Title: Without a Piece of Your Heart
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Harry/Ginny, Harry/Draco/Ginny
Summary: There's something there, thrumming just under the surface, and this thing that Ginny concocted... it could so easily spiral out of control. That worries Harry.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): rimming, MMF threesome, implied future infidelity
Epilogue compliant? Yes
Word Count: 4,300
Author's Notes: Based on the Neil Gaiman quote, "In a perfect perfect world you could fuck people without giving them a piece of your heart " from 'Bitter Grounds'. Thanks to my beta and the hd_holidays mods. So sad this is the last round, but it's been great to be a part of this for the past few years. Thanks for all your hard work!!
Harry keeps his hands on the old wood of the dresser. He keeps his eyes down. He keeps his breathing as controlled as he can; in through his nose, out through his mouth. While he's not allowed to speak, he can make any number of other noises he wants, and that...well, that only helps on a surface level: underneath, it makes him feel vulnerable and exposed. Grown men—husbands, Head Aurors, fathers of three—do not make these kinds of grunts and groans and whimpers and moans. Grown men don't wince and clench. They don't squeeze their eyes shut and grip the wood so hard it nearly splinters.
Grown men like Harry Potter certainly do not let another man lick their arsehole while their wife watches.
But that is what Harry is doing. That is what he allows. And for the first time in years, he feels a kind of relief sink through his bones that shudders through him like thunder.
Harry's lips part, eyes close, shoulders slump. Relaxed. Open.
It started with a joke. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione on their weekly double-date. As they grow older, it's harder and harder to make time for these kinds of things, but Hermione insists on it, and none of them have the heart to argue with her. So Harry and Ron have begrudgingly removed their Auror robes, Ginny slid into something soft and feminine, and Hermione did not bring scrolls of unedited parchments with her to the restaurant in central London.
They grab the first table with a view. Ron insists, even though there's nothing special about the foggy winter evening in London. They order too much food, but Ginny and Ron make up for what Hermione and Harry leave aside. There is wine and good conversation, and they overstay their welcome at the table as the restaurant begins to fill up with the dinner rush crowd.
It's when Hermione has had one too many cosmopolitans that things get interesting. The conversation veers from middle-aged glee at having the houses to themselves while the kids are at Hogwarts to...more private conversations.
"It's all because of that party we went to, remember?" Hermione says, waving her hand a little too brazenly. She nearly takes off a passing waiter's head with her gestures.
"Erm, maybe I should get you a coffee," Ron says, but he's half-grinning, taking Hermione's hand very tenderly in his own to keep her from waving it around so haphazardly.
"Oh, please—I'm quite fine. Aren't I fine, Harry?"
Harry has to bite back a grin of his own. He hides it behind a drink of his third Firewhiskey of the evening. It's nice to see Ron and Hermione like this. He didn't think he'd ever tire of the normalcy of nights where the most important thing is convincing Hermione that she isn't drunk.
"So what about the party?" Ginny prompts.
When she leans forward, the fancy blue dress she's wearing dips low in the front, revealing the soft expanse of her breastplate, the constellations of freckles that Harry's gaze gravitates to out of habit. She rarely dresses up, and so Harry has always found it sexy to see her pull on a draped gown or some skimpy little cocktail dress. She's not curvy like a lot of women—like Hermione or Fleur or Hannah—and so she's not always at home in skirts or skintight things. But Harry likes that about her, the flatness of her chest, the lean angles of her hips, her sporty build that screams of years in the Quidditch leagues. He fell in love with her when they were both scrawny teenagers in a time of war and heartache, and he loves her now in all her awkward-beautiful glory. She always complains about her lack of breasts, her hips being too slim, but Harry has never once thought to want anything bigger in either department. Ginny, like this, tomboyish and pretty against the pale lighting, is how he loves her best.
Daydreaming a bit—mostly about getting Ginny out of her dress—Harry misses part of the conversation.
"...but we didn't think it was weird, seeing him there," Ron is finishing with a shrug. "I mean, he's still loaded, isn't he? Not only got his father's inheritance and all that, but the divorce settlement was in his favour, and he's invested his Galleons well, and—"
"And the point is," Hermione cut him off, leaning forward in a conspiratorial way. "That while we were dancing nearby, we distinctly heard Draco Malfoy proposition Blaise and Anise Zabini."
Harry chokes on his drink. Beside him, Ginny doesn't even flinch. Doesn't even make a joke about it.
Ron grins. "Not mincing words, mate. The best part? The Zabinis were into it. I mean, you should've seen the looks on their faces!"
Hermione's blush is out of control across her face. "After that, well—you wouldn't believe how fast the three of them left the room!" She hiccoughs loudly in between her laugh and covers her mouth with both hands. "Oh..." She turns her face, worried and sincere, to Ron. "Oh, I'm drunk, Ron."
"Maybe we better go home."
"Is that the whole story?" Ginny asks, frowning. She dunks a finger in her glass, then her thumb too, and pulls out the cheery that's been sunk at the bottom of her drink for the past half hour.
"You'll have to owl Malfoy for the full, detailed version," Hermione giggles.
"Are you two staying?" Ron asks. He's already up, helping a still giggling Hermione out of her chair.
Harry glances at Ginny. Instantly, he can tell that something is bothering her, but the night has gone, as far as he can tell, without incident, so he's not sure what has upset her.
"Do you want to stay?" he asks against the shell of her ear. The smell of her perfume, light and airy, doesn't help his current condition one bit. Even the story about Malfoy's current weirdness doesn't deter Harry's arousal for his wife.
"No, it's fine," she says, pushing away from him and standing her feet. "We'll go too."
Harry stands, feeling more than a little awkward. They say their goodbyes down the darkened streets and Apparate in pairs from a safe point hidden behind an alley.
His drawl washes over Harry's spine, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end and gooseflesh rippling in the wake his breath makes. Harry is warm all over, from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, but his embarrassment is actually part of what's turning him on.
When Malfoy reaches under his body and tugs at his prick, Harry almost loses his mind. A growl, low and feral rips from his throat. A warning.
In the reflection of the mirror, Harry can see Ginny on the bed. He watches her thin, pink lips part in a beautiful oh of exhalation. He knows that look and when the sound reaches his ears, he knows that too. How much she likes it, watching him like this, with another man's fingers up his arse, probing, stretching.
Ginny's hand sneaks between her legs. In the reflection, Harry doesn't miss where Malfoy's eyes linger—on his own.
At home, Ginny stands with her back to Harry in their bedroom. The blue silk dress is just begging to be ripped off her body, and Harry wishes her mood hadn't taken a sudden dive. He wants to talk to her about what's bothering her, because it's rare things progress to this point of dead silence and arms folding and jaw tight these days, but he doesn't know where to begin. Was it her dinner? Was it the conversation? Was she upset they didn't stay longer?
"Gin," he whispers, sliding up behind her, both broad hands cupping her waist.
"Unzip me, please?"
Harry nods. He knows she can't see the motion, but she'll feel his hands taking the clasps to undo them at the slope of her back, then dragging the zip slowly down until it catches at the end of her spine, just low enough to reveal the beginning of Ginny's panties.
When Ginny begins to pull away to finish undressing, Harry stops her by holding onto the dress.
"Harry, don't," she says. "It'll rip."
Ginny turns in Harry's arms, and she's not upset anymore. No. Now, she's grinning. The kind of thing that keeps Harry on his toes, even at his forty-one years old, even after twenty years of marriage, even after three kids and near-death experiences, and getting wrapped up in life.
"I'm not upset, Harry," she says. And Harry believes it, because then she's pressing close, her small body against his broad one, her hands swimming over his flanks and then one skimming down between his legs to cup him. "And I want to take advantage of this before you lose inspiration."
Harry grins in return, gripping Ginny's shoulders and remaining still just long enough to let her cup and massage him, and then he gives her a good, firm shove. With a yelp, she falls back, tumbling onto the bed as she laughs, and before she can catch her breath, Harry is on top of her, one knee between her thighs to press high up against her cunt. To feel the obvious warmth there, the heat. He grabs her wrists, pins them above her head, and this is how foreplay usually goes. Ginny likes things a little on the rough side, and Harry has never been one to say no to that.
Beneath him, she struggles a bit, not nearly enough, and arches into his thigh to rub herself on him.
Just as Harry begins to ask, "Are you sure you're all right?", Ginny says, "I liked it too much, I think."
There's a pause then, as Harry's over-aroused brain tries to process what Ginny just said, but he barely has time to try and figure it out, because then Ginny does struggle, and in Harry's surprise, she's able to get the upper hand and roll him over so that she sits on top, her hips over his groin, her arse settling right on top of his growing erection. And she knows exactly what that does to him as she grinds herself down, pinning his arms above his head.
"Hermione's story." Ginny's face is starting to blotch, the only hint to her embarrassment in admitting this. "About Malfoy."
Harry's eyes go wide, and he blinks the surprise away, but he just... He can't figure out why Ginny would like that so much.
As if sensing his confusion, Ginny leans down low over him, her long red hair silky smooth against his skin where it lands, and she presses a warm, open-mouthed kiss to his lips. "Please don't laugh, Harry, but I've decided what I want for Christmas."
Now Harry is more than confused. Ginny's kiss says that what she wants is sexual, and Hermione's story was about... Something low and cold sinks into Harry's stomach. He almost can't kiss Ginny back.
"Would you...Harry, don't look at me like that."
"Like I'm going to force you into something you're not comfortable with." Ginny kisses him again, gentler this time, plaintiff kisses. "Just...hear me out. Please."
Harry swallows whatever discomfort he has on the subject and nods. "All right."
Ginny releases his wrists and sits up, brushing her hair back. "It's something that I've...sort of thought about, off and on, since I was quite young."
Harry tries his best not to blanch, but he's thinking how young?
"It's just...it's the idea of it, Harry. A threesome. Doesn't it sound exciting to you?"
Ginny's eyes are bright as they look down at Harry, and it's clear she's both had this on her mind for a while and that she has high hopes for Harry's enthusiasm too. But Harry can't manage enthusiasm. All he can do is think how awful he'd feel seeing Ginny with another man, how jealous he'd be if someone else kissed her, how furious he'd be having to share her, letting someone else be inside her.
"No," he admits. He can't keep the frown from his face. "But... Ginny, is that what you need? Would that make you happy?"
It's clear what he's saying—if Ginny wants this, needs it, Harry will put aside his feelings for now to make it happen. But it's also clear what Ginny thinks of that. Her nose scrunches and she gives him the same look she gives Albus when he asks if he can bring a baby mooncalf home or when James and Lily are whining about a concert they just have to attend.
"What would make me happy is you being open to the idea and interested, not forced and arm-twisted into it."
"I'm sorry," Harry says, forcing a smile. "But the idea of you, with another man..." At the look Ginny gives him, Harry winces. "Or, erm, woman?" He has to look away after that. Even Ginny with some gorgeous witch makes him feel ill. "I can't handle that. If it's something you want to do... I'll need time to—"
"I don't want to be with another man or woman," Ginny says. When Harry looks up, Ginny laughs, covering her face with both hands. She removes them after a few shakes of her head, pressing both palms down on Harry's chest gently. Stroking over his ribcage, she sinks them down, tugging his shirt up, not bothering with the buttons as her fingers seek his warm skin. "I want to see you with another man."
Harry's hips jerk forward. The touch of Draco's fingers has reached a depth that Harry has never felt before. And it's not that he and Ginny weren't unfamiliar to experimentation, to role playing, to a little bit of kink within their sex life, but even with Ginny touching Harry's arsehole or Harry being in a more submissive position at times, it's never been like this.
Never this intense.
"I can't—" Harry can barely choke the words out. He's trying to tell Draco to stop, that it's too far, but he's also trying to warn him that he's going to come.
It turns out that while Harry isn't open to the idea of Ginny being with other men or women, he is intrigued by being with someone else for Ginny's pleasure. And, she insists, all she wants to do is watch. What she wants this year for her Christmas gift is to see Harry being fucked by another man.
At first, the idea is...interesting. Then, a little repulsive. Then, as Ginny explains exactly what she wants, twisting a finger into Harry's arse while she talks, riding his cock while she explains, letting him come inside her when she specifies, Harry finds the idea altogether desirable. It's strange, because he's not attracted to men. Or other women, actually. He loves his wife, and this isn't going to change how much. But the idea of her getting off on it, of doing something so taboo, turns out to be a huge turn-on and leads to two of Harry's best orgasms.
Just hearing Ginny talk about it works Harry up, and in the weeks that follow, as she starts planning and the days till Christmas keep getting shorter, Harry's excitement only grows. To the point that just seeing an owl from Ginny waiting for him after lunch at the Ministry makes his pulse race and his face grow warm.
When Harry leaves on December 20 for the day, he comes home to an excited Ginny, dressed in her sexiest bit of lingerie—and he does mean bit, as there's very little to it. She clasps her arms around his neck, hoists herself up to kiss him, and then gnaws at his earlobe as she whispers:
It's possibly the last thing Harry wants to hear while his wife is trying to arouse him, but instantly he knows what she means. His pulse races. His face warms. His cock throbs.
"And?" Harry presses, growling it against her neck.
Ginny pulls back, just enough, and grins. "He's into it."
"You're going to have to relax, Potter," he whispers. "Or I'll never be able to fit."
Harry glares in the mirror at Draco's reflection, annoyance flooding his expression. "I am relaxed as you're going to get me, Malfoy. Merlin, don't you think I'm—"
"It's not my funeral if you don't. It'll hurt you worse than it'll hurt me."
"Oh, I can definitely hurt you if that's on the menu."
"Boys," Ginny calls. Both of their eyes look up, meeting Ginny's gaze in the reflection. "What did I say? I'd prefer it if you were both quiet."
Harry grins. He doesn't care if he can't speak, so long as Malfoy is being put in his place.
"And if you're not gentle with my husband, I will have your bollocks."
"And you, darling husband..." Here, Ginny slides off the bed, the first move she's made to get close to them all night. She nudges Draco gently away and turns Harry, stroking his chest, down his flanks, over his hips. "Do need to relax."
When she kisses him, Harry already feels better. But over her shoulder, all he can see is Draco, with one hand wrapped around his prick, jerking steadily.
Waiting is the hardest part. Sitting at the office on December 21, knowing that in less than five hours, he's going to be having sex with Draco Malfoy, while his wife watches. That he's going to let Malfoy... Let him...
Harry watches the clock, counts down the minutes, and finally just gives up and takes the rest of the day.
At home, Ginny is pacing. Cleaning. She never cleans, so it's worrisome.
"Are you absolutely sure about this?" Harry asks, when the doorbell sounds. "I can tell him to bugger off, and I won't feel an ounce of guilt."
Ginny glances from the door to Harry and cups his cheeks. "If you're sure, then I'm sure. I can't wait to see you on all fours, Harry, taking it up your—"
"Merlin, Gin, let me get the door before you start that up."
They both open the door and outside, in a gray wool cloak and dark green scarf, stands Draco Malfoy. He glances between them, offers what passes for a smile on his thin lips, and begins to pull off his dragon-hide gloves one at a time.
"May I...?" he asks.
Harry nods, opens the door, feels gooseflesh ripple down his spine, and closes Draco into their home.
The kiss eases Harry's nerves, but he's still tingling. All over, tingling, because Malfoy is looking at him with eyes that bore past his ribcage and straight through him. Malfoy, who is jerking off to the sight of Harry and his wife snogging, who is blatantly panting, red in the face, trembling because of what he sees, how bad he wants it.
Ginny kisses down Harry's neck and hums, "All right?"
They have a safeword. Ginny made him pick one. And, stupidly, he'd chosen sherbert, which in hindsight seems all too ridiculous. But right now, sherbert is about as far from his mind as Voldemort was from the world.
So Harry hums in response: "Yeah."
Turning, Ginny reaches out, grabbing the back of Draco's neck, pulling him close. For a second, Harry wants to shout the safeword at the top of his lungs, but then he realises...she's pulling Draco closer to him. Until their bodies touch in every place and Harry can feel Draco's cock against his thigh. Frightening, surreal, and exciting.
"Touch him," Ginny whispers.
Harry's face burns. Absolutely burns. Bright red and stupid and embarrassed. But Ginny takes his hand, waits a beat to see if he's comfortable with this, and then guides it over Draco's length.
Draco's expression slackens, and he groans, thrusts. Ginny takes Draco's hand and shows him how to stroke Harry's side, how to cup his arse, how to touch him so that he won't spook, and Harry is falling in love all over again. When she urges Draco to lean in, to kiss Harry, neither of them back away or argue or balk—they kiss.
Rough and raw and hot and biting, two grown men coming undone together. Until Ginny has completely stepped aside and all that's left is their kiss, the way their bodies touch everywhere, how eager Draco's hands are over Harry's body, how eager Harry is in turn for more.
"Sit down, Draco," Ginny says.
To Harry's surprise, Draco obeys. He sinks into the armchair in the corner, nude and gorgeously lean, his prick red and slick and swollen. Ready.
"Sit in his lap, Harry," Ginny tells him.
And if Draco can obey, then Harry will too, but it takes a bit of toll on his pride, so he turns from Draco. This isn't about love for them—it's sex. Pure and simple. Harry and Ginny want something and Draco is there to provide it. Except...Harry does sort of feel...
But still, Harry turns his back to Draco, takes a breath in, and lines himself up.
"Draco, touch him. Touch his back. His sides. His big, fat, beautiful cock."
Harry groans, letting Draco handle him, concentrating on lining himself up. Draco has already stretched him, already lubed him, and now there's just...there's just the actual act. Sex. With another man.
The first inch is the toughest. The friction, the discomfort...and then it gives way and before Harry knows it, he's sinking into Draco's lap, balancing on his feet and bent forward a bit, shuddering in pure ecstasy when he bottoms out and rests his bare arse against the downy softness of Draco's bollocks. From somewhere above the pleasure, Harry hears Ginny's voice, somehow far away, moaning his name. Moaning Draco's name.
Draco's fingers tease the foreskin at the head of his cock, and Harry jerks, pulling almost all the way off, then sinking back down.
"Fucking—shit—bugger!" he snarls.
Below him, Draco whines.
Empowered, Harry does it again, and despite the ache, again. Again. Again. The noises Draco makes drive him up the wall and beyond.
"Like that, do you?" Harry growls.
"Yes," Draco answers. Honest. Dark.
"Tell me. Tell me how much you like being bollocks-deep up my arse, Malfoy, tell me, say it, goddamn fucking say it."
"You're tight, Potter. You're so sodding tight I can barely move..."
Harry pants, hands on his knees to brace himself, and when his eyes find the mirror, it's not Ginny's gaze they seek.
As Harry pulls up his trousers, he glances sidelong at Draco, whose eyes catch his and hold them. Harry has never really put much stock into what Draco Malfoy looks like, but bundled up in his winter best, just having fucked Harry within an inch of his life, standing in the middle of his bedroom with Ginny's eyes on them, Harry thinks Draco has never looked better. Or more attractive to him. There's something there, thrumming just under the surface, and this thing that Ginny concocted... it could so easily spiral out of control.
It worries Harry, that lingering look in Draco's eyes, the way he doesn't quite sneer but his lips catch in some other expression that looks a bit foreign on his thin mouth.
Harry looks away first, clears his throat, and gestures towards the door. Ginny isn't there to stop him from showing Draco out, and he's glad as they both pause at the threshold of the front door. Outside, the snow is falling, and the smoke from inside Harry's cottage litters the air. It's blistering cold, but Draco doesn't even flinch.
"Erm, should I..." Harry reaches into his pocket, fishing for coins.
Draco reaches out and stills his hand, grinning. "Potter, I'm not a prostitute," he drawls, stepping in close and nudging Harry up against the door. "You don't need to pay me."
Harry's body grows warm all over. It's not rare that he has more than one orgasm with Ginny, but it's not...it's never been this quick that he feels ready to climb back into bed and have at it. It's all so new, exciting, and dangerous. Dangerous in Malfoy's gaze, in the slope of his narrow shoulders, in the touch of his lips as they caress Harry's.
But it's just that. As Harry exhales a moan, he blinks his eyes slowly open...and Malfoy is gone.
It should be easy to forget. It was just one night. Ginny is altogether pleased with how things went, and Harry knows he should be too. But as he sits around the Christmas tree, opening presents with his beautiful wife and three wonderful children, he knows that something is missing. Something that he never noticed before has been stolen from him.
Hollowed out in his chest, a piece of his heart is missing.