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FIC: A Brithish WereWolf In Karnak (B/R/H, NC-17)
by nyruserra (nyruserra)
at September 21st, 2007 (02:02 pm)

Since this community was sagging somewhat, I thought I would post this fic, which was written for midnight_writer  in the hp_summersmut  exchange fest.

Title: A British Werewolf In Karnak
Rating:
NC-17
Pairing:
Hermione/Bill/Remus
Summary:
The summers in Karnak are proving to be an incredible strain on Bill’s control….

Warnings
: Mild to middling dominance themes. Smutty and rather kinky, but not terribly dark or heavy.
                    >.>

Word Count:
7,217
Beta:
  HogwartsDuchess



-..-

The streets of downtown Luxor were teaming with people, most of whom wouldn’t know a decent Cooling Spell if they were hit over the head with one, Bill reflected, uncharacteristically irritated by oppressive heat of late July. The heat seemed to intensify the half-mad impulses that where a leftover of Greyback’s attack of over a decade ago, forcing him to be on almost constant guard, else risk something highly inappropriate. It didn’t help, he reflected bitterly, that the object of many of these fantasies was driven to modest shorts and light sundresses by the same heat that was testing his control.

Remus, he noticed sourly, didn’t seem to have any of the discomfort he was experiencing.

The street market was bustling, full of vibrant colours, sights and sounds. The market was usually one of Hermione’s favourite places to visit; a place where most every vendor was polyglot, able to switch effortlessly between several of the 2000 African languages, and a handful of Arab and European ones at will, all crying shamelessly for attention to their wares. The musical, tonal quality of many of the Saharan and Sub-Saharan languages was almost soothing, though she had found, much to her chagrin, that her almost tone-deaf musical abilities made it impossible for her to learn any of the languages naturally.

A fact Bill liked to tease her about, given his fluency in not one, but three of the infuriating dialects.

At the age of twenty-eight, Hermione seemed rather comfortable in her new life. She had faced Voldemort, at the side of her two best friends; she had managed to achieve the highest number of N.E.W.T’s of anyone at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in a century; and she finally been able to tell Professor Snape just what she thought of his sarcasm - though as to that last bit, the greasy Potions Master had been lying in their makeshift hospital ward after a Death Eater raid, and hadn’t really been in position to defend himself.

Two years ago, she had made the move to Dakar, the capitol city in the West African province of Senegal, trying to broaden her message of creature rights within the Wizarding community when she had heard about the treatment of some of the native creatures there. The African wizards had been receptive to her lobbying, having a far more traditionally symbiotic relationship with their surroundings than perhaps their British counterparts, and she seemed to actually be making some progress towards revised legislation.

She had also taken a part-time post at a small research library, which gave Bill the rather convenient excuse to pester her whenever he liked, the frequency of which had her rather exasperatingly questioning the actual amount of work he did for Gringotts.

When Bill had ended his tumultuous relationship with Fleur a year earlier, finally strained to the snapping point by changes and tensions resulting from Greyback’s attack, he had found it quite easy to return to Egypt, perfectly satisfied in picking up where he had left off before he’d left for England with his then-pregnant wife. He had been content in his now simplified life, interacting with virtually no one outside of work, and damned few people inside it, either.

Molly had been concerned about her oldest child cutting himself off, a fact that she made plain in letters, not only to Bill, but to Hermione as well, until Hermione had agreed to look in on him occasionally, just to get some peace from the occasionally-overbearing matriarch. To be honest, Bill suspected it was as much his Mum’s concern for Hermione’s own tendencies to lose herself in her work, as it was for Bill’s unlikely isolation. Bill had always been the most socially skilled of the Weasley boys, being laidback and witty, when he put his mind to it, and though he was a little less open than he once had been, he was still perfectly capable of finding company, should he wish it.

When Remus had shown up on his doorstep a few months later, Bill had felt his Mum had gone over the top by half in mentioning her concerns to the one-time professor — A fact he had told the older man, repeatedly, but to no avail. So now he had a flatmate, in addition to Hermione’s weekly visits, and if he had learned a lot from the full Werewolf in that time, he wasn’t about to admit to it; instead indulging in a sort of companionable one-upmanship that seemed to define their friendship nicely, without the need for messy words. For some reason, this always seemed to drive Hermione to throw up her hands in disgust, and muttering crossly about overgrown boys. Occasionally, when the heat was very bad, and Bill found it more difficult to remember the man he was, instead of the wolf he wasn’t, he found himself not entirely sure it was all only a game; the rather dark look in Remus’s eyes, or his sardonic amusement making him shiver, and Bill was reminded that Remus had far more wolfish traits, despite being much better at hiding them.

The noisy streets had been the perfect escape it seemed, when Hermione had dropped in on them, and was, so far, providing a nice distraction from Bill’s heat-heightened restlessness. In one alcove, ney’s were being played by a trio of enterprising musicians, though he wasn’t sure why they’d bothered, as the ancient flutes had no hope of being heard above the clamour of people and livestock. Almost every second vendor seemed to be trying to flatter Hermione into buying highly polished strings of Nassarius shell beads, or tempted them with sweet honeyed kamuut cakes and bitter wines,

Despite the noise, somehow Hermione still managed to make herself heard perfectly.

“Bill! You just hexed that man!” Hermione was scolding sternly, as the three of them watched a large man totter off, aimlessly heading towards a string of camels and a few tired horses picketed along the edge of the crowd. He and Remus had wandered a little ways ahead as Hermione was drawn to a display of books on one of the luridly colourful carpets laid out in the street market, only to find the obnoxious tosser trying to chat up their witch. Bill was actually feeling quite smug about the rather precision wand work it had taken to hit the bastard in this crowd.

He grinned laconically, obviously unrepentant, and shrugged, “May have done.”

“This is a Muggle street, Bill – you can’t hex people just because you think they happen to act like a horse’s backside!”

“Love it when you get bossy, baby.” At Hermione’s somewhat flushed scowl, he hastened to point out, “The man was being a twat, Hermione.” In fact, even from across the large and crowded square, it had been perfectly obvious the man’s attentions had been unwelcome. Bill carefully didn’t acknowledge the fact that if he had thought for one moment the bloke’s attentions had been welcome, he would have hexed him much, much harder.

She sighed. “You were a professor, Remus, can’t you do anything with him?”

“I’m afraid not. Besides, the man was being, as Bill so colourfully put it, a twat and I really don’t think anyone will notice his current condition before it has a chance to wear off.” A loud splash was lost in the noise of the crowd, and even Hermione couldn’t keep from laughing softly as the man slipped trying to pull himself free of the large trough, and with another splash, disappeared from view again.

Remus smiled at her, and Bill tensed as they seemed to share a moment of silent communication. More and more lately, he had begun to suspect that something may be happening between his flatmate and the woman who was slowly becoming the only thing he thought about.

He struggled not to growl in frustration. I’m happy for them. Really. Remus gave her one of his soft, faintly apologetic smiles, as if biding her wait for something, that were becoming so common of late, Bill noticed tersely. Happy. Right.

When, chatting amiably, Hermione accepted Remus’s proffered arm, Bill did growl.

He could have sworn for a split second, the look in Remus’s eyes when he glanced back, seemingly casual, was a smirk.

He wanted them both, he realises reluctantly.

Of course, he’s known that infuriating and uncomfortable fact for months now, desperately trying to stop himself from making a great pillock of himself by declaring it to either of them. Somehow, he’s fairly certain that the direct, bluntly honest approach that had worked so well with Fleur will be a very, very bad idea when what he wants to declare is his intention to have his little witch on her knees, his cock forcibly buried somewhere in the back of her hot little throat while Remus fucks him silly.

And until last week, he’d kept that impulse under control - especially where it pertained to Remus; but the way Hermione had been staring at Remus’s lips all evening, the way she licked her own unconsciously, every time he moved them just so, was proving to be an incredible strain to his convictions.

They had eventually abandoned the heat of the street market for the cool of the flat, and Hermione had been only too delighted to join them when Remus offered her the hospitality of Bill’s cooking, which, he’d admitted blandly, was much better than his own. Bill had only shrugged, belying the modest gesture with the smirk in his eyes - and the hint of his old charm had Hermione smiling at him.

The conversation had wandered and meandered all that evening, touching on such diverse topics as the proper way to approach a goblin for a raise, the horrors of having a fur coat and fleas in the Egyptian summer, and just why chocolate was such an important component of a woman’s psyche, though Bill still privately figured that any woman who claimed to prefer chocolate to sex wasn’t doing something properly. Voicing this, however, had earned him a sharp swat, though he’d felt it distinctly unfair that Remus’s sly agreement only caused her to blush and change the subject.

It’s a normal evening for them, languid and comfortable – all except for Hermione’s subtle fixation.

Bill notices of course, because he’s been watching her for months, so much safer then watching the other man, part of him whispers, and he’s sure Remus can practically see the struggle he’s having. When she leans forward, lips slightly parted as she marshals her rebuttal to Remus’s last point, one soft hand resting on the older man’s thigh, he felt it snap.

He growled. Again. This was starting to become embarrassing he felt, irritated with is own lack of restraint. If you don’t get this under control, you twit, you’re going to come off looking like some bolshy teenager.

This time, Bill was sure, Remus did smirk.

The sound had been too quiet to be heard by any normal standards, so Hermione prattled on, completely oblivious to the byplay between her two friends.

Somehow, he managed to hold it together, until Hermione left. He knew he had been hard pressed to hide his sullen mood, and was fairly sure she had some inkling that he was agitated, but then, he was a lousy actor when it came to her.

Over the last year, Bill had come to both curse and praise his Mum’s interference; often at the same time, though he wasn’t sure how that was logically possible. Hermione, he’d discovered, was compassionate and brave, and got this incredibly sexy look in her eyes whenever he challenged her; whenever she rose to defend her convictions. If he were to be completely honest, he had first seen it back when he shouldn’t have been noticing such things. She’d been fifteen, and he remembered staying up all one night that summer, just arguing with her, and thinking how wonderful it would be to find a woman with half the fire and conviction this tiny girl had.

A few years later, he thought he had, but in Fleur, it turned out he had made the error of mistaking hauteur and pride for determination and just a hint of that fire.

Now, fate, which he’d lately determined was named Molly Weasley, had conspired to present him with a much more adult Hermione – one who might be ready for the things he’d never dared think about when she had just been his little brother’s best friend. When she’d first started coming around, he’d been furious at her interference. In the early days, Bill had a hard time not snapping at her, their conversations more often than not dissolving into petty bickering that Remus would have to step in and break up. They had come a long way since then, and she’d managed to work her way into his life to the point he could hardly imagine it without her; though most nights had him lying awake and wondering if he had any right to ask her to shoulder the same burdens that had driven apart his marriage with Fleur.

And now to add to the welter of confused thoughts, was Remus.

They’re barely back in the flat, when Bill feels the words exploding:

“What the hell was that back there?”

Remus stopped, already half way to the stairs, startled; though Bill’s suddenly struck by the thought that he’s not really startled at all.

“Bill – I’m not sure what you-“

“Come off it, Remus – what was happening between you two today?”

Remus glared at him for a long moment. “If you are implying what I think you are –“

“How long?”

“I’m going to bed. You’re not entirely yourself this evening, and you’re spouting complete twaddle.”

“How long have you been in love with her?” He’s glaring, and he’s angry as hell, even more so because he knows he’s way out of line, and still can’t seem to stop, and he’s not entirely sure, but he thinks he just snarled.

He’s also fairly certain he was just checking out Remus’s bum in the faded denims Hermione had badgered him into buying a few weeks ago. Somehow, Bill didn’t remember them sitting quite that suggestively over the man’s hipbones when they were modelled in the shop, and is momentarily distracted by the distressing realization that he was now beginning to notice what Remus was wearing

There must have been something in his voice, for suddenly Remus gets this all over-shiver, like he’s throwing off water, and stopped again, still facing the doorway. His voice, when he finally speaks, is low, but not in the soothing way it normally is; it’s more of a warning. “William, I very much suggest that this is something you should drop, for the time being.” Bill’s heard this tone from him only once or twice in the last year, and it never fails to raise the hairs at the back of his neck, even as it makes him react in other, more confusing ways, and he knows he should just let this lie until he can pull himself together.

But now, he also knows he’s right, damnit.

Remus didn’t do it that often, but when he did he got this prissy little catch to his voice, like he knew something Bill didn’t; like he was gloating, maybe.

Normally he does back off, when Remus gets that tone. It’s a reminder that the slender man before you may be cultured and caring, but you’re still, in actuality, dealing with a Werewolf. And over the last few years, Bill had really begun to understand just what that meant. Sometimes, he wonders how Remus dealt with it all.

And he’s sure he should just walk away, and be happy for his friend, because it certainly seemed from where he was sitting this evening that she wanted him too, but that damned other set of instincts is operating right now, and he finds himself snapping back angrily, more accusations and nonsense as he crosses the distance between them.

He’s not quite sure what happened from there, but somehow in amongst all the raised voices and glaring, something else started happening as well, and Remus is kissing him - but yet he’s not, it’s something else, and when the wet pressure of his tongue presses for entrance, Bill isn’t even aware of granting it, focused as he is on keeping his knees from buckling. He groans aloud, or as loud as he can with the other man’s tongue tangling roughly with his own, and when the sharp nip comes, breaking the skin ever so slightly on his lip, he’s shocked by the heady rush of desire that comes with it.

Cool air hitting his damp skin makes him open his eyes, to see Remus pulled back, staring at him with a sort of half-smile that still managed to look gloating, but before he can pull his stunned thoughts away from the hard bulge he’s sure had been pressed into his thigh just seconds before, Remus is walking calmly up the stairs without a backward glance, and Bill’s left in the middle of a dark kitchen, his cock hardening in his pants,

He didn’t know what the hell was happening, what in fuck’s name had been happening, but can’t seem to exorcise the rasping feel of Remus’s stubbled shadow against his skin as he’d kissed him.

Two am found Bill, still at the kitchen table and staring into hours-old coffee; no closer to an answer, but with one hell of a headache.

One of the biggest changes, Bill feels, is the sudden urges.

The oldest of seven children, he had been used to setting an example his whole life. It had been drummed into him like a mantra since Charlie was born; his mother’s oft timed clarion warnings permeating many of his childhood memories. He was the calm one, the cool one, the one who rarely let anger or frustration rule him.

Now of course, he had a second set of impulses harboured in his conscious all the time; impulses that were hot, and often angry, and wired directly to his nervous system, frustratingly seeming to bypass his brain entirely; man and wolf completely intertwined.

Most of the time, he had it under control, thanks in no small part, to Remus’s patient help.

Except, of course, the few days each month, when suddenly steak a little rarer then normal looks incredibly delicious, and he tries not to think terribly primitive thoughts; and even then he has it under rigid control.

But there are times, especially when it’s hot, the humidity making the air heavy and oppressive, when he doesn’t. Wolf days, Fleur used to call them; only back then, there had been more Wolf days than Bill days.

Of course, the fact that the heat makes a certain brunette witch more likely to wear light sundresses, or modest shorts that show off amazingly pretty legs may have something to do with it, too.

Sleep had not resolved anything for him. Today, he was struggling with his feelings worse than even the night before, and now there were strange impulses – urges to go and find Hermione and snog her until she was forced to acknowledge him, all thoughts of Remus driven from her mind, or, even more disturbing, find Remus – though he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with the older wolf when he found him.

Especially after last night.

Of course, it didn’t help that he had promised her a tour of the new site today, for which she’d invited Remus.

Thirty-six, he feels, is far too old to still have days like these.

The site looked like nothing so much as an abandoned rock quarry to the Muggles, of course, but inside were the half-excavated remains of a Wizarding village, nestled right in the shadow of the famous Temple Karnak, and they spent almost the whole tour bickering like school children. The site was completely abandoned, being late morning on a Saturday and so their raised voices echoed flatly down empty corridors, to be occasionally soothed by Remus’s calm injunctions. The heat was unbearable, making his skin feel too tight. The full moon is only two days off, he knows and wonders if this is how Remus feels just before he changes, and eventually he’s forced to walk out on one of their arguments, leaving Hermione gaping behind him as he storms into his office, trying to force the wolf down again. Of course, the infuriating little witch followed him, evidently not satisfied with his abrupt disappearance.

The air in the small office was hot, seeming to press in on him as she glared at him, almost nose-to-chest, glaring up at him.

Too close

Her shirt strained fractionally as she breathed deeply, fighting her own frustration at his stubborn behaviour, and he was irritated when he realized he was doing something so crass as to be watching her chest.

“Go home, Hermione. Today’s not a good day for this.”

She scowled. “Why do you always do this, Bill? Try to push people away instead of letting them see you as you are?”

He lost it; months of tenuous control and ruthless suppression, gone. It was happening so fast; with one arm he had everything swept from his desk, and with the other he’d grabbed her, using his grip on her shoulder to push her back until she stumbled to a halt against the edge of the barred surface. The smashing of inkpots and clatter of expensive equipment as it all hit the floor was loud in the tiny space, but he never heard it over the pounding in his ears.

“Do you like what you see, Hermione?” he rasped, he face buried in her hair as he nipped her neck sharply. Her gasp only seemed to encourage him on, to drive him even further. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling the leather tie loose with her trembling fingers.

Bill was too lost to register more than the sensation of her hands on him, after all his late night fantasies. She seemed equally confused about what was happening, because she actually seemed to be pulling him closer, urging him to nip the column of her neck again, despite the visible bruise already forming. The purple mark made him feel tight; possessive. “Hermione —” he growled, but whether in warning or desire, he didn’t know. His cock was achingly hard within his trousers, and somewhere during it all the zip had been undone and they were now sliding down his hips. Things were far too desperate to even think of stopping and removing the rest properly; actually, Bill was later sure, there was no actual thinking going on at all by this point, and when he thrust his hips, grinding himself forcibly between her thighs, he was absolutely certain nothing before this moment had ever felt that good. Hermione moaned deeply, and tried to thrust back, attempting to increase the contact, but she didn’t have the leverage.

He knew the rough-hewn wooden desk must have been hard on the bare skin of her back, but she didn’t seem to notice, and he silently promised himself that there would be opportunity later to kiss each and every one of the scrapes and splinters. The buttons of her dress were now scattered rather widely across his office, victims of his vanished judgement, he supposed, and her knickers proved to be only a mild interruption, the pretty lace tearing easily under his impatient hands. He pulled back fractionally, and privately he had to acknowledge that the sight of Hermione there, across his desk, legs spread wantonly, half dressed with her torn sundress and looking at him with desire in her warm brown eyes, was quite possibly the sexiest damn sight he would ever see.

He used her hips to pull her more firmly against his groin, desperate for contact as he began rocking against her in earnest now, long, hard movements that were quickly eroding what little sanity he had left. The front of his cotton boxers, already damp from his own pre-come, was rapidly soaking through as she squirmed for even greater contact. He felt his balls start to tighten as the tension in his body increased to almost painful levels, and he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from coming right there in his pants.

Not like this.

He had to give her the opportunity to run — and she damn well should run from the likes of him; had to make sure she knew he wouldn’t give her up now, bollocks to Remus and whatever claim he may have on her. He panted, pressing his lips against the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders as he fought for control of himself. “This isn’t – you should stop.” He closed his eyes, squeezing them so tightly bright dots appeared behind his eyelids; it would have stood a better chance of working if she hadn’t chosen that moment to beginning wriggling, impatiently.

He gave up. “Need you,” he warned, raggedly. “Won’t let you go, Hermione.”

“I should hope not, after all the effort we went to.” Her voice was breathless, but still managed to sound somewhat smug.

We? But even as he wondered, Bill felt hands caressing his shoulders and running up the back of his neck. Remus had entered, without Bill, a man to whom being aware of everything around him, always was not only second nature, but a survival skill, even being aware of it. This would have disturbed him a great deal more if he’d been able to think even remotely clearly, of course. As it was, he felt himself tensing - wildly considering everything from Memory Charms to AK’ing himself, not sure what was happening here, needing them both so badly… but when he turned to watch the other man, his gaze was laconic and level, though he held on to this pose by a thread.

“You want this.”

Oh, Merlin’s balls. Remus’s voice was husky and seductive, and had Bill’s blood surging, painfully. He closed his eyes again, cursing softly. The cursing seemed to help, the coarse sounds alleviating some of what he was feeling, and he was tempted to say a few more, before he felt Hermione reach out to trace his jaw with gentle fingers.

“Its okay, Bill. Whatever happens here is okay.”

She was beautiful and far too loyal, and saw only the best in all her friends; she didn’t understand how terribly wrong this could – and had already once, in Bill’s experience, go. “I don’t –“ he looked at her helplessly. “I mean, I once, with Fleur —“

“Remus is here,” she smiled archly. “Do you really think he would let you hurt me?”

The other man had been strangely silent during this byplay, seemingly content to let Hermione do the talking, ultimately confident that no convincing was really required to get what Bill had to admit, they both wanted.

“I understand, Bill.” He had said it so softly, Bill wasn’t sure at first he was meant to hear it at all, until he caught sight of Remus’s expression. The moment was surreal; Hermione, whom he had been borderline obsessing over for so long that he was pretty sure he had skipped right over the pathetically infatuated part, and gone straight for desperately in love, was laying across his desk, clothing hanging from her body in a way that was making further thought nearly impossible, while her – well, Bill was pretty sure anyway - lover was watching, and, oh yes, beginning to palm his own erection suggestively through the strained fabric of his denims, smirking slightly at the expression of need on his face.

Clearly, they didn’t intend him to have a chance.

“Remus –“ Hermione managed to make his name sound like a command, even as she wriggled against the Bill, reminding him of what, she felt, he was supposed to be doing. Damp cotton was still in the way, bunched awkwardly between them, but neither noticed. Remus’s smile could only be described as predatory as he moved closer, until she could fumble the zip for his pants. As soon as his cock was freed, he gently fisted Hermione’s curls as she guided him between parted lips. Remus groaned at the sensation, head thrown back for one brief moment as he lost himself in the feel of whatever Hermione was doing with her tongue. Bill groaned thinking about it; watching it.

Everything after that became somewhat blurred in Bill’s shaky recollections.

He only let her swallow a little; Bill saw her throat work once, shallowly, before Remus pulled away, squeezing the base of his straining erection tightly. Taking her hand with his free one, he used it, encouraging her to continue stroking the length of his cock, moaning quietly as he worked her hand faster. Bill watched, fascinated, as with a grunt, Remus climaxed, spilling his seed all over Hermione’s breasts and stomach, and she arched up, gasping at the feel it hitting her fevered skin.

“Mine,” he panted softly, watching her, seeming to share another one of their private moments as Hermione smiled tenderly.

Bill couldn’t quite suppress the jealous growl, but when Remus turned, watching him through half closed eyes, he felt the protest die in his throat, pulse racing at the heated promise looking back at him. Remus’s lips twitched, a small, amused smile flashing briefly, before disappearing again. Still keeping Bill’s eyes, he grasped Hermione’s hand, trailing the index finger slowly through his pooling seed and across her breast. She gasped when he guided it up, swirling around the erect nipple teasingly, before guiding her finger to her lips.

Remus was still watching him, his calm gaze somehow commanding in the charged atmosphere, though commanding what; Bill only had tangled instinct-like desires to guide him. Thankfully, Hermione seems to have a better idea of what was happening, as she threaded her fingers through his loose hair, tugging him even closer to her, encouraging him to lean down, to take her damp skin between his teeth, and it’s only a split second to give in, and he’s tasting and sucking ruthlessly while she whimpers.

The taste of Remus is mixed with the scent of Hermione’s lotion, and the tastes of ink and honey are all mixed up with musk and salt and chocolate, and he wants more, but he doesn’t want it; doesn’t want the way this is making him feel because he doesn’t understand the other desires that are rising with it. Hot, biting impulses are stirring so strongly, his skin itches; like it’s not really his anymore, but he moans harshly when rough hands begin sliding his boxers down to join the scattered clothes on the floor. The feel of those hands on his hot skin is enough to have him groaning out Remus’s name. His bare chest in pressed flush against Bill’s back as he holds him up, those skilled hands travelling the length of his body, caressing, and occasionally pinching without warning as he roughly kisses Bill’s neck and shoulders, until Bill can no longer muster the proper objections, just knowing that he’ll do anything, provided Remus will just keep touching him like that.

Hermione’s shrugged out of what was left of her dress, sitting on her knees at the edge of the desk to add her hands to Remus’s, and Bill knows he’s gone mad. “Oh shite – Hermione —!” he managed as she began laying wet, open mouthed kisses along the skin stretched thinly over his collar bone, slowly working her way down his body, nipping sharply at his nipple, before continuing downward. One of the muscles in his abdomen twitched as her kisses reached his stomach, her tongue briefly flicking to outline his navel. When she finally reached his hips, hot tongue caressing the skin stretched taunt over the bone, he couldn’t stop them jerking sharply in need.

Behind him, Remus grabbed his waist, forcing him to hold still in his steel grip. “Not yet, William,” he whispers. He can feel Remus’s stiffening cock nestled firmly against his bum, and when he pushed back against the teasing presence, trying to get things moving, trying to show the other man exactly what he wanted him to do with that wonderful length, forget about the waiting.

A husky laugh and a sharp stinging swat reward his actions, so instead Bill turned his attention back Hermione, pushing her back onto the desk, grinning lasciviously at her momentary look of surprise. She glared at him, somewhat self-consciously, her flush bronzing the already tanned skin of her cheeks, but colouring the milky skin of her breasts and stomach pale pink as he raked her body with his eyes. Pushing gently against the insides of her bent legs, he forced them wider, and her embarrassment quickly changed to a strangled cry as he leaned forward to bury his face against her damp curls. Lazily, he swiped his tongue between her folds, enjoying her gasp and savouring the taste of her on his tongue. He was acutely aware of Remus’s hard length, or rather, its absence as he stepped back from Bill’s tense frame, and he tried not to whimper at the loss. Dimly, he heard Remus mutter some kind of spell in a strained whisper.

Using his fingers to spread her folds open to his attentions, he ran his tongue from her opening to her clit, revelling in the feeling of her trembling under his ministrations. With slow movements, he began skating the sensitive edges of her clit, gradually using firmer pressure as her cries built from throaty moans to hoarse shouts. When Remus unexpectedly began probing with two slick fingers, working them into his arse, Bill groaned deeply, pausing to pant against Hermione’s skin as the sensation threatened to overwhelm him.

“Remus –“ he gritted out from between tightly clenched teeth.

“Do you like this?” His fingers were now penetrating him fully; his body, despite his wishes, admitting them reluctantly, and Bill had to fight the urge to push back on Remus’s hand, to try and make the process go faster as he began to scissor them.

He glanced up, and caught the openly curious look in Hermione’s eyes as she watched them. The way she was touching her breasts with her free hand, the one that wasn’t supporting her on the desk as she watched, left no doubt in Bill’s mind that she found them arousing together. He grinned wickedly when she caught him looking at her.

“Fucking love your tits, baby. Want you to play with them, while I lick you.”

The taste of her on his tongue as Remus continued fingering him was the best combination he could think of. Hesitating slightly, she gently cupped her breasts, twisting the nipples lightly, gasping softly as she found something that felt particularly good. Bill watched her for only a moment, before flexing his tongue into a sharp point, and driving it into her tight heat as deeply as he could go. His nose was brushing her clit with every thrust, he knew, and she quickly forgot his injunction to touch herself as her fingers wound themselves in his hair, trying to pull him closer, to find the right spot as she tensed beneath him. When he felt her legs begin to shake against his shoulders, he stopped, pulling back teasingly.

Tell me what you want, Hermione,” he rasped, even as he resisted the sharp little tug to his hair as she attempted to indicate where she’d like him to continue his attentions. When it became obvious he was going to continue resisting, she glared at him narrowly.

“Bill —“ she said, drawing his name out warningly.

He smirked at her, before leaning down to run his tongue slowly along the inside of her thigh, to end by stopping just as he reached her more desperate parts. It took all of his control to wrench himself away, with Remus rubbing himself maddeningly against him, and he’s not sure why, but he needs this; needs to hear her say it, urgently needed to know she was just as desperate for this as he was.

“Want some of this, baby? Want me to tongue that gorgeous cunt of yours? I bet you’re a screamer, aren’t you? So passionate; you’ll scream for me when I touch you, won’t you? Scream my name, tell me that I’m yours – always yours as you soak me in your juices as I make you come. Tell me what you want, Hermione.” Gods, if Remus didn’t stop doing that, fantasies be dammed and he was just going to take the little witch.

The look she gave him was distinctly irritated, even as her checks flushed invitingly and her breath hitched at his crass words. “I want you – I want you to lick me; make me come,” she managed crossly, not stumbling much, but still lacking a terrible amount of conviction.

Bill shook his head, tsking. “Told you, I love it when you’re bossy, baby. I want you to tell me what you want.”

“Be firm with him, Hermione.” Remus’s voice was soothing as he reached around Bill’s shoulder to idly play with one of her breasts, long fingers rasping lightly over her skin, making her shiver. “Does it feel good, what he does to you?” At her strangled yes, Bill leaned in again and swiped her wet folds again with his tongue, applying just enough pressure to make her gasp and curse when he didn’t continue. “Tell him what you want.”

“Gods, Hermione, you’re so fucking gorgeous; want to hear you scream – make me make you scream.”

She moved to lean on her elbows, where she could look at them both, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, clearly considering. It took a moment, during which he hardly dared breath, and he knew he needed her, needed something from her so fucking badly he might combust on the spot, before she reached out to tangle her fingers in his sweaty hair. He felt the sharp tug as she forced his head up uncomfortably high, and looked at him, steadily.

“William, I think you’ve been neglecting me.” She stopped for a moment, to look to Remus, and he must have made some gesture that reassured her, because she continued, in a voice that was struggling to be stern, but managed. “I want you to pleasure me,” she paused for breath as his finger fleetingly swiped her swollen clit, and continued with a hint of her normal imperious tones she usually reserved for people who didn’t return books on time, or failed to replace the index cards: “I want you to go down on me; lick my … cunt, tongue me until I scream - until it feels I’m going to come apart it feels so good.”

It was a painfully exquisite snap as the tension broke; this was all it took. Her little speech ended in a gasp when Bill practically pounced on her, while Remus pushed forcibly into his arse, sinking so fully that Bill could feel his sac smack heavily against his skin. The burning abrasion of his passage was quickly lost as he angled his hips and glided over seemingly just the right spot to make Bill shout hoarsely in surprised abandon. Bill was sure he was going to leave marks where his hands were forcing Hermione’s legs apart, gripping her thighs so tight the tips of his fingers were white, but that was nothing compared to the marks he was going to have from Remus. The pressure was maddeningly sweet – heightened by the stinging slap of skin on skin, and Remus’s gravely noises.

They weren’t going to last long, like this – the build-up, the confusion; everything was bound up in this moment and being pulled tighter, harder, thinner, until it felt the air around them was ready to snap. The burning of the muscles in his legs from his half-crouching position was ignored, and it wasn’t long before he felt the telltale shaking beneath him of Hermione’s eminent orgasm. His cock twitched painfully at the sound of her hoarse shout echoing in the cramped room, and he bit his lip, hard, to keep from coming as his name spilled from her swollen lips, and Remus slowed to enjoy the erotic sight of their girl as she came apart.

Her last shout had barely left her lips when Remus thrust hard, and unexpectedly deep. Bill bit his already chewed lip so hard he tasted of blood, wholly lost now in the feel of Remus inside him. Hermione was on her knees, kissing his jaw, running her nails over his skin, scratching lightly. Bill felt all this, not daring to open his eyes, trying desperately not to come… sure on some level that Remus was close – had to be close, damnit.

He could feel the hands on him palming the straining length of his erection, caressing his balls lightly, instinctively knowing that anything more would be too much in the face of all the other sensations. Hermione’s lips tasted like wine as he kissed her desperately, and bright lights began exploding behind his eyes.

The tensions of the nearness of the full moon was playing havoc with his nerves – he felt himself growling low in his throat, warningly, even as he knew instinctively that he had to wait — and then he felt it, Remus’s grip on his hips tightened to what should have been painful, if Bill hadn’t welcomed it so much, and he the hot feeling of Remus’s orgasm almost burned him as he sucked Hermione’s flesh and bit to keep from screaming as all the tensions snapped, his climax agonizingly in its sudden release.

Remus moved back, giving him some space, as Bill placed both hands on the edge of his desk, head hanging between his arms as he caught his breath. Gently, Hermione was fingering his hair from his eyes, were it stuck, sweaty and dark against his skin.

Remus had moved to cradle Hermione were she sat on the desk, and his dark eyes were boring into his head even before he looked up. A bright bruise was colouring the top of one breast, matching the one on her neck he’d given her earlier.

They could share; though, he knows, back were he keeps pushing the thought, that it’s not really that at all, but more of a messy, three way sharing that is too difficult to think about just yet.

There is affection in Remus’s touch as he reaches out to push back some of Bill’s fringe that Hermione has missed. He’s not sure what he has with the older man; not sure he’s comfortable with the way he makes him feel, or the way he seems to make him need things he wasn’t sure he liked. Beside him, Hermione sighed, settling in against his shoulder contentedly, and he knows he’s a complete tosser, but for a chance to be with his witch, he would willingly accept a lot more than what Remus has stirred in him; the messy, primitive feelings he has for the older man are somehow comfortable and complicating simple.

~ Fini ~