Despoiling Harry

Home Page   Amanuensis's Fanfiction    Art/Fic Tributes  Fic Recommendations  Amanuensis's LiveJournal   Other Links   Email Me

The characters and the situations within these fanfiction stories are not my property. They are the property of J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and others, and are used without permission. No profit is being made from the use of these characters and situations; these written-down imaginings are only presented in an internet forum for the interest of and consumption by the like-minded individuals who enjoy them and recognize them as unauthorized fanfiction only, and are not in any way meant to be confused with the originals NOR presented as authorized materials of these owners.

In Between
by Amanuensis

Summary: Harry wants to be in the middle.
Pairing: Harry/Sirius/Remus
Categories: Drama.
Kinks/Warnings: Threesome.
Notes: For the Pornish Pixies Fantasy Fest request made by [info]maeglinyedi -- "SB/RL/HP: S/R are together, and Harry wants in and seduces them both at different times. First-time. Chan/other kinks are a bonus." I couldn't make it chan, for that would have been AU (didn't feel right) or in the context of OotP, and that would have been too sad for me, knowing the conclusion of that. But I hope you still like the result, [info]maeglinyedi!
Thanks to betas [info]fabularasa and [info]gwendolyngrace.


You're going to let me in, thought Harry. You are.

Everyone--well, every sane person--had everything it was possible to want--Voldemort dead, the wizarding world at peace, the Ministry under competent management...

...Sirius alive. It was all there, all of it.

Except what Harry wanted. Because Sirius alive wasn't enough. Sirius alive was Remus's Sirius, and Remus having Sirius meant Harry didn't have Remus, either.

Not in the way he wanted him. Wanted them.

They were going to let him in. They were.

Harry knew from Mrs. Black's screeches that Sirius had to be at it again. In the front hall, he found him, cross-legged in front of his mother's portrait with another matchbook, wordlessly flicking the lit matches one by one at the portrait. None of the flames ever caught, but Mrs. Black's screams rose in pitch with each little missile of a match.

Remus had come in from the other door and reached Sirius first. "Don't," he said, setting his hands on Sirius's shoulders. "She's not worth the attention."

"Yes, she is. Look at her flinch."

"Diseased spawn! No flesh of mine!"

"She's dead. You're alive. Let that be revenge enough; if you hold hate like this, it's like poisoning yourself and hoping the other person will die."

Sirius was still looking at the picture. He had another lit match ready, but didn't throw it.

Harry stepped forward. "Besides, when you do burn this place to the ground, wouldn't it be nice if it were planned, Sirius? Invite friends. Drinks. Party hats."

Sirius's smile came slowly, but it came. He shook out the match. Remus moved one of his hands to Harry's shoulder.

And for a moment, it was the three of them. It was.

It wouldn't be during a full moon, no, because Padfoot was always with Moony on those nights, potion or no. Harry wouldn't get Sirius alone that way.

But Remus had a Ministry job now, as Lycanthropic Liaison, and overnight trips for a man in his position were infrequent but not unheard of. And Harry had time, if not exactly patience. Nights of little sleep, as Harry lurked some distance from their bedroom door, Extendable Ear bringing him every sigh, every groan, every affectionate laugh from that, Harry wouldn't say he had patience.

He couldn't stop the eavesdropping, though. It had been that sentence spoken by Sirius--not even a full sentence. The words he'd said, that second night when Harry'd begun his guilty eavesdropping, the words that had come in the long silence after their hushed but intense dual climax: You think Harry. But said like this: You think Harry...? And Harry's breath and heart had gone still as the dead, wanting it to mean only one thing, and Remus not answering, and not answering, and Harry not even aware when his breathing and heartbeat had taken up their jobs again, only knowing that the silence finally meant there had been no answer, and both men were asleep.

Sensible-minded Harry filled in the blank plainly: Knows about us. Heard us. Would like to go on a picnic sometime. But Harry didn't want to listen to Sensible-minded Harry. When had he ever?

Harry filled the blank with very unsensible words. It was what he wanted, after all.

Which was why he tried to swallow his mouthful of cornflakes calmly on the morning when Remus announced he was going to be overnighting in Aberdeen in two days' time.

He knew Sirius wouldn't turn him away if he knocked and asked to come in, but he didn't trust himself to be able to get from a position perched on the side of the bed to actually in it, based on the skill of his words alone. So he used one of Fred and George's Eye-Bright Lozenges to make sure he did not fall asleep while waiting for Sirius to go to bed, and a silencing charm on his footfalls and the door so that nothing creaked as he went into Sirius's room.

Sirius, he saw, sprawled over all available sleeping space when alone, but there was enough room at the edge of the bed for Harry to lift the duvet and slide under. And settle there, facing Sirius.

The bedclothes were pulled up to Sirius's waist, so Harry was halfway to knowing if he slept in the raw. (Sirius owned only one pair of pyjamas, so he'd thought that a fair guess.) Harry had left his own in his room, and the sheets smelling of both men against his bare skin were enough to have him hard right then. He could come just like that, and fall into contented sleep.

But he did not. He stared at Sirius, studying his face in sleep, feeling the basest of intruders, and as if he was finally in his right place in the world, both at the same time.

He had every intention of waking Sirius, he did, but then it happened without any help from him: Sirius's arm slid out to touch his, and then follow it along to his shoulder, cupping it with one unwaking affectionate squeeze.

And then Sirius did wake.

He didn't start. But he did blink, did pull the hand away, did rumble thickly, "Harry. Thought--Christ, Harry, thought you--"

"Were Remus."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Don't have to be sorry. My fault, after all."

And then Sirius really did come awake, realization why the misunderstanding wasn't his fault outlined on his face. Harry heard all the Harry, what are yous starting to be formed in Sirius's mouth, and before he could say them, because he could not bear to hear them, Harry said, "I wanted to be here with you. I wouldn't have let you go on thinking I was Remus. But I wanted to be here."

He couldn't be coy, couldn't tease. Sirius had to know he wasn't doing this on some whim. Besides, he wouldn't know how. He'd never done more than kiss, and each time, those kisses had been done to him.

"Are you--Christ, you don't even have clothes on."

"You don't either." Sirius's movements had shifted the bedclothes enough for him to tell. "Was it really that bad, when you woke up and saw that I wasn't Remus? Weren't you a little okay with it?" And, knowing that he'd better not wait for an answer, Harry pushed his head forward and took the first kiss he'd ever wanted to have from someone else.

And Sirius didn't pull away.

Didn't push him away. Harry waited five throat-closing heartbeats before shifting his entire body so that his mouth, his face, could be above Sirius's, afraid that Sirius would come to his senses any moment and break away if he didn't do this. He touched Sirius's shoulder in the way his own had been touched, and that was what got a groan out of Sirius. Harry lifted his mouth away only long enough to kiss Sirius on the throat, and to move his free hand to Sirius's waist. He needed to touch him, needed his hands to communicate that what he wanted went far beyond kissing, needed the kisses to tell him it wasn't just a moment of we're-alone-so-let's.

Another groan, and Sirius was pulling away. "What the fuck do you think I'm made of, steel? Harry, I'm supposed to have your best interests at heart, but if you think I'm able to push you out of this bed when you come at me like that--"

It was like a chorus of angels. No this isn't right, no I don't want you like this--Sirius was accusing him of being a tease.

Sing Hallelujah.

"Don't want you to push me out." Harry ducked in and licked his neck, while his other hand slid beneath the bedclothes. Sirius had all but given him permission to do it, hadn't he? "I want this. Have for ages."

"Do you even know what you're doing?"

"What feels right." There, that was the fairest answer. Harry wouldn't pretend to experience he didn't have, but that was no lie.

Whatever Sirius was going to say in response was cut off when Harry's fingers wrapped around his cock. The gasp Sirius uttered was almost better than the feel of that half-hard length immediately growing harder still in his hand. Almost.

It was like touching his own and nothing like touching his own. Harry stroked it from base to tip, slowly, knowing (hoping) that Sirius wouldn't be able to tell him no after a move like that. Had Sirius been giving him the protests that he expected--you're too young, you're my godson--he wouldn't really have thought that tactic would have conquered those reasons.

But now he was more than ready to try.

Sirius said, "Oh, fuck..." and Harry thought, I have him, I really do. He was afraid to try to kiss Sirius again as he stroked his fingers up and down the cock, and afraid not to, so he compromised and kissed his shoulder as he worked him, his other hand joining in, reaching to finger Sirius's balls because Harry liked that when he was tossing off, didn't he? There'd been no one to ask about bloody technique, so he'd use what he had.

"Am I doing this right?" he breathed, and realized that he was being coy after all; he hadn't had to ask it, but he wanted Sirius to tell him it was right, that it felt wonderful, or for him to say that it wasn't quite, and correct his technique, so that there could be no misunderstanding: Sirius liked what he was doing, and it was Harry, and that was all right.

And when Sirius murmured, so close to his ear, "Harry. Fuck. Yes,"--a great gulp between each of those words--Harry knew that all he needed to do was to increase the pace, thumb and fingers caged about Sirius's cock, a little trickle of wetness from the tip of the cock conveniently there to slicken each stroke. With his other hand he gathered Sirius's balls, trying not to do anything too firmly there, just holding and lightly massaging. Wouldn't do to confuse the actions of his hands.

At about the moment when he was sure Sirius was close to coming, anticipating it, and realizing how hard he himself was, wishing he had a hand free to do something about that--that was the moment when Sirius opened his eyes, did not come, pushed the bedclothes off of Harry and cupped both Harry's balls and his cock in one hand, choking "Don't stop," as he did. Harry wanted to say, "No, I won't..." but it never left his throat, for Sirius's fingers did something so bloody intricate and one-handed it robbed him of speech, as those fingers pressed on his balls with exactly the right amount of contact and still managed to slither up his cock in an achingly hard circle, and still had something left over to press on that skin just behind his scrotum. He moaned, completely overcome.

It was all he could do to obey Sirius's words, but somehow he did. He was reduced to squeezing the bared head of the cock for a moment or two--all he was capable of--but it was fine, better than fine; Sirius hissed and kept doing those brilliant things to Harry with one hand, and somehow he was doing it slowly enough that Harry knew Sirius'd be coming first, which was exactly what he wanted, wanted to see Sirius's face right at that moment and not miss it, and Sirius's cock trembled in his hand and poured sticky white drops over it at the moment his eyes opened wide and so did his mouth, and Harry's thought of I'm doing that; I did this to him was so overwhelming he almost didn't need the pressure of Sirius's hand to come.

He fell forward, on top of Sirius, as he did, and Sirius let his weight bear the both of them from their half-sitting positions back to the bed's surface. Harry was panting, and so was Sirius. He pressed another kiss into Sirius's hair, and heard a sigh, and decided he didn't need to look at Sirius's face to know what that sigh meant--he felt sure he could trust it.

It was the sweetest and best feeling he'd had in years.

Finally he did raise his head.

"I'll go back to my own bed," he said quietly, careful not to sound like he was pouting or fishing for a negative. "I don't want you to have to worry."

He'd known Sirius would understand, and he did. "Harry, I'm...I don't like hiding this from Remus." He pushed himself up on his elbows. "I don't want him finding out by accident. That'd be worse."

Harry made himself nod. "If you think he should know, you can tell him. But I won't let him find out, if you'd rather. And you won't either. You're too careful." He leaned down and kissed Sirius again. "And I'm not going to try to come between you. That would be wrong, and I love you too much for that. I just wanted this."

Harry was glad that the phrase come between could be interpreted in a number of ways. He'd hate to think he'd lied to Sirius.

One down and one to go.

Unlike Remus, Sirius could not be counted on for overnight trips. He had no employ at present--it wasn't as if he needed the money. And he wasn't really brooding, except for his hating 12 Grimmauld Place but still too indecisive about where to move. So none of them had pushed him towards a job.

But what Sirius would do was to go out for long rambles during the day as Padfoot, with Harry or Remus sometimes, but more often on his own, just for the pleasure of it, or when he needed to be alone or to think.

Harry was counting on Sirius to need some alone time and thinking time soon after Remus got back--the events of that night were sure to prompt it. Whether that was the reason or not, Sirius did indeed announce he'd be gone for most of the day, a few days after Remus had returned from Aberdeen and was catching up on reports at home.

Perfect opportunity.

He still didn't want to play the tease. But he now had that much more experience in understanding how what he said and did could be interpreted. And he didn't mind using that advantage.

Padfoot hadn't been gone an hour when Harry walked up behind Remus, where he was sitting at the study's desk--not quietly; it wasn't his intention to startle him--and set his hands on Remus's shoulders. Before the oddness of the gesture would register with Remus, Harry leaned down and kissed Remus on the side of his face, just at his jawline.

There were a gratifying few moments of stock-stillness before Remus said, "Harry, what on earth are you doing?"

"Thought it was obvious. Kissing you."

A few more of those moments of stillness, and then Remus breathed: "Oh, lord."

It was not unlike the reaction Harry had expected, and before Remus could do more than push back his chair and begin to say, "Don't you think you--" he'd stepped between Remus's knees and seated himself upon one of them, his hands on either side of Remus's neck.

"I've thought a lot," he said as Remus's protest died off, his eyes widening even further. Harry leaned in and kissed him on the mouth this time, a quick kiss. "A lot," he repeated.

He noticed that Remus did not have his hands at his sides, or gripping the chair, or anything else that would have let him avoid touching Harry; instead, Remus's hands had set themselves upon Harry's knees. No caress, no grip, but in a way that barely steadied Harry in his perched position. He hadn't expected Remus to fling him to the floor in hasty horror, granted, but this was still a good sign.

There would be protests coming any moment, so, to forestall them--and maybe even get by them altogether, Harry hoped--he gave Remus another kiss, a longer one this time, and moved his hands from Remus's neck to the buttons on his shirt. He had the first one undone before the kiss was broken. It might have been more, but it was Remus who broke it, pulling his head back--but only a little, nothing vehement. "God. You've done this before, have you?"

His fingers immobile for the time it took him to find exactly the right words, Harry said, "I've been waiting until I found someone who was worth waiting for." Again, open to interpretation, and no lie. Harry resumed his work on the buttons.

When he had the shirt open as far as Remus's chest, he pushed it apart and set another kiss on Remus's sternum, fingers still occupied with the remainder of the buttons. That was the moment when Remus's hand set itself on Harry's hair--on, not in--and he murmured, "You can't mean this."

For a moment, Harry flashed on those three words he'd heard while eavesdropping--You think Harry--and for the first time believed that his take on their meaning had not been wishful thinking. It seemed absurd that neither Sirius nor Remus's reaction to his clumsy seduction had been Don't be silly, or You're much too young, or even, simply, This isn't what I want. Which meant he did not seem silly, or too young. Or unwanted.

"I do. For longer than I can say. Let me? Please?" He had his hand on the waist of Remus's trousers at that moment, and he winced inwardly at his awkward use of a question there--now, Remus only had to say no, and he'd have no choice but to stop. Stupid.

But Remus did not say no, and Harry had the trouser placket undone and his hand inside in moments more, and Remus's mouth was open but not to say no. It was a shaky inhale, and a groan when the breath left him, and Harry kissed him again even as his fingers curled around Remus's cock within the confines of the clothing. The skin-warm temperature turned blood-warm, and it grew fuller in his hand, prompting Harry to shove the trousers down and free the swelling handful from of its prison of cloth and buttons.

Harry wanted to say something sweet and admiring, something that would keep denying Remus's earlier You can't mean this, but the words all sounded pathetic to his ears, or fake, and so all he said was, "Yes," as he stared at the cock, stroked it with both hands, watching it grow thicker still under his fingers. Remus's breathing sounded like he had a cheese grater in his throat, and Harry flashed on another memory--the rush of knowing he was making this arousal happen to another person. His right hand took as firm a grip as he dared, and he started stroking.

Remus's head was against the chair back, his eyes half-slits. Harry thought about crawling down off Remus's knee and using his mouth, instead, but was afraid Remus might not allow it, and he'd never done it before and might do a crap job at it, whereas he knew he could at least do passably with this much.

He was doing better than passable, he hoped. Remus's hands on Harry's knees had turned into a grip at last, and his hips were moving on the chair--moving Harry in the same rhythm--and his breathing wasn't any less raspy. Though it was Harry who murmured, "Oh, fuck, yes," watching Remus's near-purple cock pulsing in his hand, foreskin rolled back and the head bared, shining wet and causing Remus to jump every time the lightest fingerbrush went over it.

Harry felt Remus's entire body tighten under him as his hips lifted, legs shuddered, and his cock erupted at last, splattering not only over Remus's trousers but Harry's shirt. Harry kept his hand moving, slowing, until the last of Remus's erection was gone, and even then didn't release his cock. It had been no less splendid than experiencing it with Sirius, even without his own climax.

He waited until Remus's eyes were back in focus, and waited even then, until Remus was looking at him and nowhere else.

"I won't tell Sirius," he said. "Love you too much to come between you." He might as well stick with words that had worked well enough before. And he gave Remus another kiss, before lifting himself off Remus's knee.

He got only a step away when something caught his shirt. He turned--Remus was on his feet, not even having bothered to pull up his trousers, and drew Harry towards him by his shirttail--no, not towards him, but towards the desk at his elbow. Harry's bum hit the edge of it, and Remus pushed him onto it altogether.

"I may not be wise," Remus said, and it was nearly a growl, "but I'm certainly not selfish." And it was his hand on Harry's trouser button, and his zip, and Remus's other hand on the center of Harry's chest, pressing him down to lie on the desk, and there was air on Harry's skin and a hand pulling his cock free of his own trousers, and then it was Remus sinking to his knees and mighty fuck Remus's fierce open mouth had just drawn Harry's aching erection inside, and it was warm and close and fuck there was Remus's tongue sliding its way up the shaft, and Harry immediately was sorry he hadn't obeyed his instincts and done this to Remus, because he didn't care if there were ways to fuck it up; the risk was so fucking worth it.

Harry was aware that there were short little moans of Oh coming from his throat over and over, and he knew he wasn't going to be saying anything more coherent for a whole year, he was sure of it. Remus's tongue slicked up and down the underside of his cock, and the ring of his lips drew its way along it in the same manner, and then there was the sucking, my god, the sucking, pulling through his cock, drawing a line of delirious pleasure from the root of his balls all the way to the tip, and Harry had no idea if Remus was trying to get him off as fast as possible or if it was just that he was that ready, because he was coming, coming, shooting his orgasm into Remus's mouth, and Remus held onto him until he was no longer hard, just as he'd done, until Harry thought he'd fused into the damn desk, he felt so done in and incapable of moving.

Remus got him to his feet, and kissed his forehead, and then his lips, and said, "Don't worry about it." Harry didn't ask him what he meant. Remus, he knew, would most likely be confessing it to Sirius within the week.

Which meant he shouldn't wait.

He didn't even let them get to their bedroom that night.

Too risky to give them even a short time alone together. Confessions and excuses might be flying within minutes.

Which was why he ducked out not long after their late, uncharacteristically untalkative supper, and made them come looking for him. He thought their bedroom would be one of the last places they'd check, and they'd most likely arrive there together, after the I-don't-know-where-he-could-be conference.

He was right.

Remus and Sirius stared at him, laid out on their bed naked like some offering (he hoped), their expressions looking at turns baffled, suspicious, and downright blushing.

Harry didn't think he was blushing.

He wanted to make the perfect speech, the one that would tell it all in a few words and make it all work out exactly right. But he knew he didn't have it in him, and that such a speech probably didn't exist.

So he reached out a hand to a space somewhere between the two of them, and said, "It can work, can't it? We're nearly there."

The baffled parts of their expressions quickly evaporated.

It seemed an age before Sirius said, "Moony." He was still looking at Harry.

Remus didn't answer. Sirius went on: "I think we killed the wrong one in the war." But there was amusement in it, even if his lips were set.

"I think you may be right."

"He wants into our bed. With both of us."

"Couldn't be more obvious, could it?"

"I think he doesn't know what he's getting into."

"You could--"

Sirius didn't let him finish. "So I think we should show him."

Remus definitely didn't try to finish, after that.

Sirius crossed the floor as though he'd shifted to Padfoot and had found a prey animal in the center of the bed. Harry nearly shivered.

When Sirius reached the bed, he crouched, not on but next to it. "You tricky little bastard."

"You can be angry if you want," said Harry. "I deserve it. But I don't want you to stay angry."

"Oh, we're not angry," said Remus, coming forward, and his voice was just a little too crisp to be affectionate. "We're just planning"--and he was already unbuttoning his shirt--"on getting even, dear Harry."

And now Harry did shiver. And he liked it.

"Did you have him, Moony?"

"Only got to suck him off, if that's what you mean. You?"

Sirius's mouth twisted in something that was half-grin and half-growl. "Fuck, I didn't even get that. I think we need to teach him proper seduction skills."

"After we show him what he's in for."

"Oh, yes. Get the lube."

And Harry found his shoulders in Sirius's grip, and then Sirius chucked him under the chin like a boy and said, "Price you pay for being clever, isn't it?"

"I'm glad," Harry breathed.

"Bet you are. Get on your hands and knees."

Harry scrambled to obey. Sirius was behind him, crooning, "Wants it all, greedy slut, can't make up his mind and tells us it's because he doesn't want to break us apart. Clever, clever little bastard. Get that arse in the air, no, higher. That's a good little slut." Harry had never been so hard in his life, kneeling there, Sirius staring at his arse and calling him that.

Remus had come back to join Sirius. "You hard for him, Remus?" Sirius said, taking the jar from him.

"As a rock." He'd shed the shirt and was slipping out of his trousers.

"Then I think you're going to do first honors. Ready to get fucked, Harry? What you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes. Oh, yes." Harry would never have dreamed it could be like this--he'd imagined Sirius and Remus going slowly with him, reluctant to give in to his demands, holding off. As simple as his plan had been, as badly as it could have backfired, he'd never dreamed it would be this successful.

Harry sucked in his breath as the coldness of the lubricant hit the crack of his arse, and then there were fingers pushing it into his opening--whose he didn't know--forcing inside him until he could feel the knuckles against his cleft. It was wonderful; it was too much; it was ever so much better than when he'd done it to himself, and that was because this time he couldn't control it and it was up to the two men he loved best in the world to decide how much to give him.

He was that close to coming already.

The fingers withdrew. More lubricant was slathered along his crack, and a hand came to the small of his back to steady him--steady him, not Remus--and then Remus's cock was pushing inside him, and it was impossible, it wasn't going to happen, and then he was locked together with Remus as that cock pushed past something inside him just there and his own cock was on the brink of release--

--and it was Sirius in front of him, Sirius kneeling, naked, and his cock in his hand, pushing the head to Harry's lips. "No. You don't come until you take care of this first. You want to learn, you're going to learn it all. Tonight."

And Harry opened his mouth and sucked in the entire warm salty length of it, licking, lapping at the underside in eager strokes, nothing like in time with Remus's thrusts into his arse, but that didn't matter, he had both of them inside of him at once, and it was everything he'd wanted and more beyond, and he was going to come even without anyone touching his cock, and though Sirius and Remus were making the most amazing sounds he couldn't be sure that some of them weren't his, and then he had the taste of Sirius's come in his mouth and Remus was snarling like Moony and Harry's vision was black and fire-touched as he came with them--

--and the withdrawals were trembling and slow and he ached to lose them, and obviously so did Sirius and Remus because once done they became a panting pile of flesh, having fallen upon each other there on the bed.

And it was the three of them. It was.

Harry wanted to ask if they could do that every night, but realized he was in no position to be making requests just yet. Better to let Remus and Sirius work out a bit more of their frustration at his trick.

Besides, he really couldn't think of a happier fate.


Despoiling Harry

Home Page   Amanuensis's Fanfiction    Art/Fic Tributes  Fic Recommendations  Amanuensis's LiveJournal   Other Links