Collage

Watching them play was always fun, God knows. But something that afternoon was different. The crazy manoeuvres were a bit less erratic, the wild movements seemed more purposeful, the incessant humming, humming, didn't etch at my sanity.

I was shooting past after the snitch as he blocked the quaffle and I could hear him, low and steady, "Weasley is our king."

It almost made me smile.

I felt the snitch's wingbeats against my fingertips, but the other felt it thunk, light and perfect, into his palm. I glared at him, because it felt good to do so. He winked at me.

I didn't particularly mind.

I spent almost an hour circling the pitch, spiralling through the sky and enjoying the crisp air and diffuse grey light. I unclasped my robes, letting them flap about me. My sweat-sodden T-shirt felt clammy as it cooled. I barrel-rolled for a moment, until I heard the light tickle in my mind.

[[Coming?]]

{{Not yet.}} That earned me a snicker.

((Quit playing with yourself. Get down here.))

I landed outside the Gryffindor entrance to the stadium and banished my broom to the Slytherin changing rooms. I moved into the garish room, red and gold banners draped everywhere, posters of professional Quidditch teams tacked to lockers and little slogans Hooch found inspirational painted onto the cinderblock walls. The room was empty, wet towels in a hamper by the door, Quidditch robes stowed on hooks or in lockers. There were two shelves, closest to the showers, which still held school robes.

Steam billowed out of the shower room, and I could hear raucous singing under the sound of pounding water. Two voices, a tenor and a baritone. "He did not let the Quaffle in! Yes, Weasley is our king!"

{{I refuse to go in there until you stop making that horrendous racket!}} I declared, but my actions put the lie to my words. My dirty Quidditch robes were already a pile on the nearest bench and I was unstrapping my leg guards.

((Then we'll start without you.)) This came with an image. Potter, still singing, with his back mostly to me. His face was turned up to the water so that it flowed through his hair, over his shoulders, down his slender shoulders to his narrow hips and sluiced down his ass. Harry turned and smiled shyly.

{{Nothing doing. Stop singing.}} I sent back a sensation, my hands running down my legs, pushing tight Quidditch gear and soft cotton boxers with them.

But Potter always cheats. [[Make me.]] I felt his hand moving over Weasley's chest, the skin taut over muscle and sweat-slick in the steamy room. Soft hair traced curlicues against his palm, my palm. Weasley, miserable bastard, supplemented the sending with his own. How it felt to be touched, to have those small hands on him. Potter's nail ran across the crest of a nipple and I moaned.

Both of them were still singing.

Not until Potter moved tight to Weasley, his cock rising against the taller man's thighs, Weasley's dick pressed into his stomach, did I surrender. Their song faltered, breaking into sighs, as I entered into the thick wet heat of the room and stepped tight to Potter's back, taking my place in our perfection.

((Hey there, ferret.))

{{Fancy meeting you here, weasel.}}

We can insult one another without separating from our kiss. Life is good.

[[What about me?]] Potter grinds his ass backwards as he nibbles along Weasley's chest.

{{Congratulations, shrimp. Good catch.}} I separate from Weasley's hot, hot mouth and bend to Potter's neck, but he shifts to catch my lower lip with his teeth.

[[Since when am I a member of the bestiary?]] He soothes the bitemarks with his tongue.

Weasley, slipping his own tongue down Potter's body, chuckles. When Weasley is on his knees, Potter winds his arms around my neck and pulls my mouth more firmly to his.

Potter opens his mind all the way to me, that I can feel Weasley sucking and pulling and pressing {{God. Everything. You're everything.}} and Ron's in my mind feeling my fingers inside of Harry, who can taste himself on Ron's tongue and mine and I'm [[fucking me]] with Harry's fingers gripping my hair while I feel my own teeth sinking into his shoulder and Ron's rising again and I can feel ((my hands)) around both his and Harry's bobbing, weeping, desperate cocks while Ron feels Harry {{so tight around me}} and none of us can breathe because there's nothing that doesn't feel [[amazing]] and someone's fingernails are sliding down someone else's sides and it doesn't matter whose and Harry wraps his legs around Ron's waist spreading himself wider and [[you're so deep in me]] and Ron's eyes are shut and with his head thrown back and Harry clings to us both and we all cum together [{(love you)}] because we're never separate and haven't been since we shattered like three mirrors on the floor under Voldemort's legilimens and had to put ourselves back together with what we had so that we could finally kill him but couldn't find the barriers and though we pretend, we're always in one another and it's perfect how beautiful a collage we make.