Fic: Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder (Harry/Ron/Hermione)
To: hildigunnur
From: ceilidh


Title: Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder
Author: ceilidh
To: hildigunnur
Pairing: Harry/Ron/Hermione
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Rimming, a bit of anal play
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Note: For hildigunnur, who requested, among other things, Ron/Hermione or Harry/Ron/Hermione, including dirty talk and sex not on a bed. I hope you enjoy this! ♥!!! Thanks to S and L for betaing!



As much as Hermione loved it when one of her boys kissed her awake, this particular morning she wasn't expecting it, because when she'd gone to bed the night before, neither of them had returned from their Quidditch trip.

"Mmmph!" she protested, trying to wriggle away before realising that it was Ron that was kissing her and not some crazy madman that had broken into her house while she slept. Then she relaxed, letting one knee slip between his. He was warm and solid and it felt good to wake up next to him – and even better when another warm body curled up behind her.

"Good morning, Hermione," said Harry softly, his breath tickling the back of her neck and his hand creeping its way up her thigh. "Did you miss us?"

Not wanting to break the kiss with Ron right away, it took her a moment to answer. "Yes," she said, when she finally came up for air. "I did."

"Yeah?" Harry asked. His hand rested on her hip, his thumb rubbing slowly back and forth over her skin.

She couldn't reply straight away, as Ron had claimed her mouth again, soft and insistent. "Mmhmm," she hummed into Ron's mouth.

Ron pulled away, his blue eyes round and earnest. "Really? How much?"

"Loads," Hermione replied, settling back onto the pillows so that she could see them properly. They looked as if they'd only had a few hours' sleep – their hair was tousled and neither of them looked as if they'd had time to shave recently – but she didn't much care, as they were home, as they should be at Christmas.

"We missed you too," said Ron, who had propped himself up on his elbow so that he could look down at her. His other hand began to slide up her thigh in the way that Harry's had done just a few minutes before, and soon they were both moving their hands slowly over her body. Hermione stretched lazily, arching up into their touch and enjoying the way their hands (roughened by all the extra Quidditch during the two-week exhibition season) felt on her skin.

"We missed you loads," said Harry. "But we behaved ourselves the whole time."

"Yeah, we did," Ron grumbled. "Not one bloody shag, suck, wank, or snog for two whole weeks. Harry didn't think it was fair if we did, since you were here alone and all, and I reckon I agree with him, so we didn't."

"Not even once," Harry added.

Hermione was a bit touched at this, and more than a little impressed, considering that Harry and Ron were both fit, attractive men with healthy sexual appetites. She wouldn't have thought they'd have the willpower to restrain themselves for two days, much less two weeks. "Well, that's sweet of you," she said.

Ron grinned, and his fingers slid between her legs, teasing lightly. "Thing is though, Hermione, I don't think you missed us quite as much as we missed you."

"So we have a little something for you," Harry added. He was half-leaning over her now, his nose nuzzling along the slope of her breast and his messy black hair tickling her skin. "Like a little present."

Hermione barely had time to ask just what that present was when Harry, wand in hand, began tracing lines and patterns lightly over her skin with the tip – over her belly, around a nipple, along the hollow of her collarbone. Ron's fingers kept up their slow, steady motion, as Harry's wand moved in a gentle line along each curve of her body, never increasing its pressure but never losing contact with her skin, even when she squirmed and arched upward, wanting more of their touch.

"What - ?" she began, but Ron bent over her and kissed her. It was the same sort of sweet, lazy kiss he'd woken her with, but it felt different somehow - she felt different somehow, more aware of everything around her. The soft scratchiness of Ron's ginger-stubbled face, the slight huskiness of Harry's murmuring voice as he whispered a strange incantation along with his wand-tracings, the tickle of the sheets beneath her and the warmth of Harry's and Ron's bodies on either side of her. Some kind of sensation-enhancing spell, she thought disconnectedly, unable to focus on anything but the way they were making her feel, so warm and sensual and wanted, and then -

Abruptly, Harry and Ron sat up, grinning and sliding their hands away from her, looking like they'd just got away with something incredibly clever. Yet even though they were no longer touching her, Hermione could still feel them, as if they were still caressing her skin and making her hum with pleasure, and it drove her mad. She wanted to pull them both back to her, have their hands and mouths and all of themselves on and in and around her, but they resisted, their grins growing wider.

"I think it worked," said Ron with a hint of glee. To Hermione, he sounded very far away, and she had to force herself to focus on his voice.

"I think so too," Harry agreed.

Hermione tried to summon up her very best I-want-to-know-what-you're-up-to-and-right-this-minute voice, but instead heard herself reply in an almost wanton tone, "What worked?"

"You'll see," said Ron, taking her hand and pulling her upright. "But first, you've got to get dressed. Mum expects us for Christmas dinner soon, remember?"



*****

That was how Hermione ended up at the Weasley family Christmas dinner, seated across from Harry and between Ron and Fred and barely able to say a word for fear she'd make some sort of horribly embarrassing sound. Every one of her senses were heightened far beyond anything she could imagine – even the touch of her clothes against her skin felt incredibly sensual. It was excruciatingly difficult to carry on a conversation with anyone around her, because she was so distracted she couldn't focus on any one conversation. It was maddening.

"Es eeverything all right, Heermione?" asked Fleur from a few seats down the table. "You have a flush on your cheeks, like zere is zomething wrong with you – have you a fever?"

Hermione shook her head, shifting slightly in her seat. "No, no, I'm fine," she said quickly. "Just, a bit warm in here, is all."

Fleur shrugged and turned back to her conversation with Bill, but not before Molly overheard and said, "If you're coming down with something, I have a bit of Pepper-Up in the cupboard – it'll take care of that right quick, if you want it?"

"No thank you, Mrs Weasley, I'm fine," she said, and shuddered inwardly about how strange her voice sounded just in that short little sentence. Breathy and impatient and not at all like herself. What if someone noticed?

"Are you sure you're all right?" Ron whispered under his breath, soft enough so that Fred couldn't hear, as he reached across Hermione's plate to help himself to the butter dish. "If it's too much, we can do the counter spell. Really."

For a moment she considered asking him to lift the spell – they'd sat through almost two hours of small talk and chit chat while Hermione grew more and more aroused, and she was now at the point where her whole body was beginning to ache with the need for release. But with the ache came a glimmer of conspiratorial pleasure – as if she and Harry and Ron were back in school and having adventures that no one else would ever know about, only this was a more grown-up sort of adventure with a far more pleasant result.

"Leave it," she replied quickly, enjoying the way Ron's cheeks pinked when she did so. A wave of pleasure spiked upwards from her belly and radiated throughout her body so intensely that she nearly overturned her water glass. Harry, carefully avoiding her eyes, was studiously tracing along the embroidered pattern on the edge of the tablecloth with a forefinger. Hermione could feel the movement of his finger just as if he was tracing along her inner thigh, brushing lightly along her cunt before tracing along her other thigh and back again. It took all her energy to retain her composure, but she could feel her legs parting underneath the table, falling open as if Harry were right under the table himself, touching her directly. An image of Harry's dark head between her thighs popped into her mind, what it would feel like to have his tongue on her, inside her, and she couldn't stand it anymore.

"Excuse me," she said, hastily pushing back her chair and tossing her napkin beside her plate. "I'll be right back." Without waiting for a reply, she ducked out of the kitchen, heading for the loo on the first floor, and had barely closed the door behind her before she'd shoved up her skirt and pushed her fingers into her knickers. If she couldn't have Harry or Ron touching her, really touching her, she'd just have to do it herself. Her clit was swollen and almost sore from the constant stimulation, her cunt slick and wet with arousal and her fingers slipped over her skin, tangling in her curls and making it difficult to get any friction, but it felt so good just to feel a touch and not a phantom tease.

There was a quick tap at the door – "Hermione, it's us," said Ron softly, before the quick double crack of Apparition, and then Harry and Ron were both crammed in the small bathroom with her, their hands tangling in her clothes so quickly she barely had time to pull her hand out of her knickers. "Don't you dare start without us," Ron hissed, shoving her skirt up over her hips and bending her over the small sink so that her face was nearly pressed to the mirror. "Not before we get to taste you." She felt Harry crawl between her feet, wedging himself between her body and the sink and then he was lapping at her cunt with such enthusiasm that it was almost-but-not-quite painful, and Ron urged her thighs farther apart with his hands to that she was spread open to them, their tongues licking and sucking at every inch of her from arse to cunt, hot and bare and quivering and exposed, not able to move even if she'd wanted to. Hermione had never felt more open and desperate in her life, shoving her hips back against Ron's tongue as it worked its way inside her arse, and then pushing down against Harry's face, wanting as much feeling and pressure against her clit as she could possibly take. Fingers worked their way into her cunt – Harry's likely but at this point she couldn't really tell, and then - oh - into her arse, and there was no help for it but to push back against them, needing them to fill and stretch and possess her as only they could, needing to devour them in the way only she could.

"Please," she panted, her breath fogging the mirror and blurring her vision. "... please, please..." It didn't matter how she sounded, or that she was begging, all that mattered was slaking the near uncontrollable lust that had built up inside her. Ron made a fierce, strangled sort of noise then, and as Harry's fingers slipped out of her cunt, Ron's cock slipped in, with his fingers still in her arse, stretching and pushing and Harry's tongue was back at her clit with unrelenting intensity. She could just make out Ron's face in the foggy mirror, screwed up in concentration and pleasure as he fucked her, and Harry licked her and Ron – she could feel his tongue along the edge of her cunt, where Ron was buried inside her, and Harry's frenzied efforts told her he'd taken his own cock in hand as the three of them strained together towards their climax. Harry peaked first, groaning against her skin as he came, faltering only a moment before resuming his efforts more determinedly than before, slipping a finger up inside her, along Ron's cock to pull his orgasm right out of him and bringing Hermione over the edge as well, the force of it so strong that if it was possible for her to shatter, she would have.

"Fuck, Hermione, we missed you," breathed Ron, stroking her back gently with a shaking hand.

Harry climbed out from under her and got to his feet, gently peeling her from the sink and holding her in his arms, and she leaned on him as Ron wrapped his arms around her as well. Her legs were weak and shaky and she hoped they didn't let go any time soon – because underneath the warm post-orgasm glow was a remnant of the spell, a flicker of arousal that told her the spell had not quite been extinguished, and as tired as she was, she wasn't quite sated. Enfolded between them, she could feel it taking hold of her again and she wrapped her arms around Harry's neck, nuzzling into his shoulder.

"Take me home," she murmured. "I think I've had enough of Christmas dinner for this year."