-pull of his left.  The pureblood’s eyes twitched back and forth between the pleasure-pained grimace of the man before him and the avid maple eyes of the woman on the bed pleasuring herself for him to watch.  His witch always knew how to get him hotter than anyone.

 

With patience he didn’t know he’d had, Malfoy maneuvered the other wizard so his back was to the blond man’s front.  With a silent finger, he beckoned his betrothed to kneel in front of her friend.  His pale hand was replaced with her camellia-pink lips and the raven-haired wizard groaned loudly.  Draco ran a hand down the other man’s spine, pressing firmly until he was bent over, resting his forearms and head on the soft mattress.

 

Hermione’s mouth pulsed around and suckled Harry’s penis, humming different tunes to change up the sensations.  She successfully distracted him and kept him relaxed as Draco slowly worked his way in.  Once he was fully seated, both men stilled to adjust to the new feelings.

 

The blond was panting slightly, mentally reciting Quidditch statistics to keep from coming too soon.  He had never felt such a unique tightness around his cock and wanted to savor it.  The Chosen One was also in a form of heaven.  Malfoy was bigger than Leif, so there was some discomfort from being so stretched.  He was able to dismiss it because of the amazing pleasure coursing through his body.  His best friend’s mouth was blowing his mind, her nimble fingers teasing and tugging at his bollocks.  Malfoy’s blunt head was prodding his prostate and he was helpless to do anything but give himself over to pleasure as the blond made delicious sounds of excitement behind him.

 

Hermione looked up from her position on the floor and was nearly overcome by the passionate expressions on the men’s faces.  There were few things that made her happier than giving her love pleasure, be it from a perfect cup of tea in the morning, a tender massage after a hard day, a dinner of his favorite foods, or a night of no-strings playtime with his longtime, secret crush.  His silvery eyes met hers, burning with love and adoration like she’d never seen before.  He blew her a quick kiss and grasped her friend’s narrow hips.  Slowly, patiently, he began to move.

 

Both halves of the engaged couple dedicated themselves to their task: both the giving and receiving of carnal satisfaction to and from one Harry James Potter.  The Boy Who Lived had never taken on multiple partners and was too fuzzy with bliss to fully participate.  All he could think about was how hot and wet Hermione’s mouth was, how full he felt with Draco gently thrusting in and out of him… how his friend’s spicy cherry blossom perfume reminded him of his brief fling with a Japanese surfer girl a few years earlier and how his weekend of mindless sex with her had already been surpassed in the few hours since he entered the hotel suite.  He bit his lip hard and tried desperately to hold back, not wanting such new and extreme pleasure to end sooner than necessary.

 

Not that it was possible or required.  Hermione’s clever spell-work made such restraint unnecessary.  Draco and his curly-haired witch worked in tandem to reduce Harry to a thoughtless puddle of sensation.  They succeeded when, after a powerful thrust from behind, his sensitive head dipped into his friend’s throat, which clenched around him as her tongue pulsed.  Her slender fingers pressed lightly but firmly on the soft skin behind the sac she massaged between her palm and thumb.

 

With so many nerve endings being strummed, Harry was helpless and orgasmed so hard he was temporarily blind.  Unable to last with the other wizard’s muscles squeezing him so hotly, the blond man groaned and swore in French when he came almost immediately.

 

Hermione looked up at the men, both glazed with sweat and looking hazy as they surfaced from euphoric trances.  Pleased with herself, she licked her lips and waited for the men to come back to themselves.

 

As he caught his breath, Draco softened enough to slip from Harry, who whimpered quietly with the loss.  The blond cast a quick cleaning spell before climbing onto the bed and pulling his witch to sit between his spread legs, soothing himself by stroking her smooth skin.  He dipped down and kissed her neck then nipped her earlobe.  “I fucking love you so much,” he breathed.  “Thank you, baby.”

 

The witch snuggled back, satisfied that she’d made her man so happy.  They both watched as Harry returned to himself and slowly stood up, stretching his back.  His eyes flared as he met the couple’s gaze.  “Guys, that was… bloody brilliant!  I’ve never…”  Words failed the darker man.

 

The curly-haired woman stretched forward on her knees and lightly kissed her best friend.  “The night’s not over, Harry.  There’s still one birthday gift my fiancé wants, but hasn’t received yet.  Actually, you both want it and I want the most important men in my life to always get what they want.”

 

Draco growled from behind her and pulled her back for a passionate, soul-melting kiss.  That sight, more than the spell-work, helped reignite Harry’s lust.  The pale wizard twisted so that he was on top of his witch, one hand cupping her jaw tenderly, the other caressing her left breast.

 

Harry was torn.  Part of him was drawn to his best friend’s legs: bare, silky, and loosely wrapped around the trim waist of their former antagonist.  Her peaches-and-cream complexion looked luscious against Draco’s porcelain skin.  His mouth watered at the strong, lean muscles of the other wizard’s back and the curve of his arse.  He wanted nothing more than to take a bite from one of the perfectly formed cheeks.

 

Unable to resist, the darker man ran his hands down Malfoy’s pale spine and smiled at how goosebumps raised on the fair skin.  Despite Harry’s attention, the blond never stopped lavishing affection on his fiancée.  The green-eyed wizard was entranced by the lusty sounds and entwined limbs.  “Just like this,” he murmured.  “I want you like this.”

 

“Hmm?” Draco sighed into Hermione’s neck.  He loved the soft feel of her petite body underneath him contrasted with the rough, callused fingers on his sides.

 

Harry slicked up a long digit with his mouth and teased the other man’s back entrance.  “I want to take you as you fuck Hermione.  That way I can fuck you both at the same time.”  He grinned at Draco’s shiver and the witch’s moan.  His saliva-lubed finger rimmed and pressed on the virgin hole.  “Every time I thrust in, so will you.  When I pull back, you will too.  When Hermione’s hot little quim makes you come, I’ll feel it.  I’m going to make you feel so fucking good…” he trailed off.

 

The blond’s breath stuttered, more turned on by Harry’s verbal imagery than he’d been in a long time.  The engaged couple were no strangers to anal play, experimenting with toys and fingers, but Draco had never gone that far with another man.  Feeling the wet pressure against the sensitive tissue made his eyes roll and unconsciously shift his hips back toward the source.

 

Harry’s other arm wrapped around Malfoy’s waist and grasped his length with a firm grip.  Hermione watched her husband-to-be bite his lip and felt herself get wetter at the barely-audible moan.  The dark-haired man lined up the blond and pressed forward with his hips.  The witch and wizard sighed with relief to be connected yet again.  Pale tapered fingers raked through mahogany curls as the pair kissed passionately.

 

Emerald eyes were captivated by the couple.  Their chemistry, their ardor, their lust… their freedom.  With nearly every meeting of their hips, one or the other murmured words of love and devotion.  Harry saw in that moment the true difference between love and lust.  Sex was just an act, essentially meaningless without deeper emotions attached.

 

However, it was still an extremely pleasurable meaningless act and one that all three magical humans were consenting to be part of.  Harry ducked down between Draco’s slowly thrusting thighs and licked a long stripe, from the back of his sac, between his cheeks, to the dimples at the small of his back.  The blond tasted like Hermione, salt, sweat, and sex.  In that moment, it was Harry’s new favorite flavor.  He dove down for more.

 

Although he couldn’t see Draco’s reactions, he could hear his best friend’s response.  She, knowing him so well, narrated for him.  “Oh fuck, Harry… he’s so hard inside me… his jaw… mmm… he’s trying not to come… shit!… oh, whatever you just did, please do it again!”

 

Harry smirked like the Slytherin he almost was and wiggled his tongue around Draco’s entrance, resulting in another masculine groan and feminine squeal.  Harder than he could remember and convinced he’d done enough to prepare the blond, Harry summoned the lube that he was certain that always-prepared Hermione had packed, smoothed it in and around the blond’s hole before generously slicking up his dick.  With the anticipation of ending thirteen years of unrealized sexual tension, the dark-haired wizard grabbed the fair man’s hips and slowly pressed forward.

 

Draco whimpered and tensed – none of the toys he and his witch had played with were as big as Harry.  Hermione tried to relax him by rubbing his back with one hand while gently teasing his pale tan nipples with the other, and never stopped kissing him.  Harry slipped his own hand between them to rub and softly squeeze the other man’s bollocks.  The whimper became a deep moan and the darker man felt the muscle relax, letting his thick head breech the ring.

 

There was no play for power or domination like he’d had with Leif and for that, Harry was grateful.  Draco released his inherent need for control and let the green-eyed man take over.  Harry took it slowly, easing in and out until he was fully seated within the blond’s arse.

 

And oh fuck was he tight!  Potter had to take several deep breaths to keep from falling over the edge too soon.  He forced himself into calm and regained control.  Draco’s hips found themselves back in Harry’s grip and when he pulled back so that only his head remained inside, he pulled the blond back from his fiancée.  After pausing, he surged forward, pushing into Malfoy, thrusting him into Hermione.

 

Despite sounding disjointed, the three found a pleasing rhythm that worked for all of them.  Draco arched so he could taste his bride-to-be’s nipple as Harry fucked him.  Being sandwiched between the woman he loved and the man he had been ashamedly attracted to for more than a decade had the blond in a circle of heaven that he’d never experienced before.

 

With Draco’s tongue doing sinful, delicious, decadent things to her tits, Hermione felt liquid fire rushing through her veins and knew that the budding orgasm was going to end her for the night.  Being fucked into unconsciousness was a very pleasurable side effect of being engaged to the former Slytherin Sex God and it happened often enough for her to recognize the symptoms.  Her fiancé’s thumb worked her clit in tight, slick circles.  She whimpered and moaned when the muscles in her thighs started quivering, then the babbling started.  “Oh God… fuck, I’m close… Gods, I love you, Draco… love you so mu…”

 

With a powerful thrust from the back, Harry pushed Draco into his betrothed so he smoothly clipped that internal spot that never failed to make her see fireworks.  When she wailed, they repeated the action and Harry watched her fingernails score crescent moons into the blond’s shoulders.  Two, three, four more lunges by Harry, hitting Malfoy’s prostate perfectly, who in turn struck his witch’s g-spot with flawless precision.  Draco’s thumb never stopped its circles and with a soundless scream, Hermione’s back bowed with one of the most intense orgasms of her life.

 

Malfoy’s impressive self-control broke as her center pulsed around him.  With a profanity-laced roar, he immediately followed her, his orgasm seeming fiercer because of the dual sensations of his Mia and her best friend.

 

Harry was holding out as long as he could, but seeing and feeling his bed partners fall apart forced him over the edge.  Coming harder than he could ever remember, he emptied himself with a guttural moan.  By the time he was done, he felt light-headed and was seeing spots.

 

He came back to himself when he was soft enough to fall out of Draco.  The witch was blinking dazedly and her future husband was peppering her neck, cheeks, and lips with gentle, adoring kisses.  Harry was nearly overwhelmed by the almost tangible love that pulsed between the pair.  He suddenly felt like a very unwelcome third-wheel.

 

Awkwardly, he rose from the bed, intending to dress and steal away from the room in silence.  He was buttoning his trousers when his oldest friend said, “Harry?”

 

Hermione looked at him with a mix of hurt and confusion that he didn’t understand.  “I thought this was part of the agreement,” he explained.  “Like you said with Daphne: hours of playtime, everyone gets off, you guys get lovey-dovey and the spare takes off.  I served my purpose and I’m no longer needed.  The itch has been scratched, so I’ll make myself scarce.”

 

Draco scowled in frustration.  “Daphne left because she was done.  Her itch had been scratched.”

 

Hermione continued.  “Just because the playful portion of the night is over doesn’t mean we’re kicking you out.  I’d rather like it if you got back up here and rested with us.”  It said something that that blond didn’t hesitate to nod in agreement.  “Besides, just because I’m knackered doesn’t mean the night is over for you two.”  She looked up and met her wizard’s silver-gray eyes with a tender smile.  “I know how long you’ve wanted this and I’m not going to take it from you just because I’m too sleepy to keep going.”  She stretched up and kissed his mouth lazily.  “Have fun guys.  I bet you both would like the hedonistic shower.”

 

Gray eyes met green and together they went to see what Hermione meant.  Marble tiles, frosted glass, multiple showerheads with mist, rain, and waterfall settings… it was as opulent and elegant as the suite.

 

As the witch had already fallen into a sated, exhausted slumber, the men took her suggestion and wore each other out in the shower, the sitting room, and the office in an effort to let the witch get her rest.  After a couple of hours, they admitted that they no longer had the energy to continue and took a final quick shower to clean the sex from their bodies.  Draco did, however, invite Harry to the bed to get some sleep before leaving.

 

When the blonde reclined back into the pillows, his wife-to-be automatically rolled over so her head rested on his chest and a single, slender leg was flung over his muscular ones.  Draco quietly chuckled and explained to Harry in a whisper that Hermione did that every time she went to sleep first.  Deciding not to worry about unspoken rules or taboo sleeping positions, Harry rolled onto his stomach, propped an arm under his head, and quickly fell into a deep and satisfied sleep.

 

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

Malfoy looked every inch the young aristocrat he was in his inky black dress robes.  His new wife, Hermione Malfoy nee Granger, looked like a fairy tale princess in a gossamer dress whiter than the bespelled snow blanketing the grounds of Malfoy Manor.  The bride’s favorite flowers – orchids and tulips – lined the halls and filled the ballroom.  Across the floor a string quartet played, but as they danced, the newlyweds saw no one but each other.

 

After the dinner was served and the cake cut, the guests were encouraged to mingle.  Taking a glass of champagne from an elf-carried tray, Harry caught up with old schoolmates.  Blaise Zabini, the best man, was polite and courteous, but didn’t approach friendly.  Ron swayed in the corner of the dancefloor with Katie, who had a small but defined swelling to her middle.  Ginny drifted past with her betrothed as did Neville.

 

After saying a congenial hello to Ernie and Pansy McMillan, Harry took a seat against the wall.  He hated feeling so awkward around peers that he was once so comfortable around.  Sipping the bubbly wine, he continued to look around at guests in their finery.

 

“’Ello, ‘Arry,” a sparking voice said, drawing his attention.  The speaker looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her.  Waist-length hair the color of the champagne and eyes so dark blue they were nearly violet.  She was slightly taller than average – maybe 5’7” or 5’8” – but had dainty, doll-like features.  She was far younger than him, but undeniably beautiful and her accent gave him chills.  “Do you not remember me?” she asked with a grin.

 

As he searched his memory, he scanned the ballroom again.  Bill Weasley was dancing with his wife just a few feet away.  Harry realized that Fleur had the same pale blonde hair and delicate bone structure as his new companion.  “Gabrielle, right?  Fleur’s little sister?”

 

Oui,” she confirmed with a coy smirk.  “Only, I am not so little anymore, non?”

 

Harry did a bit of quick mental math.  When he first saw her, sleeping at the bottom of the Black Lake during the Triwizard Tournament, she had been a small girl of no more than ten.  It shook him a bit to realize that the woman in front of him was nineteen or twenty.  No, she was certainly not little any longer.  The flirtatious flicker in her midnight blue eyes and the mischievous tone to her voice would have been positively indecent in one underage.

 

In awe of her straight-forward, oh-so-French ways, he couldn’t speak without stammering.  Silently, he held out his hand.  Her seductive smile coupled with an innocent blush when she nodded twisted his insides.  Despite being tall for a female, she still fit easily in his arms as they waltzed.  He hadn’t felt so immediately comfortable with Cho, Ginny, Brynn, or Leif.  Something Hermione and Draco obviously felt despite occasionally inviting others to share in their physical intimacy.

 

Maybe it was her accent.  It could be that, even newly reacquainted, she was playful, almost teasing, and seemed not to give a damn that he was The Boy Who Lived Twice.  Perhaps it was her Veela ancestry.  Whatever it was drew Harry into her flame and held him.  He spared his former playmates a final glance, watching as Draco passionately kissed his bride before they disapparated with a pop to their honeymoon suite in Martinique.

 

With a sly grin that inspired downright wicked and immoral thoughts to fly through the green-eyed wizard’s mind, the French witch made her excuses then led Harry to the public apparition point just past the Manor’s unforgiving wards.  Gabrielle held him to her tightly and with another pop, they landed in her hotel suite.

 

After spending the weekend thoroughly wrecking the rented room, the pair took their two-person party to New Orleans where the part-Veela had family that she’d had plans to visit for months.  Harry came along, excited to visit a city he hadn’t been to during his earlier travels.

 

The gothic, historic city hid its wizarding district in plain sight.  The French Quarter had several shops dealing with magic and voodoo geared toward tourists; true wizards and witches were able to find and see the genuine dealers for what they needed.

 

While Gabrielle visited with American relatives she hadn’t seen since her sister’s wedding, Harry played tourist.  He tried chicory coffee and authentic beignets before walking along and marveling at the Mighty Mississippi.  The French-flavored, Southern-seasoned Creole accents wrapped around him like a warm blanket and the strong Cajun spices in the food made him dread returning to bland British fare.  He made sure to buy a cookbook and jars of spices to bring home with him.

 

After experiencing a night on Bourbon Street with Gabrielle, Harry wandered until he found an apothecary, desperately in need of a hangover potion and some Pepper-up.  When he found the Muggle-hidden storefront, he ducked in and breathed the cool, herbal-scented air with relief.

 

When the shop assistant offered his help, the raven-haired man gasped in for a different reason.  Light brown hair the color of caramel flopped casually over sapphire eyes.  Straight white teeth that gleamed when he smiled; Harry was eye-level with them and saw them perfectly. Six-foot-five, lean and toned in a tight t-shirt and low-rise jeans, the green-eyed wizard had to consciously keep himself from drooling.  Sawyer Beauchamps was simply physical perfection in his eyes.

 

A potions purchase became an hours-long conversation.  The conversation transitioned to lunch.  After lunch they made plans to meet for dinner and drinks.  The American wizard had stayed local his whole life, studying at the Laveau Institute of Magical Learning.  He was younger than Harry by three years and had spent the years out of school working toward his potions mastery with the shop’s owner, a very skilled potioneer named Andres Lafitte.  Despite hearing the stories of Lord Voldemort, Hogwarts, and Harry Potter, the blue-eyed man saw no reason to treat his new companion any differently than anyone else he found exceptionally handsome.

 

The two bantered and flirted for a week before Sawyer and Gabrielle met.  The American man and the French woman were congenial and awkwardly polite to each other until it was stated that the witch was merely a friend to Harry – one that hadn’t had “benefits” since the weekend after the wedding.  Once it was made clear that Harry was very much single and returned the younger wizard’s attraction, the apprentice became much friendlier and more outgoing with the part-Veela.

 

When Gabrielle returned to England two weeks later, Harry chose to remain in New Orleans.  He wanted to explore what was happening with Sawyer and didn’t feel he could do it appropriately from more than four thousand miles away.

 

A little more than a month later, as Harry and Sawyer caught their breath in the older wizard’s newly rented flat, a black and silver owl tapped on the window at the same time as a snowy white and gray owl.  Both birds flew in once the window was opened.

 

The black owl delivered a letter from Hermione.  She wanted to let her oldest friend know that she was expecting the next Malfoy heir and the position of godfather was open if he wanted it.  Pleased for his friend and grinning stupidly, he read the missive carried by the other bird and the smile disappeared.

 

Neither Harry nor Gabrielle had remembered to perform a contraceptive charm while they were together.  She had no desire to marry or give up her young adult freedoms to become a mother.  The two wizards discussed Harry’s options – allowing for some slight jealousy and anger from Sawyer – and eventually decided that Harry would take custody of and raise the child once it was born.

 

Owls outlining the arrangement and conditions flew back and forth across the Atlantic.  Once a deal was agreed upon by both parties involved, Harry and Sawyer portkeyed to London to sign to necessary papers.

 

Hearing the news of his impending fatherhood, Hermione couldn’t help but squeal in girlish delight and start making plans.  She arranged for her best friend to share her baby shower so he could be gifted with essentials.  She also offered the guest wing of Malfoy Manor to Harry and his partner.  Sawyer and the witch got along quite well, having similar bookworm tendencies and intellectual, dry senses of humor.  Draco was also polite and friendly when the group would get together.  There was no awkward post-sexual relations blushing, flirtatious leering, or teasing innuendo.  He treated the pair as he would any of his wife’s friends and for that, Harry was grateful.

 

There were no hard feelings between Harry and Gabrielle.  She genuinely liked Sawyer and thought he and Harry made a good couple.  She attended the baby shower, allowed her former lover and his boyfriend to molest her bump to feel the fluttery kicks, and knew that giving the baby to Harry was the best solution.

 

Before the pair of wizards returned to Louisiana, the young part-Veela gave Harry an emergency portkey, pre-authorized by the Ministry.  When she went into labor, she would have either her mother or sister floo-call to give him the activation spell.  As Harry had feared missing the event if he had to depend on an owl, he hugged the blonde witch gratefully.

 

Fifteen weeks later, at two AM Central time, Harry’s room lit up in a blaze of emerald.  As the wizard groped for his glasses, Sawyer greeted the shockingly beautiful green head of Fleur Weasley.  “Eet’s time, ‘Arry,” she said.  “Zee mid-witch ees on ‘er way.  Tap zee portkey with your wand and say ‘Chalet de la Coquille’.  Eet will bring you directly ‘ere.”

 

The younger wizard was already gathering clothes and set some strong chicory coffee to brew while the green-eyed wizard cleaned up and dressed.

 

The portkey, a gold fleur-de-lis medallion, glowed blue when Harry’s holly and phoenix feather wand tapped the center.  He stowed his wand in his pocket, held tightly to Sawyer’s right arm with his left, grabbed the medallion with his free hand and said “Shell Cottage” in French.  An invisible hook grabbed them behind the navels and sent them hurtling over the ocean to the beach in front of the home of Bill and Fleur Weasley.

 

At the front door, they met the mid-witch that would deliver the baby.  Harry followed her up the stairs to Gabrielle’s room while Sawyer sat in the parlor with the oldest Weasley son and his five year old daughter.

 

The soothing draught didn’t numb Gabrielle or knock her unconscious.  It simply made her more comfortable during the arduous labor.  Fleur stood to her sister’s left, lulling her into relaxation in melodic French.  Harry stood to her right, wiping her brow with a cool rag and being warned not to venture south of her shoulders (not that he especially wanted to).

 

A little more than two hours later, Beau James Potter screamed into the world with a thick head of his father’s ebony hair.  His eyes, the standard blue of most newborns, already had specks of his mother’s unique violet.  Gabrielle quickly fell into an exhausted sleep as Harry and Sawyer watched, transfixed, as the mid-witch cleaned, weighed, measured, and swaddled in infant.

 

Three days later, Sawyer was making lunch at Grimmauld Place while Harry fed and changed his son.  The floo bell interrupted the comfortable peace before a platinum blonde green head appeared.  “She’s here!  Hermione is demanding her godfather get his arse over here and meet our daughter, Astraea Narcissa Malfoy!”

 

While Sawyer exclaimed his congratulations, Harry gave his son a private smirk.  Draco and Lucius had been certain that Hermione would have a male first-born like every other Malfoy wife for more than five hundred years.  Apparently the introduction of a powerful Muggleborn witch was what was needed to change that tradition.

 

Harry’s best friend had gifted both Harry and Sawyer with magical cross-body infant slings that protected an infant from the soot of floo travel and the pressure of apparition.  The American wizard grabbed the essential diaper bag while Harry strapped his son into the sling.  One after the other, the pair flooed to Malfoy Manor.

 

Narcissa greeted them with blue eyes welled up with unshed tears.  “Gentlemen, welcome,” she said with only the slightest waver to her cultured voice.  “Come, I want to introduce you to the most beautiful baby girl ever born.  I can already tell that my little granddaughter is going to break every heart in Hogwarts!”

 

The only time Harry had ever seen the aloof blonde express any emotion other than cool disdain was during the final battle when she was frantically worried for her son’s well-being.  Seeing her… giddy was more than strange for the raven-haired wizard.  After listening to her gush for longer than he thought she possibly could, the two men were escorted personally to the heir’s wing so Harry could meet his goddaughter.  Sawyer took Beau so Harry would be free to hold the baby.

 

She was cradled in his best friend’s arms.  Champagne blonde peach fuzz covered her head and, though her eyes were closed, Hermione told Harry that they all thought she would inherit the Malfoy gray irises.  Draco carefully took the infant from his wife and passed her to her godfather.

 

Harry gazed at the sleeping baby, mesmerized by her creamy complexion and pale rose-colored lips.  “Are you abandoning the Black family naming tradition then?” he asked quietly.

 

The former Slytherin exchanged glances with Hermione and smirked at the dark-haired wizard.  “Astraea.  The maiden from the constellation Virgo.  The goddess of innocence and virtue.  The celestial virgin… which she shall remain until the end of my days.”  His wife rolled her eyes, having heard this “perfect” reasoning during their naming discussions on the off-chance a Malfoy girl was born.  “You went against expectations with your son’s name though.  Nearly everyone expected James Potter II.”

 

Harry nodded in understanding as he looked adoringly at the infant wrapped in Sawyer’s sling.  “I love my father and he died bravely trying to protect my mother and me.  But I also saw Professor Snape’s memories.  My father was an arrogant bully for most of his life.  Beau honors his mother’s French heritage and he still has Dad’s name as his middle.  As much as I love him and cherish what few personal memories of him that I have,” he paused remembering their interactions through the Resurrection Stone, “the wizarding world doesn’t need a second James Potter.”

 

The blond bowed his head while Hermione’s eyes misted.  She was one of the few he’d explained his conflict to, knowing that she could understand his emotional decision despite her logical and analytical mind.  “So how long are you staying on this side of the pond?”

 

Harry glanced at his wizard and they both shrugged.  “We’ll probably stay in London a week or two.  I want to take Sawyer to Diagon Alley and Hogwarts, as well as some of the Muggle attractions, but he has to get back to complete his apprenticeship.  New Orleans is feeling more and more like home, but I’m certain that we’ll visit fairly regularly.  Because this is home too.”

2 responses to “Talking Body

  1. I always thought of Talking Body as an Eric and Sookie song, but I love Dramione too! The three of them was hot, but I’m glad Harry found someone for him at the end. Btw I saw Tove Lo in concert not too long ago and she was awesome 🙂

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