Harry Potter Ron's Birthday

Rose and Hugo tumble through the Floo into Molly's waiting arms, and Hermione smiles and waves as they disappear into the green depths of the fireplace.

"They'll have a lovely time with us this weekend," Molly says, grinning with the not-yet-worn through excitement of having her grandc***dren for two days. "And we'll see you and Ron for dinner on Sunday."

"And don't forget the cake," Hermione says at the same time that Molly does. They smile at each other, then laugh. "We'll see you on Sunday. Have a good time with the k**s."

"Love you, darling! Do give Ron a kiss for me."

"Of course. We'll talk soon."

Molly's attention is pulled away by a noise that Hermione can't hear over the roar of the flames, and her expression turns sour. "George, don't you dare give those things to the c***dren!" She turns back. "We'll talk more later. George, I swear, I will…" But the rest of her tirade is lost as she hurries from view and the fire gutters into green embers.

"Yelling already?" Ron asks from the kitchen, his head peeking out from beyond the door frame. He's got flour dusting his cheek and an apron looped about his waist. "They just got there."

"It was George," Hermione says as she approaches her husband, brushing the white stain from his freckled skin. She presses a kiss there, then leans back when Ron laughingly tries to capture her mouth in a more enthusiastic kiss. "You're going to burn dinner if you're not careful."

"I burn dinner when I am careful," he says before darting in for a quick kiss that still leaves her head spinning, even after all the years since their first. "Why don't you open the wine while I finish this up?"

She cups his cheek, smiling as she trails her thumb across his skin again, feeling painfully fond. "That sounds brilliant."

When she turns to grab the bottle from the wine rack on the other side of the kitchen, Ron takes the opportunity to spank her retreating bottom. Gasping, she jumps a little, then turns narrowed eyes on him. "Ronald Weasley." She takes a step closer, then grabs his chin in her hand, forcing him to look at her. His eyes twinkle with a mix of amusement and desire, and she forces his chin up just enough for her to press a biting kiss on his Adam's apple. "You'll pay for that later."

Ron groans. "Promises, promises."

"Only if you're good." She kisses his lips, his chin held steady in her hand.

"It is my birthday."

"Then you'd better be on your best behavior." She smiles, letting her grip gentle into a caress as she pulls away. "I've got a special present planned."

Ron opens his mouth to speak, but then a smoke detector charm starts screeching, and he curses quietly before turning back to the stove and furiously waving his hands at the slight curl of smoke rising from the saucepan.

Hermione doesn't laugh, but she is smiling when she opens the bottle of red and pours two glasses. She sets one on the counter near Ron's elbow, then takes a seat at the kitchen table to watch him move from the stove to the oven, his motions deft and well-practiced. Jokes about burning the food aside, Ron really has come into himself as a cook and a stay-at-home father, and Hermione can't help but feel proud at how much he's grown since they met as eleven-year-olds.

Who would have thought this is where we'd end up together? she wonders.

Dinner is a relatively simple affair. Linguine with a hearty red cream sauce and sausage. There's a salad on the side, the dark green leaves, cherry tomatoes, carrots, and radishes picked from the small garden that Ron had started that spring, and crusty bread seasoned with herbs and garlic. Everything is fresh and delicious, and Hermione enjoys the food almost as much as the company.

Ron doesn't have much to share about his day, most of it spent balancing the k**s and paperwork for Wheeze's newest products. She waves off her own work woes, not wanting to go into the headache she's found herself in with the latest law she's decided to try and repeal. It's loopholes have loopholes, and even thinking about it makes her head start to pound.

"You're sure you don't want to talk about it?" Ron asks again after refilling her wine glass.

She shakes her head, then glances at the kitchen clock. "No, not tonight. And your present is nearly here."

There's the familiar pop of Apparition in the living room, and Hermione rises as Ron's eyebrow does the same. She squeezes his shoulder and presses a kiss to the top of his head as she walks past him. "Top up your wine, love. We can clean up dinner later."

Walking into the living room, Hermione's face splits into a grin. "Harry. Right on time."

His hair is a little disheveled—not that it's easy to tell when it's disheveled and when it isn't, still unruly even though it's starting to be touched by flecks of grey—but she doesn't have much time to comment on it as he wraps her up in a warm, enveloping hug. She laughs into his throat, his arms around her shoulders heavy and welcome, and she loops her own around his waist.

"Does the birthday boy know what the plan is for tonight?" Harry asks into her curls.

"Not yet," Ron says. Hermione can't see him, her face still pressed into Harry's skin, but she can hear the hint of trepidation, the shiver of excitement, in his voice. "But I get the feeling it's supposed to be a surprise."

"Just a bit." Harry kisses her hair, then steps away to draw Ron into a back-slapping hug. "Happy birthday, mate."

"Thanks," Ron says. He moves to pull away, but Harry keeps him held tight in his arms, his eyes darting to Ron's mouth. "Hermione?" Ron asks, eyes flitting between the two of them.

"Ronald." She presses her hand to Harry's back, trails her fingers down to where Ron's arms are still wrapped around his waist, then drags them up the quickly spreading goosebumps along Ron's arm. "Would you like to know what your birthday present is?"

Her hand continues moving up his arm, over the rise of his bicep to his shoulder and the cords of his neck. She encircles his neck with her fingers, not squeezing, just hinting at control.

"I'm starting to get an idea." He swallows and his throat moves beneath her palm. "Colours tonight?"

She smiles. "Yes."

"Green, then," he says before looking at Harry. "Very green. Just… " Ron licks his lips, and Harry trails the motion with his eyes. "It's been awhile. You're sure?"

Harry doesn't answer, just leans in to kiss Ron slow and deep. Hermione feels Ron groan beneath her palm, and her grip tightens until she can hear it, too. Harry's hands slide into Ron's hair, tilting his head back as they kiss, their lips moving against each other in a way that reminds Hermione of when they were back at Hogwarts, learning this facet of their friendship together.

When they pull apart, Ron's lips are red and swollen, and his eyes are dark and heavy-lidded. Hermione finally takes her hand from his neck and places it on Harry's cheek. He leans into the caress, then steps back, waiting.

This is the only time they've ever listened to her without complaint.

"Bedroom," she says. "Strip, then kneel, hands behind your back, and wait for me. I'll be up in a minute."

Harry and Ron nod, then walk upstairs. Harry trails behind, eyes coasting over Ron's back and arse. It makes Hermione laugh as she heads into the kitchen to do a bit of tidying. She puts away the leftovers, finishes her glass of wine, and then locks up. It's part of her nightly ritual, one that she knows Ron will know she's following. She lets it run longer than usual, making one final stop before moving towards the stairs. The anticipation makes her pulse beat low and heavy in her stomach.

She turns off the lights before she heads upstairs. She takes her time ascending, knowing that both men will be aching at the sound of her feet on the steps. When she reaches the top floor, she turns off the final light, then follows the thin beam of brightness spilling from her and Ron's bedroom.

Both men are kneeling on the floor in front of the bed, hand behind their backs, waiting as told. It sends a thrill through her, a wicked pulse of desire that heats her blood at the sight of them, obedient and desperate for her. They're both hard, Ron's cock standing out from a riotous nest of red curls, Harry's a bit thicker and hanging heavy with the weight of blood. As she watches, precome beads at the head, then slides down the length of his shaft to disappear from her sight.

"Good," she says as she reaches for the buttons of her shirt. "Very good."

She takes her time undressing, drawing each button through its hole with precision. She can feel Ron's eyes on her, but even though that gaze makes her blood heat, she doesn't hurry through the process. Her shirt hits the floor by her feet with a whisper. Her bra is simple, and she trails a finger around the edge, pressing into the softly giving flesh of her breasts. Her nipples peak beneath the padding, and she slides her touch lower, electricity racing through her veins at the half-caress of her own hand. The only sound in the room is the gentle rustle of her clothes as she continues undressing. Stepping from her jeans, she hears Ron suck in a breath.

She'd put the harness on downstairs, sliding the straps around her lace knickers with a delicious thrill. If she'd been wearing anything other than her jeans, it would've shown through, but the denim is heavy enough to hide the straps that wrap like a lover's hand around her hips and arse. The leather is soft and supple against her skin, the metal hoops holding it together already warmed from her body. She trails her fingers over the edges of it, then stills at the front, the opening there empty and waiting.

"Ron, on the bed," she says as she kicks her jeans away. "Harry, stay where you are."

Ron rises silently, then climbs onto the bed. The mattress shifts under his knees, his legs and arse flexing as he moves to the center of it before resuming his former position. Harry, eyes bright, stares at Hermione as she steps into her wardrobe to pull a simple wooden box from the top shelf.

It's a plain thing, but well-made and spelled for secrecy. This isn't something she wants the c***dren to accidentally find while playing hide-and-seek. Inside, nestled in wine-dark velvet, are three dildos of varying sizes. The smallest is about as wide around as three of her fingers with a thin taper toward the head and longer than her hand, its dark flesh the same tone as her own. The second is a bit larger, but not quite as long, and a vivid red. The final is large enough that she struggles to fit her hand around it, and the length is, quite honestly, a bit intimidating. But she knows how to use it, how to make her husband come with its brutal length pressed against his prostate, and she knows he loves it as much as she does.

Carrying the box before her, lid open and its contents on display, she stops in front of Harry, pulse thrumming.

"Pick one." Ron curses quietly from the bed, and she shoots him a quick glance. "Quiet, love. Don't make me gag you."

His cock twitches at that, and for a moment, she thinks he might press her control and force the issue. But instead, he dips his gaze and lets it settle on the open box instead.

Harry carefully unclasps his hands from behind his back and reaches forward. Fingers trailing across the dildos, he takes his time considering each dildo in turn. He doesn't pick any of them up to feel their weight or breadth, but he does press his palm against each, gauging their size with confidence. Finally, he settles on the largest and picks it up.

Hermione grins. Harry's always been a bit of a size queen. She's not surprised that this is the one he's chosen. "Very good." She closes the box and sets it down on the dresser opposite the bed. "Put it on."

Harry shuffles forward until he's kneeling at her feet. It makes her thrill to see him there after so long. It's no less powerful now than it had been years before, only now his hands are steady and familiar as he places the dildo into her harness, fastening it in with confident movements. As he pulls back, he trails his fingers along the cock, and its magic sparks beneath his touch.

Hermione groans, the sensation of fingers across sensitive skin racing through her as the magic leaps to life. This spell is one of her own creation, transferring the sensations along whatever is slotted into the harness to her clit. She drags her hand along the length of the dildo, pleasure racing through her body at the steady pull of her hand against fake skin. Looking down at Harry and his ravenous eyes locked on her cock, she smiles.

"Open your mouth for me," she says quietly, cupping the weight of her prick in her hand before brushing it against his lips.

Harry does so without a moment's hesitation, his eyes closing as his mouth opens. She presses the head against the flat of his tongue, then pushes forward agonizingly slow. A groan comes from the bed, and she looks up to watch her husband as she fucks Harry's face with steady strokes.

His hands are still behind his back, but his eyes are dark and his cheeks are flushed. His cock is flushed with blood and standing out proudly from his body. She can see his pulse in its thin skin, and she thrusts into the wet perfection of Harry's mouth to the beat of Ron's heart.

"Touch yourself," she gasps out, and Ron's hand is out from behind his back before the final syllable leaves her mouth. He sucks in a harsh breath as his fingers wrap around his prick, and he moves his hand in time with her thrusts. "You like watching me fuck his face, don't you?" She presses into the back of Harry's throat, runs her fingers through his riotous hair. "You like watching me choke him on my cock."

"Yes," Ron hisses, his strokes speeding up.

"You like knowing he's getting it wet for you."

He groans again, his rhythm faltering. "Yes."

Tightening her grip in Harry's hair, she pulls him in close and holds him there. His throat swallows around the head of her prick. He gags a bit, and it brings tears to his eyes. He looks up at her, his lips a widespread O around the thick dildo, spit dripping from the corners of his mouth, and when there's a spark of fear mixing with the excitement, she pulls back, letting him take a deep, gasping breath.

"Again," she says, bringing him forward until she slides into his mouth again. "So good for me, Harry."

He groans around her cock, and the vibrations have her shaking. It hasn't taken her long to get close, and as Harry swallows around the head of her prick, the muscles of his throat working like a fist, orgasm sweeps over her with an almost painful intensity. There's a gasp of pain as she tugs too hard on Harry's hair, and she pulls out of his mouth, murmuring apologies and stroking along his scalp as she shakes apart.

"You did so well," she pants as she sinks to her knees to join him on the floor. Her thumb is gentle along the corner of his mouth, wiping away the saliva still pooled there. His skin is red, and she whispers a quick Episkey to ease the sting. "You deserve a reward."

Leaning in, she kisses him softly. It's a gentle brush of lips, barely a caress, and she pulls away before he can deepen it. Leaning forward, he nearly topples over into her, but she presses a hand against Harry's shoulder, holding him up.

"Our birthday boy hasn't had much to celebrate," she says quietly, looking up at Ron as he continues to stroke his cock with slow, languid motions. "I think we need to fix that."

Harry grins, suddenly boyish. "I think you're right."

Rising to her feet, she holds out her hand to him and helps him to his feet. His cock bobs heavily between them, and he sighs when she brushes against it with her own. "I want to watch you get him ready for me," she says, leading Harry to the bed. "And take your time with it. I wouldn't want to hurt him."

Ron glances between them, then tilts his head back, breathing out with a long, heavy rush. "Merlin, 'Mione."

She climbs onto the bed before him, letting her knees settle into the divots his have made in the mattress. His cock is hard and familiar as she takes it in her hand, fitting her fingers between his. When she tightens her grip, he groans. She kisses him, swallowing down his sounds of pleasure until they blend in her belly with her own rising excitement. He's always had this power over her, the ability to make her blood boil in one way or another. Now, it's the low heat of arousal, and as he kisses her with casual sensuality, she feels her heart ache with the knowledge that they'll be doing this—loving each other, in whatever ways they can, together—for decades to come.

Eventually, she pulls away, her hand cupping his check at first, then encircling his neck. "Hands and knees, love."

Ron swallows heavily, but does as he's commanded, falling onto his forearms with his arse up in the air. Harry, still standing next to the bed, climbs onto the mattress and in between the spread vee of Ron's feet. He looks to Hermione for permission before placing his hands on the globes of Ron's arse, massaging the thick muscle there. His thumbs sweep towards Ron's crack, his touch a ghostly brush of finger tips against the sensitive crevice. Ron's head bows forward, pressing into his arms as his hands clench together. Hermione murmurs something, she's not sure what, and rakes her fingers through his red hair. Nails scr****g against his scalp, Ron groans into the mattress.

"Don't make him wait, Harry," Hermione says as she continues to caress Ron's scalp. "It is his birthday."

Harry pulls Ron's cheeks apart, his thumbs dipping into the groove before brushing over Ron's hole. Hermione can't see it from her angle, but she can tell when it happens by the increased arch of Ron's back and the way his hips stutter back towards Harry's body. The desperation revealed by the line of Ron's body does nothing to increase Harry's pace. His thumbs disappear again and again, until Ron's rocking into the touches, his moans muffled by the bedding pressed against his mouth.

Harry finally takes pity on him and leans forward to press his face into Ron's crack. Hermione catches the flash of Harry's tongue as it presses flat against Ron's pucker, and the hand that isn't tangled in Ron's hair grips her cock at the sight.

Ron curses as Harry works him open. Hermione watches it with as much detachment as she can manage. Watching them together fills her veins with liquid fire, a sluggish push and pull of pleasure that has sweat gathering between her shoulder blades and her pussy wet and dripping between her legs. She can feel it running down her skin, a dampness that makes her thighs stick together as she clenches them to ease the rising ache.

Harry's eyes are closed, his fingers pressing divots into Ron's arse as Harry holds him open. One hand drifts to where Harry's mouth is hidden, and Ron's hiss of pleasure tells Hermione that Harry's pressed a finger into Ron's hole.

"More," Hermione says, her hand resting lightly around her cock. Harry's eyes lock with hers, and he pulls his finger out and replaces it with two. Ron curses, but bucks back into the intrusion, skin flushed and sweat damp. Her grip in Ron's hair tightens, and she pulls him up from the bed. He rises, mouth open and eyes glazed with pleasure, and she kisses him hard, dragging another moan from him as Harry continues to finger Ron open. It puts him in an awkward balance, his chest raised so that Hermione can kiss him, Harry's face and finger still pressed to his opening. Even with the slightly painful arc of his body, Ron's cock is hard and leaking.

Hermoine presses her prick against her husband's, thrusting against it lazily as she presses her tongue into his mouth. His hips buck against her, then back towards Harry's mouth and fingers. Groaning, he moves between the two pleasures, hips moving with a confused, seeking motion that sends pleasure racing through Hermione with each shift of his muscle and bone.

"Tell me what you want," she breathes into his mouth. "Ask me for it."

Ron groans. "I want…" His words falter on a sharply indrawn breath. "I want you to fuck me. Please, Hermione. I need you."

She kisses him again before releasing her grip on his hair. He falls against her, his hands landing on her hips and the leather of the harness, his head in the space between her shoulder and neck. Ron's hands grip hard, holding himself up as Harry pulls away, his mouth and cheeks wet with saliva. But as Ron's no longer forced to hold his body in an awkward arch and he shifts to something more comfortable, he presses open mouthed kisses against her racing pulse. His grip eases into a caress, fingers lingering on the leather straps and drifting to the front where Hermione's cock is ready and waiting. His touch makes her shiver, familiar and confident as he strokes her from root to tip. Though she's smiling, she grabs his wrist with force, stilling his motions.

"Turn around," she says into the sweat-damped red of his hair, her breath coasting across the shell of his ear.

He squeezes once, sending a shiver dancing through her, before letting go. He shuffles back on the mattress, bumping into Harry who wraps his arms around Ron's waist to grasp his cock. Ron hisses in a breath and lets his head drop back onto Harry's shoulder. When they kiss, she can't help but touch her own prick. The flash of tongues, flushed cheeks, and closed eyes is beautiful and disarming in its intensity. Her gentle grasp around her prick is nearly too much, and she has to pull away or tip over the edge into orgasm again. She doesn't want to come from her hand, though.

"Boys," she says quietly, and their lips part, eyes half-lidded as they look at her and the command sheltered in her voice. "Hands and knees, Ron."

He smiles, sharp and quick, then moves slowly and with purpose, his hands trailing over Harry's body before Ron places his palms on the bed by Harry's knees. Harry checks with Hermione first before sliding his fingers into Ron's hair and pulling his head back to look up.

Hermione lets them gaze at each other, their boyish grins filled with mischief and barely banked desire. Harry slides his cock along the side of Ron's face, teasing the both of them as Hermione kneels between Ron's legs. Her fingers are slim and dark against his arse cheeks, and when she pulls them apart to gaze at his hole, the pink and puffy skin calls to her. Her finger slides into the first knuckle with hardly a breath of resistance, and Ron curses quickly and quietly into Harry's skin.

"Hush, love, or I'll have to ask Harry to keep you quiet."

She lines her cock up against his hole, then shoves in without any warning. It must burn, the quick shock of her charmed dildo in his arse, but Ron throws his head back and moans loudly as she bottoms out. Her hips pressed against the muscled curve of Ron's ass, she holds his cheeks open so she can watch him stretched out around her prick, the wrinkled skin red and tight. Ron curses, then pulls away before pressing back onto her, fucking himself for a few quick, aborted thrusts of his hips.

The crack of her palm against his arse echoes around the room, and Ron curses again. There's a faint outline of her fingers against his quickly reddening skin, and she lays another slap over top of the marks, watching as they go bloodless before turning bright pink again. She withdraws from Ron's body, then slams forward at the same time she spanks his other cheek. Matching marks frame the long, dark dildo as she plows into his body, she fucks him slow and even, pressing into the reddened marks every time Ron gasps out a breath.

"Harry." She looks up at the other man—his prick in his hand, his eyes wide, his mouth open and wet—as she draws her cock out until only the tip is resting inside Ron, then slams forward again. "If you'd be so kind."

Ron's mouth is already open, so there's no need for warning when Harry thrusts in. Ron's back muscles tighten, then relax as he falls into the back and forth that Hermione and Harry strike up. When Harry thrusts into Ron's mouth, fingers holding Ron's hair in a too-tight first, Hermione withdraws. And when she presses forward, her hips slapping against Ron's arse with enough force to leave the skin there reddened and warm to the touch like the marks of her hands, Harry pulls back. Their motions are a dance, each of them moving in tempo with the other, Ron trapped between them with nothing to do but take it. She loses herself to the music their bodies make together; the staccato percussion of skin against skin, the bow against the string of her prick filling his body, the vibrating bass of Harry's moans, her pleasure building to a breaking point like a note held too long.

Harry groans, eyes slitted and mouth open. "Hermione," he pants. "Fuck, I'm close. Please."

The unspoken request is nearly enough to send her tipping over the edge, but she holds it back and shakes her head. "Together." She's reaching for Ron's cock as she says it. "We come together."

"Fuck." Harry's thrusts turn unsteady for a moment, but fall into rhythm after a moment. Still thrusting smooth and easy into her husband's open and wanting body, she wraps her hand around his cock and leans forward to press a kiss between his sweat-dotted shoulder blades.

"Come for me, love," she says as she strokes him from root to tip with brutal efficiency. "Come around my cock."

Ron groans around Harry's prick, then shudders. His back bows, hips chasing after the pleasure Hermione is bringing him, and then her hand is hot and wet, his pulse beating beneath her palm. His orgasm makes his arse clench around her, and it's enough to push her over the edge after him. Forehead pressed to his back, colours blossom behind her closed eyelids. Riotous sparks of red and blue and green, all swirling into black as pleasure drags her down and shakes her apart.

When she looks up, Harry's jerking his prick over her and Ron's bent heads.

"Look up, love," she says quietly, turning her face so that her cheek is pressed against Ron's back. She darts her tongue out, a teasing flash of pink that has Harry's grip stuttering. "All over us, Harry. I want to feel you on my skin."

Harry curses, then focuses his strokes on the head of his cock. A moment later, his body goes rigid, and he comes across their faces. She feels the heat of it drip across her cheek to the corner of her mouth, and she drags her tongue through the mess gathering there, tasting bitter salt. She shivers again, the aftermath of her orgasm sweeping through her for another brief moment, before she forces herself up and off of her husband.

Once she slides from his body, she kisses the marks on his arse, soft and tender touches before she pulls away fully. He sprawls across the mattress as soon as she does, his body limp and sated, his face coated with Harry's come.

"I'll get you a flannel," she says before pressing another kiss to his calf. "And some water."

He murmurs something approximating a thank you, and she smiles at his boneless bliss. Harry slides down the bed to pull Ron close, kissing his forehead with a soft smile.

When she comes back from the en suite a moment later, she catches the quiet whisper of their voices.

"Bit like sixth year," Ron says into the small space between his and Harry's faces.

"I'm pretty sure I sucked your cock more often than you sucked mine, though." Harry laughs. "You've gotten better."

His voice is smug and sleepy. "Hermione likes me to practice."

The door creaks when she opens it, and she settles next to Ron on the mattress before wiping his face clean. "How do you feel?"

"Good," he says as he takes the glass of water. His throat works easily as he swallows, and he finishes the whole thing before handing it back to her. "A bit worn out."

"I can draw you a bath, if you'd like."

"No." He lays back down with a smile, his eyes falling shut. "Just want to sleep." Harry starts to rise from the bed, but Ron grabs at him, pulling him back down into the curve of Ron's shoulder. "You're staying, prat."

"All right," Harry says with a laugh. He snuggles in closer, then raises an eyebrow at Hermione. "Are you coming to bed?"

She takes his glasses off, folding the arms in with care. "In a minute."

The glasses go on the dresser, and the dildo gets cleaned and put away with the others. Her harness slides from her skin easily, though her skin is dimpled by its straps. The impressions of where they were crease her skin, and she trails her fingers over the marks, smiling softly. The harness gets put away with her dildos, then she shuts the wardrobe door and extinguishes the lights before climbing into bed next to her husband and her best friend, their fingers laced together across Ron's stomach, the three of them falling into quiet, easy sleep.

"Love you," she whispers into Ron's shoulder the moment before she falls asleep. His fingers tighten around hers, around Harry's, and then they're washed away by dreams and contented darkness.