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hp fic: Tapestry of Want
Title:Tapestry of Want
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thysanotus and xylodemon
Pairing: Harry/Viktor/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1894
A/N:thysanotus and I wrote this together in the comments of my journal. I demanded Harry/Viktor comment!porn, but she only gave me two paragraphs, which was a clear invitation for a tig. This also has a prequel, written by thysanotus: So I Will Comfort You.
Tapestry of Want
::
The news comes during Care of Magical Creatures, from Seamus Finnigan, who overheard McGonagall and Dumbledore talking about it in the halls. Seamus keeps his voice just above a whisper, but his familiar Irish lilt rings in Harry's ears, and Harry hangs on every word.
Viktor Krum is coming back to Hogwarts. According to Seamus, he'll be arriving sometime after lunch, and he's meant to fill the spot left by Madam Hooch's extended vacation.
A quiet murmur circles the knot of Gryffindors crowded closely around Seamus. It's an appreciative noise, made by boys who avidly follow Quidditch and admire Krum's prowess on the pitch.
Harry is silent, is mind reeling. He thinks of an infantile fourth-year infatuation, of how he'd pictured Krum's mouth around his cock when he stroked himself in his bed with the drapes drawn. He thinks of the game between Bulgaria and Uruguay he and Ron caught last summer, of he and Ron crammed into Ron's narrow bed at the Burrow afterward, and the things Ron had hissed in his ear as Ron had slid his cock inside him.
He glances at Ron, catching his eye over Seamus' shoulder. Ron's mouth twitches into a soft smile. His face betrays nothing, but Harry knows.
And when he spots Krum at the end of the hall after dinner, Harry wants.
Krum's eyebrows are dark, almost meeting above his nose, and Harry freezes. Next to him, Ron is still babbling excitedly about him, still acting like he's only after an autograph. His old figurine is clutched in one hand, and a Quidditch card in the other.
As Harry glances over at Ron, he suddenly looks very young, the freckles across his nose highlighting his skin. Krum's skin is dark, olive-toned, and Harry swallows hard, thinking of the colours that would lie underneath his clothes.
He wonders if Krum's skin would feel the same as Ron's under his hands, smooth muscles under hard planes and angles. He wonders if Krum's hair would slip through his fingers the same way Ron's does, if Krum's breath would catch in the back of his throat if he pulled on it just a bit too hard.
Ron is behind him now, standing at his elbow. He's still talking, his words ghosting over Harry's neck. It's no longer babble, but filthy, dirty things, and figurine-Krum's tiny, plastic fist is digging sharply into Harry's back.
Krum moves, striding towards them, and Harry swallows awkwardly, because Krum is tall and attractive and Krum, and Harry has wanted this for a very long time. He can hear Ron's voice trail into silence, until there is nothing but his breaths echoing, the kind of breaths he thought only he could coax from Ron. Sharp indrawn quavering out, drifting through Harry's hair.
"Harry, I was wondering if you had seen Hermy-oh-ninny?" Krum asks carefully.
Harry wonders if he would articulate as carefully if he had his lips and tongue wrapped around Krum's cock, wonders if his fingers would fist in Harry's hair like Ron's do, if his eyes would squeeze closed as his breathing roughens.
"No," Harry manages, his eyes darting to a point just above Krum's shoulder.
It's not quite a lie; he has a fair idea of where Hermione is, but he hasn't seen her. She's probably in the Library, because she's always in the Library, but that is not what Krum asked.
"She might..."
Harry jerks his elbow back, and Ron's mouth snaps closed. Krum frowns, and gives them a curious look, his eyes burning, intent. Ron starts to fidget under Krum's gaze, and he's pressed so close that Harry can feel every movement. The soft rustle of cloth. The nervous shift of his arm. His knuckles brushing Harry's back as he tries to hide the figurine in his palm.
Krum steps closer. Ron hastily shoves the Quidditch card into his pocket, a blush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks. Harry's eyes dart to Krum's mouth, his lips parted as if he means to speak again, and Harry wonders what his tongue would look like sliding into Ron's mouth.
The corridor is deserted, this close to lights-out. The torches flame to life brightly, abruptly, and Harry uses this sudden roar as an excuse, pretending to be shocked. He stumbles forward, clumsily knocking into Krum.
Behind him, Ron gasps, hurrying forward, but it's not Ron's arms he wants around him right now. Krum steadies him, something unreadable darting though his eyes for a second. Ron's hand drops onto the back of his neck, the sweaty dampness adding to Harry's fluster as he holds Krum's gaze.
"Harry," Krum says, and Harry is entranced by the way his name sounds coming from Krum's mouth, so different to the begginggaspingpleading that Ron uses, and he wonders how Ron's name would sound on Krum's lips.
It's suddenly warm, claustrophobic, and the silence is heavy. Harry can hear Krum breathing, can hear Ron wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue.
Krum's hands are still on his arms, hot through the fabric of Harry's shirt. They are no longer holding him up, they are just holding, his fingers gripping tightly, his thumbs digging into Harry's skin.
Ron mumbles and presses into Harry, nudging him, urging him. Krum takes a sharp breath but doesn't pull away, and Harry lets himself fall forward.
The bristling fur of Krum's robe is softer than it looks, and up close, it is warm. It tickles Harry's nose, prickling across his forehead as he presses himself into Krum. The scent of pine trees and heavy, unfamiliar foods is dizzying, and Harry's head feels disconnected from his body, limbs strangely lax and warm.
He senses Ron leaning over his head, hands on his shoulders, steadying him, and he can hear the soft meeting of lips above him, the slow glide of lips and teeth and tongue, and for a moment, jealousy rises like bile from his stomach, swelling and aching until it thinks he might explode.
But he takes a deep breath, face still muffled in Krum's robes, and the pine scent helps the choking feeling go away, and when Ron's hands tug at his robes, the last of it evaporates.
Their tongues are still slip-sliding together, dancing together, less than an inch from Harry's face. Harry watches, his eyes wide, fixed on the spot where Krum's mouth ends and Ron's begins.
One of Krum's hands leaves Harry's arm, strong fingers snagging in red strands to pull Ron closer by the hair, and Ron makes a noise, a choked gaspbreathmoan that Harry has heard so many times before. Ron leans in, his cock hard against Harry's arse, and when Krum's teeth nip at Ron's lower lip Harry hears the sound of plastic hitting the cold, stone floor.
They pull apart, mouths glistening and kiss-swollen and red, and Harry moves in, licking a wet stripe across Ron's lips, tasting Krum there before turning his head and kissing him.
Krum's mouth is hungry, devouring. He kisses Harry hard, his hands coming up to either side of Harry's face. His tongue pushes between Harry's lips roughly, and it is hotwetslick as it tangles with Harry's own.
Ron drags Harry around to face him, kissing him, grinding his body into Harry's, and Krum makes a hungry noise behind them. Harry can feel himself pressing against Ron, and the heat pressed into his arse can only be Krum, who stretches his arms around them, tugging them towards the nearest tapestry.
Shards of plastic crunch underfoot.
The tapestry is moldy and stale, a faded depiction of Rowena Ravenclaw at the edge of what is now the Forbidden Forest. Krum tugs it over them, around them, and the dust hiding between the tightly woven threads clouds gray and thick in the air.
Ron slides behind Krum and pulls off his heavy furs, his hands wandering Krum's shoulders and arms. Harry starts on Krum's flies, but his hands are clumsy, useless. His trousers have laces in the front instead of a button and zip, and the strings slip through Harry's fingers like water.
Krum kisses him again, and his hands cover Harry's, strong, blunt fingers coaxing Harry's to move, to work, to do something. Ron's lips and tongue move up Krum's neck and across his jaw, and they find Harry's mouth as soon as Krum releases it.
Harry can't think, can't breath; Krum's mouth is on his neck and Ron's tongue is in his mouth, and with one final tug on the stubborn strings, Krum's cock is in his hand, hot and heavy and perfect.
He doesn't have time to think, doesn't need to think, because Krum's hands are on his shoulders, guiding him down. Ron's tongue slips out of his mouth, and he thinks he might have whimpered at the loss, but Krum's cock twitches in his hand, and it seems the most natural thing in the world to stretch his lips around it.
His dry lips split painfully, but that doesn't matter, because Krum has his hands twisted in Harry's hair, and Ron is kissing Krum again, red mixing sharply with black against the dull gray of the stone wall.
He swallows Krum's cock again and again, his tongue teasing and tracing, his cheeks hollowing with each pull of his mouth. Krum moans low in his throat, almost a growl, rocking his hips to meet Harry's movements, thrusting until his cock hits the back of Harry's throat.
Krum pulls Ron around in front of him, until he's next to Harry, crowding him, his leg knocking into Harry's shoulder. They are still kissing; Harry can hear hitched breaths and the soft wet sounds of pink-red tongues meeting and exploring, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Krum's hand wrapping around Ron's cock.
Harry is so hard it hurts, his cock aching to be touched. He reaches between his legs, but Krum stops him, his mouth never leaving Ron's as he pulls Harry's arm up and away. Harry whines around Krum's cock, desperate and frustrated, but Krum doesn't release him. He keeps a tight grip on Harry's arm and thrusts harder into Harry's mouth.
He watches Ron come, watches Ron's cock throb in Krum's hand just before thick white ropes spurt over Krum's fingers, onto Krum's olive-toned stomach and into Harry's hair. Krum follows him almost immediately, spilling down the back of Harry's throat with one last thrust and a low, rumbling growl.
Then Harry is yanked upward, hands on his arms, fingers in his hair, his stone-bruised knees protesting as he's suddenly forced to stand. Ron pulls him close, so close his freckles run together, and kisses him, his tongue plunging into Harry's mouth quickly, roughly, seeking out what Krum left behind.
Krum's mouth finds Harry's neck, kissingsuckingbiting and his hand closes around Harry's cock. With a few fast strokes Harry comes, sagging weakly against Krum as he moans into Ron's mouth.
It's Krum who moves away first, stepping back to cast a cleansing spell with a wave of his wand. He has his laces tied and his robes on before Harry and Ron have even started to sort themselves out, and he interrupts their fumbling with a quietly cleared throat.
"Now," Krum says, smiling slightly. "You will tell me where is Hermy-Oh-Ninny."
FIN
Authors:
thysanotus and xylodemonPairing: Harry/Viktor/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1894
A/N:
thysanotus and I wrote this together in the comments of my journal. I demanded Harry/Viktor comment!porn, but she only gave me two paragraphs, which was a clear invitation for a tig. This also has a prequel, written by thysanotus: So I Will Comfort You.::
The news comes during Care of Magical Creatures, from Seamus Finnigan, who overheard McGonagall and Dumbledore talking about it in the halls. Seamus keeps his voice just above a whisper, but his familiar Irish lilt rings in Harry's ears, and Harry hangs on every word.
Viktor Krum is coming back to Hogwarts. According to Seamus, he'll be arriving sometime after lunch, and he's meant to fill the spot left by Madam Hooch's extended vacation.
A quiet murmur circles the knot of Gryffindors crowded closely around Seamus. It's an appreciative noise, made by boys who avidly follow Quidditch and admire Krum's prowess on the pitch.
Harry is silent, is mind reeling. He thinks of an infantile fourth-year infatuation, of how he'd pictured Krum's mouth around his cock when he stroked himself in his bed with the drapes drawn. He thinks of the game between Bulgaria and Uruguay he and Ron caught last summer, of he and Ron crammed into Ron's narrow bed at the Burrow afterward, and the things Ron had hissed in his ear as Ron had slid his cock inside him.
He glances at Ron, catching his eye over Seamus' shoulder. Ron's mouth twitches into a soft smile. His face betrays nothing, but Harry knows.
And when he spots Krum at the end of the hall after dinner, Harry wants.
Krum's eyebrows are dark, almost meeting above his nose, and Harry freezes. Next to him, Ron is still babbling excitedly about him, still acting like he's only after an autograph. His old figurine is clutched in one hand, and a Quidditch card in the other.
As Harry glances over at Ron, he suddenly looks very young, the freckles across his nose highlighting his skin. Krum's skin is dark, olive-toned, and Harry swallows hard, thinking of the colours that would lie underneath his clothes.
He wonders if Krum's skin would feel the same as Ron's under his hands, smooth muscles under hard planes and angles. He wonders if Krum's hair would slip through his fingers the same way Ron's does, if Krum's breath would catch in the back of his throat if he pulled on it just a bit too hard.
Ron is behind him now, standing at his elbow. He's still talking, his words ghosting over Harry's neck. It's no longer babble, but filthy, dirty things, and figurine-Krum's tiny, plastic fist is digging sharply into Harry's back.
Krum moves, striding towards them, and Harry swallows awkwardly, because Krum is tall and attractive and Krum, and Harry has wanted this for a very long time. He can hear Ron's voice trail into silence, until there is nothing but his breaths echoing, the kind of breaths he thought only he could coax from Ron. Sharp indrawn quavering out, drifting through Harry's hair.
"Harry, I was wondering if you had seen Hermy-oh-ninny?" Krum asks carefully.
Harry wonders if he would articulate as carefully if he had his lips and tongue wrapped around Krum's cock, wonders if his fingers would fist in Harry's hair like Ron's do, if his eyes would squeeze closed as his breathing roughens.
"No," Harry manages, his eyes darting to a point just above Krum's shoulder.
It's not quite a lie; he has a fair idea of where Hermione is, but he hasn't seen her. She's probably in the Library, because she's always in the Library, but that is not what Krum asked.
"She might..."
Harry jerks his elbow back, and Ron's mouth snaps closed. Krum frowns, and gives them a curious look, his eyes burning, intent. Ron starts to fidget under Krum's gaze, and he's pressed so close that Harry can feel every movement. The soft rustle of cloth. The nervous shift of his arm. His knuckles brushing Harry's back as he tries to hide the figurine in his palm.
Krum steps closer. Ron hastily shoves the Quidditch card into his pocket, a blush creeping up his neck and across his cheeks. Harry's eyes dart to Krum's mouth, his lips parted as if he means to speak again, and Harry wonders what his tongue would look like sliding into Ron's mouth.
The corridor is deserted, this close to lights-out. The torches flame to life brightly, abruptly, and Harry uses this sudden roar as an excuse, pretending to be shocked. He stumbles forward, clumsily knocking into Krum.
Behind him, Ron gasps, hurrying forward, but it's not Ron's arms he wants around him right now. Krum steadies him, something unreadable darting though his eyes for a second. Ron's hand drops onto the back of his neck, the sweaty dampness adding to Harry's fluster as he holds Krum's gaze.
"Harry," Krum says, and Harry is entranced by the way his name sounds coming from Krum's mouth, so different to the begginggaspingpleading that Ron uses, and he wonders how Ron's name would sound on Krum's lips.
It's suddenly warm, claustrophobic, and the silence is heavy. Harry can hear Krum breathing, can hear Ron wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue.
Krum's hands are still on his arms, hot through the fabric of Harry's shirt. They are no longer holding him up, they are just holding, his fingers gripping tightly, his thumbs digging into Harry's skin.
Ron mumbles and presses into Harry, nudging him, urging him. Krum takes a sharp breath but doesn't pull away, and Harry lets himself fall forward.
The bristling fur of Krum's robe is softer than it looks, and up close, it is warm. It tickles Harry's nose, prickling across his forehead as he presses himself into Krum. The scent of pine trees and heavy, unfamiliar foods is dizzying, and Harry's head feels disconnected from his body, limbs strangely lax and warm.
He senses Ron leaning over his head, hands on his shoulders, steadying him, and he can hear the soft meeting of lips above him, the slow glide of lips and teeth and tongue, and for a moment, jealousy rises like bile from his stomach, swelling and aching until it thinks he might explode.
But he takes a deep breath, face still muffled in Krum's robes, and the pine scent helps the choking feeling go away, and when Ron's hands tug at his robes, the last of it evaporates.
Their tongues are still slip-sliding together, dancing together, less than an inch from Harry's face. Harry watches, his eyes wide, fixed on the spot where Krum's mouth ends and Ron's begins.
One of Krum's hands leaves Harry's arm, strong fingers snagging in red strands to pull Ron closer by the hair, and Ron makes a noise, a choked gaspbreathmoan that Harry has heard so many times before. Ron leans in, his cock hard against Harry's arse, and when Krum's teeth nip at Ron's lower lip Harry hears the sound of plastic hitting the cold, stone floor.
They pull apart, mouths glistening and kiss-swollen and red, and Harry moves in, licking a wet stripe across Ron's lips, tasting Krum there before turning his head and kissing him.
Krum's mouth is hungry, devouring. He kisses Harry hard, his hands coming up to either side of Harry's face. His tongue pushes between Harry's lips roughly, and it is hotwetslick as it tangles with Harry's own.
Ron drags Harry around to face him, kissing him, grinding his body into Harry's, and Krum makes a hungry noise behind them. Harry can feel himself pressing against Ron, and the heat pressed into his arse can only be Krum, who stretches his arms around them, tugging them towards the nearest tapestry.
Shards of plastic crunch underfoot.
The tapestry is moldy and stale, a faded depiction of Rowena Ravenclaw at the edge of what is now the Forbidden Forest. Krum tugs it over them, around them, and the dust hiding between the tightly woven threads clouds gray and thick in the air.
Ron slides behind Krum and pulls off his heavy furs, his hands wandering Krum's shoulders and arms. Harry starts on Krum's flies, but his hands are clumsy, useless. His trousers have laces in the front instead of a button and zip, and the strings slip through Harry's fingers like water.
Krum kisses him again, and his hands cover Harry's, strong, blunt fingers coaxing Harry's to move, to work, to do something. Ron's lips and tongue move up Krum's neck and across his jaw, and they find Harry's mouth as soon as Krum releases it.
Harry can't think, can't breath; Krum's mouth is on his neck and Ron's tongue is in his mouth, and with one final tug on the stubborn strings, Krum's cock is in his hand, hot and heavy and perfect.
He doesn't have time to think, doesn't need to think, because Krum's hands are on his shoulders, guiding him down. Ron's tongue slips out of his mouth, and he thinks he might have whimpered at the loss, but Krum's cock twitches in his hand, and it seems the most natural thing in the world to stretch his lips around it.
His dry lips split painfully, but that doesn't matter, because Krum has his hands twisted in Harry's hair, and Ron is kissing Krum again, red mixing sharply with black against the dull gray of the stone wall.
He swallows Krum's cock again and again, his tongue teasing and tracing, his cheeks hollowing with each pull of his mouth. Krum moans low in his throat, almost a growl, rocking his hips to meet Harry's movements, thrusting until his cock hits the back of Harry's throat.
Krum pulls Ron around in front of him, until he's next to Harry, crowding him, his leg knocking into Harry's shoulder. They are still kissing; Harry can hear hitched breaths and the soft wet sounds of pink-red tongues meeting and exploring, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Krum's hand wrapping around Ron's cock.
Harry is so hard it hurts, his cock aching to be touched. He reaches between his legs, but Krum stops him, his mouth never leaving Ron's as he pulls Harry's arm up and away. Harry whines around Krum's cock, desperate and frustrated, but Krum doesn't release him. He keeps a tight grip on Harry's arm and thrusts harder into Harry's mouth.
He watches Ron come, watches Ron's cock throb in Krum's hand just before thick white ropes spurt over Krum's fingers, onto Krum's olive-toned stomach and into Harry's hair. Krum follows him almost immediately, spilling down the back of Harry's throat with one last thrust and a low, rumbling growl.
Then Harry is yanked upward, hands on his arms, fingers in his hair, his stone-bruised knees protesting as he's suddenly forced to stand. Ron pulls him close, so close his freckles run together, and kisses him, his tongue plunging into Harry's mouth quickly, roughly, seeking out what Krum left behind.
Krum's mouth finds Harry's neck, kissingsuckingbiting and his hand closes around Harry's cock. With a few fast strokes Harry comes, sagging weakly against Krum as he moans into Ron's mouth.
It's Krum who moves away first, stepping back to cast a cleansing spell with a wave of his wand. He has his laces tied and his robes on before Harry and Ron have even started to sort themselves out, and he interrupts their fumbling with a quietly cleared throat.
"Now," Krum says, smiling slightly. "You will tell me where is Hermy-Oh-Ninny."