(long one-shot) FIC: Turnabout 3/3 [NC-17; HP/DM, RW/DM]
Title: Turnabout (3/3)
Author: Hijja (kennahijja@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17; blackmail, ambiguous consent, BDSM themes
Pairing(s): HP/DM, RW/DM
Summary: We'll do nothing he hasn't done to us. And it'll still be far less than he deserves.
One-shot, cut into three parts to enable posting.
"Hm..." Ron undraped himself from Harry's back, one hand lingering on Harry's shoulder for a reassuring pat. Amusement trickled into Harry's chest at the sight of Malfoy's nervous eyes. "No, I think I want him properly," Ron decided, a hint of menace colouring his voice.
For the second time that night, Harry saw the desperately upheld mask slip, revealing naked terror underneath. For a moment, Harry was completely sure that Malfoy would make a run for it, bare-arsed and all, and idly wondered whether he'd let him if he tried. But then the mussed head lowered, mainly to cover up his momentary display of fear, Harry suspected. But it was looking so gorgeously like defeat that Harry's mouth went dry.
Ron came around to stand next to him; a side glance revealed his firmly set jaw. So Ron had decided to go through with it... Harry wanted to whisper to him to be careful, but he couldn't find the words or a way to convey the sentiment so their victim wouldn't hear. He settled for a light squeeze to Ron's forearm as he stepped back to give him room. Ron raised an eyebrow and favoured Harry with a wry twitch of his lips behind Malfoy's back.
Ron stared into space for a second, mouthing a request to the Room, and a fluffy circular carpet appeared in the centre. Harry probed it with one bare foot and sunk into the soft fabric almost to his ankle. The bright scarlet interwoven with a gold design of lions was a neat touch, he decided. His best friend's imagination was more opulent than he'd have given him credit for. Ron caught his stare, and his cheeks went slightly red.
"Get on it, Malfoy," Ron ordered, pointing at the rug. Malfoy shot him a look of pure hatred when he added, "You're Slytherin - you should be familiar with crawling."
But Malfoy did it, crept along onto the carpet, his pale skin contrasting with the vivid colours. There was a distinct beauty in the way in which the welts criss-crossed the pale back and arse, which had a lot to do with the fact that the pale skin so marked was Malfoy's. Harry admired the dark shadow between the bastard's buttocks as he crawled, and heard Ron sucking in a breath next to him.
Harry felt more naked than before when Ron moved away from him to follow his plaything. He wondered whether to slip his jeans back on, but it would make him seriously overdressed compared to the other two. He settled for sitting down on the corner of the carpet to watch, arms wrapped around his knees to hide himself at least a little.
Ron had caught up with Malfoy and stood behind him, one hand stroking Malfoy's shoulder blade. The Slytherin could appear elegant - Harry had seen it before, especially when he'd felt in control and like flaunting it. But not now; he was perched there with stiffness practically radiating from his muscles. As if he was half-petrified already. Harry knew the feeling well enough - being exposed, being helpless, being utterly at another's mercy. He hated it more than anything else in the world.
Harry sneaked a peek as Ron undid his trousers. Yes, he'd seen him naked often enough before, in the showers, or undressing in their dormitory or at Ron's room at the Burrow. Though not that one time in his bed when Malfoy had worn Ron's body. It had been dark and he'd been far too embarrassed to look too closely. Ron's cock had always seemed nothing to inspire jealousy and, boy that he was, it had given Harry a touch of superiority to see he was a bit bigger. Ron, too, seemed to be sensitive about it, considering how he'd attacked George - or had it been Fred? - when he'd ruffled his hair and called him 'runt' in a not quite innocent fashion during an after-match shower in fourth year.
Even now as it filled, Ron's erection wasn't particularly long, but he was rather wide and Harry's muscles clenched at the sight. He was glad he wouldn't be fucked by that. Handling it in the dark of Ron's bed, under Malfoy's infernal Polyjuice illusion, had not been quite as intimidating. But then Malfoy himself had never looked like something to write home about either, and he'd been able to use that unspectacular prick of his like a weapon when the mood struck him.
Harry sat back on his heels, observing Ron as he muttered something into the air of the Room, to be rewarded with a soft plop and a stoppered vial that fell into his hand out of thin air. Harry shivered with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as Ron went to kneel behind Malfoy and sent him down on hands and knees with a light shove.
Fine blond hair fell over Malfoy's face, obscuring is expression. Which was a pity, Harry thought and skirted a bit closer to the centre of the carpet. He certainly didn't want to distract or embarrass Ron with his presence, but the desire to see Malfoy's face when he was opened by that intimidating cock was overwhelming. He watched Ron's fingers play idly at some of the more prominent welts on the Slytherin's back, and saw Malfoy's muscles trembling at the touch. Ron's other hand was busy working behind Malfoy's back, and from the way his cheeks flushed and his breath sped up, Harry realised he had to be teasing himself. He flushed at the thought and lowered his gaze a little, but continued peering through half-lowered lids. His own cock gave a twitch of interest, and surely that wasn't proper either - he shouldn't get turned on by his best friend preparing himself, and surely not by the sight of his arch-enemy trembling naked on all fours either. Malfoy must have messed with his head a lot more than he'd given him credit for!
Ron treated himself to a few more lazy strokes, mouth half-open in concentration, then reached for the vial again. Harry watched the shiny drizzle of oil flowing over his fingers, and caught a whiff of almonds.
Ron moved closer yet to Malfoy, using his knee to nudge the Slytherin's legs further apart, and ran a hand over his arse. Ron could see the faint sheen of oil where his fingers had been. They travelled further down as Ron used both hands to part Malfoy's cheeks even further, and then moved one of them in between, lightly biting down on his lower lip as he did so.
Malfoy's hands were clenching into fists on the rug, and the lines in his arms stood out as his whole body tensed under the touch. His spine curved up a little, like a cat bristling. Harry put a hand on his wand, just in case. But Malfoy did not explode into action as Harry had halfway expected. He just kept tensing, as if he was trying to draw his skin more tightly around muscles and bones with every passing second.
It was Ron who broke the tension, leaning over the Slytherin's back until his chin came to rest on Malfoy's shoulder, and hissed in his ear, "Breathe, idiot!"
Some of the tension actually seemed to leave Malfoy's rigid form at that, amazingly enough. Ron ran one hand over his shoulder, steady and calming, while his other kept working between the Slytherin's spread legs. Harry couldn't see any details - didn't want to, thank you very much! - but he saw Malfoy's face and the sudden grimace of shock as Ron worked his fingers deeper. He squirmed away as Ron grabbed his hips and pulled him back.
"Would you rather prepare yourself, Malfoy?" Ron asked, calm and unmoved. Malfoy's body seemed to freeze and Harry aimed his wand in the Slytherin's direction as a warning.
Malfoy's shake of head was so slight it almost needed imagination to be identifiable as denial, and his posture slumped a little as Ron pulled his legs apart once more. He kept his head bowed, stifling every noise of discomfort as Ron opened him up gradually, dipping fingers into the vial ever so often. Finally, he prepared himself, mouth half-open and face twisted in a grimace that looked almost like pain, but couldn't possibly be. Harry caught a glimpse of his erection as he oiled himself, hard, glistening and rather angrily red. He would almost have felt pity for Malfoy, if this wasn't his just desert.
At last, Ron returned his hands to the Slytherin's arse, petting the tense flesh for a moment before nudging closer. Malfoy made a strangled, panicked noise when he felt the blunt head against his opening, fists opening and closing fitfully on the carpet.
Ron, Harry realised, was careful not to hurt his captive too much with a rough entry. On the one hand, this relieved him - he wasn't sure if he could have handled blood and screams, or seeing his friend losing it and tearing into the Slytherin in a fit of rage. But some small part of him groused and felt almost betrayed. They weren't giving as hard as they had got, well, Harry at least, and it was just not fair that Malfoy should get off easier. He always had, and it had always been Harry who'd suffered worst, never his enemies. Harry's parents were dead while Malfoy's father just went to prison, Harry's godfather had died in the Department of Mysteries while Malfoy's aunt who'd killed him was still gallivanting about, Harry got Crucioed and had his body taken over by Voldemort while Malfoy got a phoney scratch from a Hippogriff and a few seconds as a bouncing rodent. And Harry had suffered through months of terror and utter humiliation, while Malfoy would be clear after one night...
Despite Ron's care, Malfoy's face scrunched up in pain as Ron pushed into him. Teeth dug hard into already-swollen lips, and a high, hurt whine escaped his throat for a moment. Harry saw in the sharp set of his jaw how much Malfoy hated being unable to suppress the sound, but it lingered in the air anyway.
Ron held his hips in a tight grip as he moved to sheathe himself fully inside the Slytherin, fingers running in small circles over the hollows between thigh and groin whenever he paused to let Malfoy adjust a little. Malfoy's head fell forward, hair spilling over his face like a pale curtain. His fists had closed completely now, and Harry knew that those sharp nails digging into his palms hurt bad enough all on their own.
Ron let out a small groan of satisfaction when he was completely buried in rather unyielding flesh, and released his death grip on Malfoy's hips. He stroked the Slytherin's back, tracing the lower vertebrae, and then snaked his arms around Malfoy's torso to pull him up into a kneeling position. The Slytherin gave a pained yell as his back was pulled against Ron's chest, changing the angle of the prick embedded inside him. A flush of pleasure coloured Ron's face. He wrapped an arm around Malfoy's chest and held him close, using his free hand to brush the hair back and off Malfoy's face.
Harry hugged him for that inwardly, because he had wanted to see pain
etched on those superior features. There were tear-tracks as well, which
inexplicably surprised Harry for an instant even though he'd seen in
third year how badly Malfoy dealt with pain. He devoured them greedily
with his eyes, recalling the few humiliating instances when the
Slytherin had reduced him to helpless tears.
Despite being forced to look into Harry's direction, Malfoy's eyes seemed glazed, staring through rather than at him. At least, Harry thought viciously, he didn't have to look at the one invading him! His, Harry's, first time had been laid out on his back, bent nearly in half as his legs were pushed up to his chest until the cramped position was sheer agony. And then Malfoy had borne down on him, forcing himself inside him until he'd thought either his insides or his bones would snap every second, all the while cataloguing every expression on Harry's contorted face with that horrible, satisfied smirk of his. Harry kept greedy eyes on Malfoy's face, insistent that now it would be his time to look his fill and savour Malfoy's humiliation. It was no less than his due!
Finally, Ron leaned forward to whisper something unintelligible into Malfoy's ear, which made his lips thin and seemed to shake the glazed absence out of his face to replace it with pink-tinged fury. Ron chuckled and pulled out a little, only to shove back in again. An audible whimper escaped Malfoy's lips. The sound made Harry's prick throb. A grin ghosted over Ron's expression, and he did it again, at the same time taking hold of Malfoy's hair with one hand, pulling Malfoy's jaw back towards him and closing his mouth over the Slytherin's to swallow his scream.
The sight was so unexpected that Harry's mouth fell open. Malfoy had not kissed him once in all the four months they'd played their vicious game - not that he was complaining, thank you very much - and he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Malfoy would rather rip Harry's throat out with his teeth than suffer Harry's mouth on his for a second. Despite Ron's hands-on roughness, there seemed to be a connection between his best friend and the bastard, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what kind of courage Ron must have displayed that had wrung grudging respect from a sadist like Malfoy, when all he had ever seemed to have wanted from Harry was to beat him down as hard as he possibly could.
Malfoy did not pull away, or strike out, although it was a cruel kiss that stretched his neck and left his lips bloody with colour afterwards. Perhaps Malfoy hadn't meant it with Ron - perhaps he'd only tormented him to hurt Harry with it later?
It was Harry who hated being singled out, being marked as a victim, suffering all of the enemy's sickening attention. Like Voldemort, or Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange in the Department of Mysteries. Harry's perception of fear had changed after that. Oh, he still dreaded the thought of a Dementor. But Dementors could be fought, and in their seventh-years NEWT refresher course in Defence, Harry had, at last, looked at Lord Voldemort when he'd faced his Boggart. The memory of the Dark Lord, coiled like an ice serpent at the very core of his mind and soul, taking his body for his own and brushing his mind away like so much a fly, still brought him screaming out of nightmares. And sometimes, when Malfoy's cock had been stuffed inside him as if it was a spatula to scrape his soul out from the inside, or when he'd loomed over Harry's bound form to play his body with hands and tongue until nothing remained but need, Harry felt that very same tug, trying to separate him from himself.
But Ron... if he'd had too much attention, Ron had had too little, and Harry just knew that sometimes Ron was not happy with what lay at the core of him. If he'd let Malfoy reach into that unhappiness, that desire for attention, let it remake him...
In awe, he watched Ron wrap one arm tightly around Malfoy's hip, pulling his whole body into him with every thrust, while his other hand stroked the Slytherin's side, fluttering over wet skin as if trying to calm some wild thing. Malfoy's hands were clutching the arm slung around his middle, fingers sliding aimlessly over the curved scars that coiled around the pale skin, remnants of Ron's brush with the rouge brain in the Department of Mysteries. Harry scooted closer to the pair as if pulled in by a Summoning Charm.
Ron sped up his thrusts a little, rocking Malfoy's hips with every stroke, one hand slipping down to tug at the Slytherin's prick. Now that Malfoy was kneeling upright, Harry could see it was not completely soft - Ron must have aimed for and found the bastard's prostate at some point - but pain seemed to prevent him from taking a focused interest in the proceedings.
Ron's eyes slipped off Malfoy's body and towards Harry, who still crouched at the edge of the carpet. Harry had to fight the urge to hide himself away from Ron's hooded eyes. Ron slid his hand off Malfoy's prick and held it out to him, not pleading or demanding, but with self-deprecating humour glinting in his eyes. Harry's own eyes went wide; he swallowed, feeling himself hardening further at the thought of joining them there.
He lowered himself into a crouch, since walking would seem too preposterous given the situation, but feeling intensely silly as he crabwalked over to them. His prick... bounced... he realised with flaming cheeks. He took Ron's outstretched hand as soon as he was in reach, and allowed his friend to pull him closer towards Malfoy's body, still rigid and impaled on Ron's prick. The Slytherin stared at the ground, face averted a little to avoid Harry's eyes. Ron drew Harry's hand down, not onto Malfoy's cock directly, but laying it on his lower stomach. Harry felt tense muscles jump under his fingers.
He acquiesced to the unvoiced request and reached down to close his hand around Malfoy's reluctant cock, warming it between sweaty fingers before lightly rubbing over the sluggish skin. Malfoy ducked his head a fraction lower, but made no sound. That changed when Ron resumed his thrusts again; their force drove Malfoy's prick hard into the curved hollow of Harry's palm, and it twitched in appreciation of the rough treatment.
Harry heard the light "Ah!" sound the Slytherin made, the shudder of pain that ran up his arms and shoulders, and inched a bit closer, keeping a firm hold on Malfoy's member until he knelt directly in front of him.
He'd seen Malfoy caught up in the grip of passion between pain and lust a while before, and was determined to throw him back into that chasm, if only as a favour to Ron. He lowered his head to close his mouth around one of the tight pink nipples and played his tongue over it. Malfoy's skin tasted of salt, and Harry enjoyed the way the little nub hardened under his tongue. He toyed with it and kept up his insistent hand on the Slytherin's erection until he felt him harden and squirm. Then he smiled against Malfoy's chest and transferred his mouth over to the other nipple.
It rather excited him, handling Malfoy like this, and he had to give in to the temptation to move his fingers onto his own prick for a moment; it felt too good to let go, so he crept a bit closer and took hold of the Slytherin's cock as well, rubbing it gently against his own. The sensation was so amazing that Harry's breath caught and he audibly exhaled against Malfoy's chest, moaning quietly in pleasure.
Malfoy threw his head back, letting it fall against Ron's shoulder as if to remove himself as far as possible from Harry's touch despite the intimate brush of their cocks. Sweat-darkened blond strands spilled over Ron's shoulder; the Slytherin's eyes were shut tightly.
Harry formed his palm into a tight sheath around their two erections, crushing them gently together. Ron's thrusts pushed the Slytherin's prick farther into his hand, only to draw it back again whenever he pulled out a little. It was an erratic, rough rhythm, but every slide of Malfoy's prick against his own, aligning the two erections in his hand until the sensitive heads brushed each other, sent a stab of heat running through Harry's whole body and left him harder, and more frantic. He sped up his strokes, and helplessly bit down on the nipple he was toying with. Malfoy made a high noise against Ron's shoulder, and Harry felt him go limp, not so much in protest, but completely abandoning himself to Ron's thrusts that rocked his body into Harry's hand, and the increasingly slippery slide of his cock against Harry's.
Harry felt Ron's hands scrabbling over Malfoy's skin in a frantic, helpless flutter before they dug in sharply and he came with a near-pained shout and a thrust so forceful it crushed Malfoy's cock against Harry's and left sparks flying before Harry's eyes. He groaned sharply as his friend collapsed against the Slytherin's back, sending his body to sprawl against Harry's.
It felt so very good, that warm, aroused body against his own, too winded to struggle, and with Ron's prick still buried deeply inside him. Harry gripped their combined erections in hand more firmly and stroked harder as Malfoy's body eased Ron's through his aftershocks. Harry shuddered deeply as he came, scrunching up his face where it was still hidden against Malfoy's chest, breath knocked right out of his lungs and oblivious to his leg muscles which were cramping up somewhat insistently. He felt his seed spill over his hand and Malfoy's prick, who inhaled sharply and made an inarticulate noise when Harry rubbed the wet residue over the head of his straining erection. He squeezed it provocatively, slipping his hand further down for a moment to slither over Malfoy's balls. Malfoy craned his head back even further, eyes shut so tightly that his lashes stood out like pale half-moons against flushed cheeks. His mouth was forming 'no' over and over again in soundless protest. Harry felt his prick jerk once in his hand, spilling himself over Harry's fingers as well while Ron held on to his slumped shoulders.
Harry raised his sticky hand and brought it up to Malfoy's mouth, which was still half-open to facilitate his laboured breathing. There were tear stains, and misery was written all over the Slytherin's face as he lowered his mouth to lick Harry's fingers, too worn out to even glare properly. Malfoy's tongue felt rough and tickled, bringing back memories of that touch on intimate parts of Harry's anatomy. He closed his eyes against the sudden burst of pleasure before quickly opening them again to savour the sight of his despoiled nemesis cleaning their combined fluids from his hand.
Malfoy's teeth slipped, one pointed canine grazing Harry's thumb as Ron pulled himself free off him with a wet, squelching sound. The Slytherin's eyes went round, then shuttered with sudden shock. Ron himself was rather red in the face when he met Harry's gaze. He smiled as he watched Malfoy clean the final bits of come from Harry's fingers, then reached out to squeeze Harry's shoulder in a companionable gesture. Perhaps, Harry thought hopefully, perhaps they could get back to what they'd been before and put all of... this behind them after all.
Ron grabbed for the wand he'd discarded on the carpet, still sweaty and breathing heavily. It took him two tries before he'd got out the words of the cleaning charm, and he pointed it first at Harry, then at himself.
Malfoy turned his head away sharply. Harry reached up with his now-clean hand and caught the tear on Malfoy's smeared face, brought it to his lips and licked it off. Salty, and bitter like defeat - beautiful. Malfoy recoiled, wiping his face with a bare arm, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. Ron stretched languorously behind him, before waving his wand again and Summoning blankets and pillows from the pile the room had so generously provided in one corner. He spread some of them out on the carpet, a silly grin on his face.
"Saturday tomorrow, mate..." He shrugged. "We might as well sleep here instead of risking to wake up Neville and the others in the middle of the night."
Yes, Harry thought fervently, he'd probably combust right on the spot with shame if anyone ever asked him questions about where they'd gone off to in the middle of the night. He heard the questioning tentativeness in Ron's voice, a familiar sound that came up whenever he preferred Harry to take the initiative or decision. Not so often nowadays, but still sometimes with Hermione, or his mother.
Harry threw a surreptitious side glance at Malfoy, who was still crouching on the ground, his head averted and uncharacteristically silent as if he was afraid of catching their attention once more, and having worse done to him.
It surprised Harry that the sarcastic mouth had fallen silent after all; he'd never been able to scare the Slytherin before, not even when he'd jumped him on the Quidditch Pitch in fifth year. Even naked, Malfoy had never before looked so vulnerable; he'd certainly never shown tears that weren't pretence. Harry wondered whether in time, when his elation wore off, he'd be scared of himself, too.
Harry stared at Malfoy's hunched form, deadly pale and trembling too much for it to be post-orgasmic haze. Malfoy had always dismissed him after their 'sessions' with a sneer of contempt and a cutting jibe. But Harry had had a goal he'd suffered for - and come to think of it, so had Ron. They'd cracked Malfoy's ego between the two of them, which was more than the Slytherin had managed to do to them. If Harry unleashed his verbal rage now, he did not know what Malfoy might do. Not so much to Harry, but perhaps to himself... No matter how gratifying it would be to shove his fury down the Slytherin's throat, he couldn't just throw him out on his arse, not in the state he was in. Not to mention that he'd raise some serious questions if he came back to the Slytherin dungeons as a mess like this; he probably wouldn't have the presence of mind to tell a convincing lie either.
Malfoy had committed himself to the entire night - they could curl around him for a bit, reminding him of his place. And something inside Harry wanted to prolong access to that pale, marked skin for a little longer. They didn't owe the bastard any kindness for sure, but he might be in a better state in the morning.
He threw Ron a questioning look, to be met with an amused smirk and a shrug. So Harry grabbed Malfoy's upper arm and shoved him over at Ron. Malfoy tried to pull away, baring his teeth at Harry in near-desperation, but Harry was having none of it.
"We bargained for one night, ferret," he snapped and tugged the Slytherin towards the makeshift bed. "It's not over yet."
Ron reached out from under his blankets and grabbed Malfoy's elbow to pull him down beside him. Malfoy went, his mouth still sharp as if hateful retorts cut the tender skin inside. Inexplicably, seeing that severely downturned mouth made Harry feel better. Perhaps they had not done anything wholly unforgivable or irreparable after all.
"I hate you, Potter!" Malfoy mumbled, slightly slurred as if his lips had gone numb.
"Good." Harry replied cheerfully, finding to his surprise that he meant it very much. Ron ran his eyes over the welts and marks on Malfoy's back, before eyeing his wand and yawning.
"Tomorrow," he mumbled and tucked one of the blankets over the Slytherin's reluctant form.
"Tomorrow," Harry agreed. He was far too groggy right now for something as complex as healing charms, and his legs felt as if lead had been poured into them. Not to mention that Malfoy deserved to suffer a bit more. "Perhaps he'll learn a bit more humility from it," he added casually over the thin face that scowled out of the nest of pillows as he made room for himself on Malfoy's other side.
"There's always hope," Ron snickered down at Malfoy. "Go to sleep, ferret."
It took some time before exhaustion finally seemed to take over and the nervous movement of Malfoy's eyeballs under his closed lids ceased to prove he'd fallen asleep. His breath slowed, although it was nearly an hour before the nervous rattle in his chest finally gave way to near-peaceful breathing.
Harry watched him under half-closed eyes, lying curved against his hip. Malfoy's skin felt cool, and after a while he seemed to gravitate towards Ron, who slept with his chest uncovered, but as always radiating enough body heat to make up for it. Malfoy's sleeping form curled itself against Ron's side almost in slow motion, head burying against his shoulder. Ron murmured something incomprehensible in his sleep and threw an arm over the Slytherin's body.
Harry carefully propped himself up on one arm and watched them sleep until he was sure not even a surprise visit by Peeves playing percussions would be able to rouse them. Then he laid a dry kiss against Malfoy's half-averted shoulder before pulling the blankets up to his chin.
With a sigh he lay back down, pillowed his head against Malfoy's back, and went to sleep.
~ finis ~
Return to Part 1
Return to Part 2
Note: Thanks to amanuensis1, icarusancalion and Thea for beta-reading and advice. I've been fiddling with and procrastinating over this for over a year, so I'd be ecstatic about any kind of feedback...
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J K Rowling. I'm just experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.
Author: Hijja (kennahijja@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17; blackmail, ambiguous consent, BDSM themes
Pairing(s): HP/DM, RW/DM
Summary: We'll do nothing he hasn't done to us. And it'll still be far less than he deserves.
One-shot, cut into three parts to enable posting.
"Hm..." Ron undraped himself from Harry's back, one hand lingering on Harry's shoulder for a reassuring pat. Amusement trickled into Harry's chest at the sight of Malfoy's nervous eyes. "No, I think I want him properly," Ron decided, a hint of menace colouring his voice.
For the second time that night, Harry saw the desperately upheld mask slip, revealing naked terror underneath. For a moment, Harry was completely sure that Malfoy would make a run for it, bare-arsed and all, and idly wondered whether he'd let him if he tried. But then the mussed head lowered, mainly to cover up his momentary display of fear, Harry suspected. But it was looking so gorgeously like defeat that Harry's mouth went dry.
Ron came around to stand next to him; a side glance revealed his firmly set jaw. So Ron had decided to go through with it... Harry wanted to whisper to him to be careful, but he couldn't find the words or a way to convey the sentiment so their victim wouldn't hear. He settled for a light squeeze to Ron's forearm as he stepped back to give him room. Ron raised an eyebrow and favoured Harry with a wry twitch of his lips behind Malfoy's back.
Ron stared into space for a second, mouthing a request to the Room, and a fluffy circular carpet appeared in the centre. Harry probed it with one bare foot and sunk into the soft fabric almost to his ankle. The bright scarlet interwoven with a gold design of lions was a neat touch, he decided. His best friend's imagination was more opulent than he'd have given him credit for. Ron caught his stare, and his cheeks went slightly red.
"Get on it, Malfoy," Ron ordered, pointing at the rug. Malfoy shot him a look of pure hatred when he added, "You're Slytherin - you should be familiar with crawling."
But Malfoy did it, crept along onto the carpet, his pale skin contrasting with the vivid colours. There was a distinct beauty in the way in which the welts criss-crossed the pale back and arse, which had a lot to do with the fact that the pale skin so marked was Malfoy's. Harry admired the dark shadow between the bastard's buttocks as he crawled, and heard Ron sucking in a breath next to him.
Harry felt more naked than before when Ron moved away from him to follow his plaything. He wondered whether to slip his jeans back on, but it would make him seriously overdressed compared to the other two. He settled for sitting down on the corner of the carpet to watch, arms wrapped around his knees to hide himself at least a little.
Ron had caught up with Malfoy and stood behind him, one hand stroking Malfoy's shoulder blade. The Slytherin could appear elegant - Harry had seen it before, especially when he'd felt in control and like flaunting it. But not now; he was perched there with stiffness practically radiating from his muscles. As if he was half-petrified already. Harry knew the feeling well enough - being exposed, being helpless, being utterly at another's mercy. He hated it more than anything else in the world.
Harry sneaked a peek as Ron undid his trousers. Yes, he'd seen him naked often enough before, in the showers, or undressing in their dormitory or at Ron's room at the Burrow. Though not that one time in his bed when Malfoy had worn Ron's body. It had been dark and he'd been far too embarrassed to look too closely. Ron's cock had always seemed nothing to inspire jealousy and, boy that he was, it had given Harry a touch of superiority to see he was a bit bigger. Ron, too, seemed to be sensitive about it, considering how he'd attacked George - or had it been Fred? - when he'd ruffled his hair and called him 'runt' in a not quite innocent fashion during an after-match shower in fourth year.
Even now as it filled, Ron's erection wasn't particularly long, but he was rather wide and Harry's muscles clenched at the sight. He was glad he wouldn't be fucked by that. Handling it in the dark of Ron's bed, under Malfoy's infernal Polyjuice illusion, had not been quite as intimidating. But then Malfoy himself had never looked like something to write home about either, and he'd been able to use that unspectacular prick of his like a weapon when the mood struck him.
Harry sat back on his heels, observing Ron as he muttered something into the air of the Room, to be rewarded with a soft plop and a stoppered vial that fell into his hand out of thin air. Harry shivered with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as Ron went to kneel behind Malfoy and sent him down on hands and knees with a light shove.
Fine blond hair fell over Malfoy's face, obscuring is expression. Which was a pity, Harry thought and skirted a bit closer to the centre of the carpet. He certainly didn't want to distract or embarrass Ron with his presence, but the desire to see Malfoy's face when he was opened by that intimidating cock was overwhelming. He watched Ron's fingers play idly at some of the more prominent welts on the Slytherin's back, and saw Malfoy's muscles trembling at the touch. Ron's other hand was busy working behind Malfoy's back, and from the way his cheeks flushed and his breath sped up, Harry realised he had to be teasing himself. He flushed at the thought and lowered his gaze a little, but continued peering through half-lowered lids. His own cock gave a twitch of interest, and surely that wasn't proper either - he shouldn't get turned on by his best friend preparing himself, and surely not by the sight of his arch-enemy trembling naked on all fours either. Malfoy must have messed with his head a lot more than he'd given him credit for!
Ron treated himself to a few more lazy strokes, mouth half-open in concentration, then reached for the vial again. Harry watched the shiny drizzle of oil flowing over his fingers, and caught a whiff of almonds.
Ron moved closer yet to Malfoy, using his knee to nudge the Slytherin's legs further apart, and ran a hand over his arse. Ron could see the faint sheen of oil where his fingers had been. They travelled further down as Ron used both hands to part Malfoy's cheeks even further, and then moved one of them in between, lightly biting down on his lower lip as he did so.
Malfoy's hands were clenching into fists on the rug, and the lines in his arms stood out as his whole body tensed under the touch. His spine curved up a little, like a cat bristling. Harry put a hand on his wand, just in case. But Malfoy did not explode into action as Harry had halfway expected. He just kept tensing, as if he was trying to draw his skin more tightly around muscles and bones with every passing second.
It was Ron who broke the tension, leaning over the Slytherin's back until his chin came to rest on Malfoy's shoulder, and hissed in his ear, "Breathe, idiot!"
Some of the tension actually seemed to leave Malfoy's rigid form at that, amazingly enough. Ron ran one hand over his shoulder, steady and calming, while his other kept working between the Slytherin's spread legs. Harry couldn't see any details - didn't want to, thank you very much! - but he saw Malfoy's face and the sudden grimace of shock as Ron worked his fingers deeper. He squirmed away as Ron grabbed his hips and pulled him back.
"Would you rather prepare yourself, Malfoy?" Ron asked, calm and unmoved. Malfoy's body seemed to freeze and Harry aimed his wand in the Slytherin's direction as a warning.
Malfoy's shake of head was so slight it almost needed imagination to be identifiable as denial, and his posture slumped a little as Ron pulled his legs apart once more. He kept his head bowed, stifling every noise of discomfort as Ron opened him up gradually, dipping fingers into the vial ever so often. Finally, he prepared himself, mouth half-open and face twisted in a grimace that looked almost like pain, but couldn't possibly be. Harry caught a glimpse of his erection as he oiled himself, hard, glistening and rather angrily red. He would almost have felt pity for Malfoy, if this wasn't his just desert.
At last, Ron returned his hands to the Slytherin's arse, petting the tense flesh for a moment before nudging closer. Malfoy made a strangled, panicked noise when he felt the blunt head against his opening, fists opening and closing fitfully on the carpet.
Ron, Harry realised, was careful not to hurt his captive too much with a rough entry. On the one hand, this relieved him - he wasn't sure if he could have handled blood and screams, or seeing his friend losing it and tearing into the Slytherin in a fit of rage. But some small part of him groused and felt almost betrayed. They weren't giving as hard as they had got, well, Harry at least, and it was just not fair that Malfoy should get off easier. He always had, and it had always been Harry who'd suffered worst, never his enemies. Harry's parents were dead while Malfoy's father just went to prison, Harry's godfather had died in the Department of Mysteries while Malfoy's aunt who'd killed him was still gallivanting about, Harry got Crucioed and had his body taken over by Voldemort while Malfoy got a phoney scratch from a Hippogriff and a few seconds as a bouncing rodent. And Harry had suffered through months of terror and utter humiliation, while Malfoy would be clear after one night...
Despite Ron's care, Malfoy's face scrunched up in pain as Ron pushed into him. Teeth dug hard into already-swollen lips, and a high, hurt whine escaped his throat for a moment. Harry saw in the sharp set of his jaw how much Malfoy hated being unable to suppress the sound, but it lingered in the air anyway.
Ron held his hips in a tight grip as he moved to sheathe himself fully inside the Slytherin, fingers running in small circles over the hollows between thigh and groin whenever he paused to let Malfoy adjust a little. Malfoy's head fell forward, hair spilling over his face like a pale curtain. His fists had closed completely now, and Harry knew that those sharp nails digging into his palms hurt bad enough all on their own.
Ron let out a small groan of satisfaction when he was completely buried in rather unyielding flesh, and released his death grip on Malfoy's hips. He stroked the Slytherin's back, tracing the lower vertebrae, and then snaked his arms around Malfoy's torso to pull him up into a kneeling position. The Slytherin gave a pained yell as his back was pulled against Ron's chest, changing the angle of the prick embedded inside him. A flush of pleasure coloured Ron's face. He wrapped an arm around Malfoy's chest and held him close, using his free hand to brush the hair back and off Malfoy's face.
Harry hugged him for that inwardly, because he had wanted to see pain
etched on those superior features. There were tear-tracks as well, which
inexplicably surprised Harry for an instant even though he'd seen in
third year how badly Malfoy dealt with pain. He devoured them greedily
with his eyes, recalling the few humiliating instances when the
Slytherin had reduced him to helpless tears.
Despite being forced to look into Harry's direction, Malfoy's eyes seemed glazed, staring through rather than at him. At least, Harry thought viciously, he didn't have to look at the one invading him! His, Harry's, first time had been laid out on his back, bent nearly in half as his legs were pushed up to his chest until the cramped position was sheer agony. And then Malfoy had borne down on him, forcing himself inside him until he'd thought either his insides or his bones would snap every second, all the while cataloguing every expression on Harry's contorted face with that horrible, satisfied smirk of his. Harry kept greedy eyes on Malfoy's face, insistent that now it would be his time to look his fill and savour Malfoy's humiliation. It was no less than his due!
Finally, Ron leaned forward to whisper something unintelligible into Malfoy's ear, which made his lips thin and seemed to shake the glazed absence out of his face to replace it with pink-tinged fury. Ron chuckled and pulled out a little, only to shove back in again. An audible whimper escaped Malfoy's lips. The sound made Harry's prick throb. A grin ghosted over Ron's expression, and he did it again, at the same time taking hold of Malfoy's hair with one hand, pulling Malfoy's jaw back towards him and closing his mouth over the Slytherin's to swallow his scream.
The sight was so unexpected that Harry's mouth fell open. Malfoy had not kissed him once in all the four months they'd played their vicious game - not that he was complaining, thank you very much - and he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Malfoy would rather rip Harry's throat out with his teeth than suffer Harry's mouth on his for a second. Despite Ron's hands-on roughness, there seemed to be a connection between his best friend and the bastard, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what kind of courage Ron must have displayed that had wrung grudging respect from a sadist like Malfoy, when all he had ever seemed to have wanted from Harry was to beat him down as hard as he possibly could.
Malfoy did not pull away, or strike out, although it was a cruel kiss that stretched his neck and left his lips bloody with colour afterwards. Perhaps Malfoy hadn't meant it with Ron - perhaps he'd only tormented him to hurt Harry with it later?
It was Harry who hated being singled out, being marked as a victim, suffering all of the enemy's sickening attention. Like Voldemort, or Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange in the Department of Mysteries. Harry's perception of fear had changed after that. Oh, he still dreaded the thought of a Dementor. But Dementors could be fought, and in their seventh-years NEWT refresher course in Defence, Harry had, at last, looked at Lord Voldemort when he'd faced his Boggart. The memory of the Dark Lord, coiled like an ice serpent at the very core of his mind and soul, taking his body for his own and brushing his mind away like so much a fly, still brought him screaming out of nightmares. And sometimes, when Malfoy's cock had been stuffed inside him as if it was a spatula to scrape his soul out from the inside, or when he'd loomed over Harry's bound form to play his body with hands and tongue until nothing remained but need, Harry felt that very same tug, trying to separate him from himself.
But Ron... if he'd had too much attention, Ron had had too little, and Harry just knew that sometimes Ron was not happy with what lay at the core of him. If he'd let Malfoy reach into that unhappiness, that desire for attention, let it remake him...
In awe, he watched Ron wrap one arm tightly around Malfoy's hip, pulling his whole body into him with every thrust, while his other hand stroked the Slytherin's side, fluttering over wet skin as if trying to calm some wild thing. Malfoy's hands were clutching the arm slung around his middle, fingers sliding aimlessly over the curved scars that coiled around the pale skin, remnants of Ron's brush with the rouge brain in the Department of Mysteries. Harry scooted closer to the pair as if pulled in by a Summoning Charm.
Ron sped up his thrusts a little, rocking Malfoy's hips with every stroke, one hand slipping down to tug at the Slytherin's prick. Now that Malfoy was kneeling upright, Harry could see it was not completely soft - Ron must have aimed for and found the bastard's prostate at some point - but pain seemed to prevent him from taking a focused interest in the proceedings.
Ron's eyes slipped off Malfoy's body and towards Harry, who still crouched at the edge of the carpet. Harry had to fight the urge to hide himself away from Ron's hooded eyes. Ron slid his hand off Malfoy's prick and held it out to him, not pleading or demanding, but with self-deprecating humour glinting in his eyes. Harry's own eyes went wide; he swallowed, feeling himself hardening further at the thought of joining them there.
He lowered himself into a crouch, since walking would seem too preposterous given the situation, but feeling intensely silly as he crabwalked over to them. His prick... bounced... he realised with flaming cheeks. He took Ron's outstretched hand as soon as he was in reach, and allowed his friend to pull him closer towards Malfoy's body, still rigid and impaled on Ron's prick. The Slytherin stared at the ground, face averted a little to avoid Harry's eyes. Ron drew Harry's hand down, not onto Malfoy's cock directly, but laying it on his lower stomach. Harry felt tense muscles jump under his fingers.
He acquiesced to the unvoiced request and reached down to close his hand around Malfoy's reluctant cock, warming it between sweaty fingers before lightly rubbing over the sluggish skin. Malfoy ducked his head a fraction lower, but made no sound. That changed when Ron resumed his thrusts again; their force drove Malfoy's prick hard into the curved hollow of Harry's palm, and it twitched in appreciation of the rough treatment.
Harry heard the light "Ah!" sound the Slytherin made, the shudder of pain that ran up his arms and shoulders, and inched a bit closer, keeping a firm hold on Malfoy's member until he knelt directly in front of him.
He'd seen Malfoy caught up in the grip of passion between pain and lust a while before, and was determined to throw him back into that chasm, if only as a favour to Ron. He lowered his head to close his mouth around one of the tight pink nipples and played his tongue over it. Malfoy's skin tasted of salt, and Harry enjoyed the way the little nub hardened under his tongue. He toyed with it and kept up his insistent hand on the Slytherin's erection until he felt him harden and squirm. Then he smiled against Malfoy's chest and transferred his mouth over to the other nipple.
It rather excited him, handling Malfoy like this, and he had to give in to the temptation to move his fingers onto his own prick for a moment; it felt too good to let go, so he crept a bit closer and took hold of the Slytherin's cock as well, rubbing it gently against his own. The sensation was so amazing that Harry's breath caught and he audibly exhaled against Malfoy's chest, moaning quietly in pleasure.
Malfoy threw his head back, letting it fall against Ron's shoulder as if to remove himself as far as possible from Harry's touch despite the intimate brush of their cocks. Sweat-darkened blond strands spilled over Ron's shoulder; the Slytherin's eyes were shut tightly.
Harry formed his palm into a tight sheath around their two erections, crushing them gently together. Ron's thrusts pushed the Slytherin's prick farther into his hand, only to draw it back again whenever he pulled out a little. It was an erratic, rough rhythm, but every slide of Malfoy's prick against his own, aligning the two erections in his hand until the sensitive heads brushed each other, sent a stab of heat running through Harry's whole body and left him harder, and more frantic. He sped up his strokes, and helplessly bit down on the nipple he was toying with. Malfoy made a high noise against Ron's shoulder, and Harry felt him go limp, not so much in protest, but completely abandoning himself to Ron's thrusts that rocked his body into Harry's hand, and the increasingly slippery slide of his cock against Harry's.
Harry felt Ron's hands scrabbling over Malfoy's skin in a frantic, helpless flutter before they dug in sharply and he came with a near-pained shout and a thrust so forceful it crushed Malfoy's cock against Harry's and left sparks flying before Harry's eyes. He groaned sharply as his friend collapsed against the Slytherin's back, sending his body to sprawl against Harry's.
It felt so very good, that warm, aroused body against his own, too winded to struggle, and with Ron's prick still buried deeply inside him. Harry gripped their combined erections in hand more firmly and stroked harder as Malfoy's body eased Ron's through his aftershocks. Harry shuddered deeply as he came, scrunching up his face where it was still hidden against Malfoy's chest, breath knocked right out of his lungs and oblivious to his leg muscles which were cramping up somewhat insistently. He felt his seed spill over his hand and Malfoy's prick, who inhaled sharply and made an inarticulate noise when Harry rubbed the wet residue over the head of his straining erection. He squeezed it provocatively, slipping his hand further down for a moment to slither over Malfoy's balls. Malfoy craned his head back even further, eyes shut so tightly that his lashes stood out like pale half-moons against flushed cheeks. His mouth was forming 'no' over and over again in soundless protest. Harry felt his prick jerk once in his hand, spilling himself over Harry's fingers as well while Ron held on to his slumped shoulders.
Harry raised his sticky hand and brought it up to Malfoy's mouth, which was still half-open to facilitate his laboured breathing. There were tear stains, and misery was written all over the Slytherin's face as he lowered his mouth to lick Harry's fingers, too worn out to even glare properly. Malfoy's tongue felt rough and tickled, bringing back memories of that touch on intimate parts of Harry's anatomy. He closed his eyes against the sudden burst of pleasure before quickly opening them again to savour the sight of his despoiled nemesis cleaning their combined fluids from his hand.
Malfoy's teeth slipped, one pointed canine grazing Harry's thumb as Ron pulled himself free off him with a wet, squelching sound. The Slytherin's eyes went round, then shuttered with sudden shock. Ron himself was rather red in the face when he met Harry's gaze. He smiled as he watched Malfoy clean the final bits of come from Harry's fingers, then reached out to squeeze Harry's shoulder in a companionable gesture. Perhaps, Harry thought hopefully, perhaps they could get back to what they'd been before and put all of... this behind them after all.
Ron grabbed for the wand he'd discarded on the carpet, still sweaty and breathing heavily. It took him two tries before he'd got out the words of the cleaning charm, and he pointed it first at Harry, then at himself.
Malfoy turned his head away sharply. Harry reached up with his now-clean hand and caught the tear on Malfoy's smeared face, brought it to his lips and licked it off. Salty, and bitter like defeat - beautiful. Malfoy recoiled, wiping his face with a bare arm, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs. Ron stretched languorously behind him, before waving his wand again and Summoning blankets and pillows from the pile the room had so generously provided in one corner. He spread some of them out on the carpet, a silly grin on his face.
"Saturday tomorrow, mate..." He shrugged. "We might as well sleep here instead of risking to wake up Neville and the others in the middle of the night."
Yes, Harry thought fervently, he'd probably combust right on the spot with shame if anyone ever asked him questions about where they'd gone off to in the middle of the night. He heard the questioning tentativeness in Ron's voice, a familiar sound that came up whenever he preferred Harry to take the initiative or decision. Not so often nowadays, but still sometimes with Hermione, or his mother.
Harry threw a surreptitious side glance at Malfoy, who was still crouching on the ground, his head averted and uncharacteristically silent as if he was afraid of catching their attention once more, and having worse done to him.
It surprised Harry that the sarcastic mouth had fallen silent after all; he'd never been able to scare the Slytherin before, not even when he'd jumped him on the Quidditch Pitch in fifth year. Even naked, Malfoy had never before looked so vulnerable; he'd certainly never shown tears that weren't pretence. Harry wondered whether in time, when his elation wore off, he'd be scared of himself, too.
Harry stared at Malfoy's hunched form, deadly pale and trembling too much for it to be post-orgasmic haze. Malfoy had always dismissed him after their 'sessions' with a sneer of contempt and a cutting jibe. But Harry had had a goal he'd suffered for - and come to think of it, so had Ron. They'd cracked Malfoy's ego between the two of them, which was more than the Slytherin had managed to do to them. If Harry unleashed his verbal rage now, he did not know what Malfoy might do. Not so much to Harry, but perhaps to himself... No matter how gratifying it would be to shove his fury down the Slytherin's throat, he couldn't just throw him out on his arse, not in the state he was in. Not to mention that he'd raise some serious questions if he came back to the Slytherin dungeons as a mess like this; he probably wouldn't have the presence of mind to tell a convincing lie either.
Malfoy had committed himself to the entire night - they could curl around him for a bit, reminding him of his place. And something inside Harry wanted to prolong access to that pale, marked skin for a little longer. They didn't owe the bastard any kindness for sure, but he might be in a better state in the morning.
He threw Ron a questioning look, to be met with an amused smirk and a shrug. So Harry grabbed Malfoy's upper arm and shoved him over at Ron. Malfoy tried to pull away, baring his teeth at Harry in near-desperation, but Harry was having none of it.
"We bargained for one night, ferret," he snapped and tugged the Slytherin towards the makeshift bed. "It's not over yet."
Ron reached out from under his blankets and grabbed Malfoy's elbow to pull him down beside him. Malfoy went, his mouth still sharp as if hateful retorts cut the tender skin inside. Inexplicably, seeing that severely downturned mouth made Harry feel better. Perhaps they had not done anything wholly unforgivable or irreparable after all.
"I hate you, Potter!" Malfoy mumbled, slightly slurred as if his lips had gone numb.
"Good." Harry replied cheerfully, finding to his surprise that he meant it very much. Ron ran his eyes over the welts and marks on Malfoy's back, before eyeing his wand and yawning.
"Tomorrow," he mumbled and tucked one of the blankets over the Slytherin's reluctant form.
"Tomorrow," Harry agreed. He was far too groggy right now for something as complex as healing charms, and his legs felt as if lead had been poured into them. Not to mention that Malfoy deserved to suffer a bit more. "Perhaps he'll learn a bit more humility from it," he added casually over the thin face that scowled out of the nest of pillows as he made room for himself on Malfoy's other side.
"There's always hope," Ron snickered down at Malfoy. "Go to sleep, ferret."
It took some time before exhaustion finally seemed to take over and the nervous movement of Malfoy's eyeballs under his closed lids ceased to prove he'd fallen asleep. His breath slowed, although it was nearly an hour before the nervous rattle in his chest finally gave way to near-peaceful breathing.
Harry watched him under half-closed eyes, lying curved against his hip. Malfoy's skin felt cool, and after a while he seemed to gravitate towards Ron, who slept with his chest uncovered, but as always radiating enough body heat to make up for it. Malfoy's sleeping form curled itself against Ron's side almost in slow motion, head burying against his shoulder. Ron murmured something incomprehensible in his sleep and threw an arm over the Slytherin's body.
Harry carefully propped himself up on one arm and watched them sleep until he was sure not even a surprise visit by Peeves playing percussions would be able to rouse them. Then he laid a dry kiss against Malfoy's half-averted shoulder before pulling the blankets up to his chin.
With a sigh he lay back down, pillowed his head against Malfoy's back, and went to sleep.
~ finis ~
Return to Part 1
Return to Part 2
Note: Thanks to amanuensis1, icarusancalion and Thea for beta-reading and advice. I've been fiddling with and procrastinating over this for over a year, so I'd be ecstatic about any kind of feedback...
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J K Rowling. I'm just experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.