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Fanfiction - Harry Potter. TITLE: Wicked Game PAIRING: Hermione/Remus/Sirius. RATING: NC-17. SUMMARY: They should be paying attention to the game, but they aren't. DISTRIBUTION: Anyone with permission already. Anyone else ask first. DISCLAIMER: Not my characters. JK owns them. Harry's team is winning, possibly. Maybe Hermione could keep a better track of the score if she didn't have Sirius hand under her skirt and Remus' lips on her neck. One of them should probably say something like "There's a game on, let's do this later" But their mouths soon find other things to do. Hermione briefly wonders what would Harry and Ron say if they knew their best friend has been steadily fucking Harry's father figures for almost two years. Is not like they're doing anything wrong. After all, they're all of legal age, hot and very willing. But still... Fuck, hard to think now with those naughty fingers... Sirius slids his free hand up under Hermione's shirt, grinning as he realizes there's no bra getting in the way of her soft, lucious skin. Above them, there's a cry of joy, another score! If any of the players happened to look down, they'd see three people cheering and raising bottles of butterbeer in their name. Thank goodness for glamour charms. Wouldn't be good if the people flying above could see Remus raising Hermione's skirt while she's unbuttoning Sirius' trousers. Specially Harry and Ron, who still think of Hermione as one of them, never realizing that at some point, their friend discovered boys. Scratch that. She discovered men. Men with worn faces, daring moves and mouths that whisper they most wicked things at her. Her body shivers in pleasure at the thought of this being their dirty little secret. Or maybe is Remus' cock pressed against the small of her back making her feel that way. The girl who spent her short yet adventurous life looking for all the right answers in books knows she'll never find written words to express the way she melts in the arms of these men, her flesh like hot wax, so easy to mold to their touch, so eager to learn. She knows what buttons to push and what words to say to get them to play. They know when she wants it rough, tender or a mixture of both. She's theirs to love and they're hers to adore. After years of war and pain and loss, any kind of happiness is welcome, and this is just as perfect as it gets. And so sex becomes their religion, a constant worship of bare limbs and sweaty, entwined flesh filled with raw, unadultered pleasure. By the time the game is over and the players come to celebrate their triumph with cold drinks, Sirius and Remus greet them with warm congratulations and almost innocent stares. After all, can't they just take their blushing faces and ragged breathing as a sign of their exciment over the match? Besides, the winning team is too busy helping themselves to butterbeer to pay too much attention to it. Maybe someday, Hermione will sit her friends down and tell them all about it, talking about their time in school, of innocent games and how while they moved on other things, she kept exploring that part of her until it fully blossomed. Kisses and caresses on the common room are not quite the same but they will understand. It may take some time, but right now Hermione has Sirius and Remus and a lifetime of possibilites. What more could a girl ask for? |