Lying on this bed, sweating on the worn counterpane that covers sheets slightly threadbare but scrupulously clean, is one Harry James Potter, Gryffindor, Boy Who Lived twice over, and teenager. His eighteenth birthday, in fact, has just come and gone in a celebration unlike any he's ever known, not because of the size -- for in fact it was mostly populated by the Weasleys and their loved ones who are, by extension, Harry's loved ones now -- but because it was just for him, and had nothing whatsoever to do with Voldemort. Harry had spent those few hours feeling giddy and loved, surrounded by creamy white skin decorated in cinnamon-sprinklings of freckles, hair in colours ranging from Bill's sun-bleached strawberry blonde to the deep auburn of Percy's carefully kept curls, and a general atmosphere of family of a sort which Harry had never felt before.
An unexpected side effect of all this Weasley-related happiness, however, is Harry's current condition: he is sprawled in the summer-hot room, legs splayed and a hand shoved down the front of his worn boxer shorts, stroking himself languidly and thinking of all the things that make him feel good. First and foremost among those things are six faces, all male -- a revelation that had been less of a surprise than it ought, when he'd finally realized what had been missing in his few attempts at relationships was, in fact, the presence of a second set of cock and bollocks -- and all, much to his deep chagrin, topped with red hair.
Though it's simply too hot for a properly energetic wank, Harry feels nonetheless that he ought to be allowed to spend some of his first free time in months in the pursuit of his own pleasure. Ron, whose hands are large and square and just a little rough from all the things he's done with them, had gone out to the garden to help remove the gnomes, but Harry had been allowed to beg off just this once in the name of post-birthday exhaustion. In reality, of course, he is cupping his bollocks in one hand, feeling them shift and move inside skin loose and damp from the heat, and trying to pretend he isn't imagining how Ron might handle them for him.
Or perhaps Percy, with his prim efficiency and that love-starved inner core that so few people cared to see, would fix his coffee-brown eyes on Harry's green ones as his hand moved in graceful strokes over Harry's prick. Percy, Harry imagines guiltily, would go out of his way to learn exactly which stroke gets Harry off the fastest, and then decide whether or not to use that stroke depending on just how generous he is feeling. Harry doesn't, now, instead running light fingers over his cock, peeling back the foreskin and wondering if Percy deigns to go to his knees for any man, and if he does, whether he delicately spits the results into a precisely folded handkerchief, or swallows it down. Whichever he does, Harry thinks idly, he will wipe his mouth after and be coy about kisses, at least until Harry can return the favour and put them back on equal footing.
Harry knows he could never be on equal footing with Bill, a decade his senior and possessed of everything that Harry is not, from rakish good looks and heterosexuality to a career, a quarter-Veela ex-wife and that indefinable quality which Harry persists in thinking of as "cool." The scars which mar the once-perfect profile give Bill the aura of a vital and virile war hero in a way that Harry himself will never manage, despite being the nominal foremost hero of the recently-ended conflict, and Harry often wonders if Bill enjoys being kissed along them, or prefers his lover -- Harry in all such imaginings, of course -- to ignore them entirely. Not that it matters much in Harry's fantasies, for he is on his knees in nearly all of them, his lips occupied with something far more vital and virile than a scar or two.
Charlie will, Harry surmises, show all the gentleness required of a man who handles skittish animals for a living, showing an attention to each indrawn breath and tremor that will quickly give away all of Harry's secret longings. He will treat Harry's virgin body like an untouched treasure, and tame Harry to his hand and mouth and cock like some sort of erotic horse whisperer, which isn't really what Harry means at all but he doesn't know the words, and words aren't important anyway when Harry's fingers have snuck behind his bollocks and begun teasing at his entrance. His other hand is moving faster now, seeking that elusive path to release that he thinks Charlie will lead him along step by step, from a first brush of lips to the final push over the edge.
Everything will be faster with the twins, with both of them drawing him along like a carriage without a driver, pulled at breakneck speeds by two wild horses. In fact, Harry can't even imagine one without the other, not that he's made much effort to avoid the inevitable fantasies of four hands and two mouths all for him, touching him in ways he's only read about in dirty magazines. Harry thinks of the men he'd coaxed into a threesome in his current favourite publication, a set of twins who eagerly used their lithe young partner from both ends while Harry wanked much as he is doing now. The real challenge of wizarding pornography is the people in the photos with whom one must engage in silent negotiation to get them to perform their lewd acts, usually a sort of "show me yours" exchange in which appreciation must involve more than polite applause.
These images in mind, it doesn't take much more than a few twists of his wrist and a small push of a fingertip into the centre of him, and then he is coming all over his stomach, adding streaks and spatters of pearlescent come to the glistening sweat already slick on his skin. Harry runs his hand through the dampness, gathering up the swiftly cooling fluid, and what happens next seems rather like a heatstroke-induced hallucination to Harry; he is sure he is alone in the upper floors of the house, until the door opens with the inevitability of such humiliations, just as his fingers have found his lips and smeared seed over them.
Two identical faces peer around the doorway, and Harry freezes though his cheeks blush bright red. He proceeds to stumble through the next few minutes by hanging onto the hope that on some level they want what he wants more than they want to humiliate him further, that a few of his fantasies might be about to come true. After all, it was the twins who recently gave him the special Randy Redheads edition of Swish & Flick, well-thumbed enough that Harry knows the twins likely played show and tell with the same threesome photo Harry enjoyed so much, with quite a bit more to show than Harry by himself.
"Well, well," says Fred, slipping inside, eyes roaming over Harry's mostly-nude body in a manner Harry can only consider hungry.
"What have we here?" says George, closing the door behind them with a surprisingly loud click.
Harry licks his lips reflexively, getting a burst of bitter saltiness from the come on them and already starting to grow hard again. His cock is poking out of his pants, and he has no idea how one nonchalantly removes one's finger from one's arse in front of company, so he leaves it there for now, as at least this way his hand and arm can somewhat hide his other, more exposed parts. "Just, you know, doing as boys do," says Harry nervously, wishing vainly for a nonchalance he's never known how to find.
"As they do," Fred echoes, and crawls up onto the bed and lays himself out between Harry and the wall; his Beater's bulk makes him loom over Harry's much smaller, scrawnier Seeker's frame.
"Do they, now?" says George, mirroring Fred's pose, head resting on one hand and the other swirling just one finger through the come and sweat on Harry's belly.
Harry will never admit to the small sound he makes at the touch, nor the whimper that follows when George's finger finds its way to Fred's mouth, and Fred's hand finds its way to Harry's entirely restored erection. Harry opens his mouth to try and speak, and finds it covered by George's, a warm, wet tongue flicking out to clean the last vestiges of come from his lips before sneaking between them. Harry moans and shivers, then does the one thing he hopes will get him what he wants: he relaxes and kisses back, rocking his hips up into Fred's deft and surprisingly gentle touches. It is his first kiss with another boy, and it's nothing at all like he imagined it; it's better, hotter, and a lot more distracting.
"That's our boy," says Fred, and it's not long before Harry finds himself divested of his boxers and surrounded by nakedness, though he's not sure when they stopped touching him long enough to strip.
Harry's finger has made it out of his arse at some point and joins the others on that hand in wrapping themselves around Fred's embarrassingly large cock, a match to the one in Harry's right hand and both of them dwarfing his own just as much as their bodies dwarf his slender frame. He knows it's still George kissing him, and Fred's cock is the one that pulls out of his hand to rock against his thigh while Fred's hot mouth laps and even bites at his nipples, the sensations going straight to his own hungry prick. George is the one stroking him, he thinks, though he can't seem to open his eyes to check whose hand is where and isn't sure it matters anyway.
"Gonna come," Harry gasps against George's mouth, eyes flickering open enough to confirm just who it is that's doing what. Fred's hand cups Harry's bollocks and one spit-slick finger finds his hole and teases inside, warmer and far stranger than his own, and so perfectly thick that Harry comes right then like the teenager he is, despite having just wanked quite thoroughly not ten minutes ago.
"Fuck, that's hot," says Fred, and that mouth moves down to lick at the spattered seed, calling Harry's erection back faster than he thought possible.
"You're hotter," Harry replies, and George chuckles and starts rocking his hips into Harry's hand.
Harry responds by tightening his grip and trying a few of the things that he likes best, as much as he can at the weird angle, giving his wrist a little twist at the upstroke, and running his thumb through the fluid leaking from the tip.
"You're pretty good at that," says George, leaning all the way over Harry while Fred's mouth finds Harry's bollocks, kissing and pushing him down into the bed and then coming all over his belly, seed mixing with the spit and come already decorating it.
"Can't reach Fred's," says Harry in reply, not the most intelligent thing but it gets him a laugh, and he figures that can't be bad when in bed with the twins.
It also gets him what he wants. The twins switch places, pausing for a kiss in the middle that nearly stops Harry's heart with the hotness of it; Fred comes up and puts his cock neatly into Harry's come-smeared right hand, and George curls himself up between their legs and the wall, and starts licking at Harry's cock like it's the tastiest lolly in the world.
"I'm wanking you with your brother's come," Harry says, because Fred hasn't kissed him yet, and gets a smirk and the hoped-for kisses as a result. It really doesn't take long after that before Fred is coming onto Harry's stomach, and Harry is coming in George's mouth, and then they're all collapsing in Ron's bed, sticky with sweat and spit and seed.
"You were right," says Fred incongruously, giving George a lazy kiss.
"I always am," says George, giving Harry a wink that lets him know he's not supposed to understand.
Harry runs his hand through the mess on his stomach, then returns to what he'd been doing before they interrupted him, licking the seed off his fingers. It tastes different, tangier, and he knows now what it's like to make another man come. It's a good feeling.
Harry's not quite brave enough to seek out the twins on his own, so it's back to wanking and daydreaming for him. Some nights later he's up in the room, laying together with Ron in the bed and wondering if Ron's going to hurry up and go shower so Harry can have his nightly wank, face buried in the Weasley-scented pillows. They stopped talking awhile ago when they ran of out things to say, and have been staring at the ceiling ever since, trying to find the energy to do much of anything.
Several more minutes pass and Harry's just about to give up and go wank in the shower when Ron turns to him and says, "Have you ever done it?"
Harry blinks and says, "Depends. Which 'it' do you mean? I've kissed and stuff, and had a blowjob once, but never shagged anyone." Harry pauses, wondering if this is the right time to be bringing this up, and then figures there really isn't ever a good time to imply to your best friend that you might've wanked over him. "I don't really like girls anyway, I don't think."
Ron's eyebrow goes up and Ginny is pointedly not mentioned, for which Harry is profoundly grateful. "So, you're a shirtlifter, then?"
Harry nods, cheeks heating. "D'you mind?" he says, not knowing how else to ask.
Ron looks him up and down and shrugs. "Naah," he replies, leaning over to shove Harry with his shoulder in the universal way of boys being boys. There is another of those pregnant pauses where even the sultry night air seems to hold still, and then Ron asks curiously, "What's it like?"
Harry swallows. "Touching another guy, you mean?" he asks, wanting to be very sure of what Ron is asking before Harry makes any sort of foolish offers to demonstrate.
Ron nods, and Harry knows he's pretty much lost here, though it's still too hot and he's still lazy, and he's not sure he cares quite as much as he did last week that he might never know exactly how Ron's hand feels on his skin now that he's got the twins' hands for reference. "D'you wanna try?" Harry asks as casually as he can, heart pounding painfully fast. His clothes, a simple shirt and shorts and thin, worn pants underneath, stick to his skin in a way that can't be all that attractive, and yet when he turns and sees Ron wearing the same thing, he finds that perhaps it could be considered hot after all.
"Sure," says Ron, and they lay there for a moment longer while they both try to decide who's going to have to actually move in order for their lips to meet.
In the end they both roll over, and they sort of bump noses in the middle and laugh, and then they're kissing and it's really pretty good, and Harry's grateful that they both had people to practice on before they tried this with each other so he never has to think of kissing Ron as anything other than smooth and hot and good. Harry leans back and Ron follows, blanketing him, warmer even than the still air in the tiny room that's slowly filling up with soft moans. Their cocks are hard where they collide, and Harry isn't sure he even cares enough to take his clothes off, legs spreading so Ron can settle between his thighs and rock their pricks together at an even better angle.
"S'pretty good," says Ron at one point, but Harry shuts him up with more kissing and his hands lifting up off the bed to find Ron's arse.
This is enough to spur them both on, rubbing against each other in a way that should be too much friction only it isn't, and Harry doesn't care that he's going to come in his pants because anything else would mean stopping and he just can't be arsed. He's the first to go, and he thinks idly that he's going to have to work on that, though apparently the sight of him is enough to set Ron off as well, and soon they're laying in a tangled, sweaty, sticky heap.
"I'll take the first shower," says Harry after long moments, though his hands don't leave where they've tucked themselves into the back pockets of Ron's cutoffs.
"Right," says Ron, nuzzling listlessly at Harry's neck.
"Just as soon as you move," says Harry, smiling a little because he knows that'll be awhile, and he finds he doesn't mind at all.
Bill shows up at the house the very next day, and Harry finds himself back to being fourteen and thinking Bill has found the secret to being cool that's always eluded Harry. It doesn't seem to matter that Bill's not with Fleur anymore, mainly because she turned into some evil bird thing on their honeymoon and tried to eat him, which really didn't go over very well. Bill got another rakish scar to add to his collection, and a very quick divorce, and Harry can't help but wish he had half of Bill's self-confidence because none of it has affected Bill's cool one whit.
"Well, well, well, look who's all grown up," says Bill, catching Harry in the upstairs hallway after a visit to the loo. The rest of the family is downstairs helping get ready for dinner -- even Charlie's stayed for a visit, and Percy is rumoured to have pulled the stick out of his arse long enough to give them another try, since Harry's birthday party went so well. Ginny, Ron and the twins are all on their best behaviour under pain of, well, pain mostly, and Harry wonders if having it off with him counts as misbehaving.
"Not as grown up as you," says Harry before he can stop himself, and he only just manages not to slap his hand over his mouth or forehead or some other part of his anatomy. His eyes flicker disobediently to Bill's crotch, and his cheeks flame with embarrassment when Bill chuckles.
"Like what you see?" says Bill, and Harry blinks, confused.
"But... you like girls," Harry replies almost accusatorily; they certainly like Bill, as evidenced by his recent string of reported successes in that area.
Bill shrugs, eyes glinting dangerously. "A man likes a bit of variety now and again, doesn't he?" Bill asks, and Harry shivers. Bill is definitely all man, more than himself or Ron or even the twins, and Harry can tell that he's way outclassed in both experience and sheer force of personality.
"I expect that's true," says Harry, mouth going on merrily while his brain tries to catch up. A pithy comment inserts itself into his thought processes about his own penchant for varying which Weasley and goes wisely ignored, though he does have to deal with a brief pang of guilt. He's pretty sure the twins were just having a bit of fun with him, but there's a very small chance that Ron was serious. Harry thinks back to last night and shakes his head, smile turning wry enough to make Bill raise an eyebrow. "Why don't you show me what else a man likes?" Harry says instead, hoping it sounds worldly and not desperate.
Bill lets out a low, sexy little laugh, and Harry stops caring how he's sounding. "Come in here," Bill says, drawing Harry not into Ron's room but the tiny upstairs loo that Harry's just vacated, door shut and locked behind them and Harry trapped against the sink before he knows what's going on.
"Ever sucked a cock before, Harry?" Bill asks, and Harry can tell Bill's pretty sure he already knows the answer.
Bill's eyes flash with self-satisfied lust as Harry shakes his head, though Harry does feel the need to interject, "I've had mine sucked, though."
"By a guy?" Bill asks dangerously, and Harry realizes that as far as Bill knows, Ginny is pretty much it for Harry's prior experience.
"Yeah, by a guy," Harry confirms, and Bill relaxes a little; another pang of that guilt makes Harry swallow, wondering just how much these brothers share with each other and if Bill's as protective of all his younger siblings, but it's pretty much obliterated when Bill drops to his knees and nuzzles at Harry's cock through his shorts.
Bill's hands make short work of Harry's clothing and his cock is out in the open air, hard and needy and wanting, before Harry quite realizes what's going on. "You'll do me after, right?" says Bill with a sly little smile that says he's planned this all along, and Harry can't even resent it, not with Bill's mouth lowering itself onto him with the sort of skill Harry can only hope to imitate as best he can.
Harry's knees go weak and he tries to remember why it's not good to come right now, and in the end he doesn't so much remember as trust himself that he knows best and start mentally reviewing lists of vile potions ingredients and how to slice, dice or otherwise use them in potions. Bats' eyes must be squeezed of their jelly and then discarded, while beetle eyes are ground to a fine powder with mortar and pestle. Bill's eyes are closed and he looks like he's enjoying himself; Bill's tongue does a little dance against the skin of his prick; Bill's throat swallows him down like it's ice cream instead of cock and all thought of potions is gone as Harry spills helplessly into Bill's hot mouth.
"S-sorry," Harry stammers, feeling younger and stupider than ever before, but Bill's grin holds no mockery, another thing for Harry to wish he understood.
"S'alright," he says, standing, hands tucking Harry away and lips pressing a warm kiss to Harry's lips, and Harry is shocked to realize it's their first. "I wanted to taste you, and it's flattering that you liked it that much," he says with a wink, and Harry blushes a little and wonders if they'll still be up here when dinner is over, with how little skill he's expecting to have at this task.
They switch places in an awkward little dance, and Harry drops to his knees without even demanding another kiss, though he'd have liked one. "I've never been someone's first before," says Bill, fingers stroking over Harry's cheek and chin in a way that makes him feel like he's got something to offer after all.
Harry opens Bill's trousers and tries really hard not to be intimidated by the size of the prick that falls out; Bill has no pants, and his cock is framed by glittering dragonhide and dark ginger curls, and smells of musk and heat and sweat, not unpleasant but not entirely comforting either. Still, Harry has no problems at all with running his tongue up the vein, mouth open and probably looking somewhat absurd as he breathes in more of that scent through his nose. "Tastes good," he says, licking at the wetness at the tip, saltier here with a hint of bitterness and the smell of oceans.
Bill chuckles, fingers threading into Harry's hair. "Should've known you'd be a natural," he says, and this warms Harry enough to lick again, and again, burying his face in the curls and even pushing Bill's trousers out of the way enough to lap at his bollocks the way Fred had done. Bill moans and gives Harry an odd sort of scalp massage; Harry tries not to think of it like petting a dog that's done a good trick, and mostly succeeds when his name falls out of Bill's lips as if by accident.
Harry decides that's a sign it's time to move on to the main event, and puts his hand around the bottom to steady the swaying shaft and swallows, then gathers his courage up and sucks his very first cock. The taste is both stronger and more muted, mixing and flowing away with his own saliva, though the bitter-salt at the tip coats the back of his throat and makes him think he'll be tasting it all through dinner. He wants to moan and does, a little, but it cuts off when Bill's hips give a little jerk and the head tries to go down into his throat in a way that just isn't going to happen today.
"Sorry, sorry," says Bill, and Harry is mollified enough to go back to sucking as soon as the urge to choke dies down, though he moves his hand up a little and starts stroking in time with the bobbing of his head so his lips come down to kiss his fist and prevent another such incident. After awhile he feels he's getting the hang of it, sucking and licking while his head moves up and down and his lips start to tingle from the friction, and the sounds Bill makes above him tell him that Bill agrees with this assessment.
"I'm coming now," says Bill, and he tugs Harry's hair sharply enough that Harry pulls away and looks up, waiting for him to repeat himself if it's as important as all that. He gets a face full of come for his efforts, the thick stuff covering his cheek, chin, and even his glasses, and he doesn't understand why that makes Bill moan more, especially when he opens wide to get at least a little taste of it in his mouth.
He swallows and licks his lips and swallows again, and says, "It's not bad, but not really very good either. A bit like someone put bleach and aspirin in yesterday's fish stew."
Bill laughs and laughs, but retains enough of his senses to spell Harry's face and glasses clean, which is more than the twins had managed. "That's the best description I've heard," says Bill with a smile, and when Harry stands the kiss is warmer and lingers a lot longer than the first one. "You're going to make some bloke very happy, Harry," he says, and Harry blinks, confused.
"Why?" Harry asks, licking his lips unconsciously, though all the traces of Bill's seed have been scoured away by magic.
Bill shakes his head and kisses Harry again. "Just trust me. And don't give everything away so lightly; next time someone wants one of your firsts, make sure he wants the whole package and not just a bit of fun."
"Oh," says Harry, feeling something tight in his throat that isn't at all disappointment.
Bill kisses him one last time, cupping his cheek. "If I come back for more, it'll be because I realized I'm an idiot for leaving it at this," he says, and his voice gives Harry some hope that it's not all just talk, and he might be more than his kid brother's best mate to Bill, at least a little.
"Did you really think you could just work your way through the whole family, and no one would figure it out?" is the first thing Harry hears after the door slams open, and it takes him a moment to realize it's Charlie standing there, looking angrier than Harry has ever seen him.
"I... what?" says Harry intelligently, scooting back in the bed with the covers over his knees and wishing he hadn't decided on that lie-in after all, and was downstairs having toast and jam with Ron instead of up here being taken to task by Ron's older brother.
"I'm pretty sure mum and dad are safe," says Charlie, ignoring Harry's question entirely as he shuts the door, locks it, and then stalks over to Harry looking pretty much the opposite of sensitive and nurturing. "But I'm also pretty sure that ditching Ginny 'for her own good' didn't mean going through Fred, George, Ron and Bill in the span of a week."
Harry blushes and has nothing at all to say to that since he's entirely guilty of coveting the whole damn lot of them, though they'd all started it, even Ginny if you think about it.
Charlie does pretty much the last thing Harry expects and starts shucking his kit, until he's completely naked, his body stocky like the twins but shorter, almost Harry's tiny stature, his cock thick and heavy and not yet hard, but threatening to become so very soon. "Is this what you want?" Charlie asks, and Harry has to tear his eyes away from the sway of Charlie's balls to the thunderous rage on his face.
"I... no?" Harry says, though it sort of is only not like this. He wants Charlie to like him, not just be angry at him, to be given leave to explore the shiny patches of healed burns on Charlie's freckled skin and see if they're more or less sensitive when kissed. This line of thought is not making his case, however, as his prick likes it and the view both well enough to put its two cents in and vote for letting Charlie shag him.
Charlie looks even angrier at that, and he crawls onto the bed and shoves Harry down into the pillows. "Why not? Am I not good enough for you, Harry?" he asks, and Harry almost flinches away from what he sees in Charlie's eyes.
"That's not it," says Harry, knowing he's pathetic and cowering and unable to care. "I don't want you to hate me," he says, then turns his face away, unwilling to see the contempt in Charlie's face deepen.
"Oh, Harry," purrs Charlie, nuzzling at Harry's exposed neck, "I don't want to hate you. I want to have you."
Harry whimpers and doesn't protest, because a part of him does want this, to be taken and used by someone, by a Weasley, even far-away Charlie who cares more about dragons than people most days. He whimpers again when Charlie's teeth sink into his neck, marking him in a way that will tell everyone that someone's been having their way with Harry, and likely get him kicked out if Mrs. Weasley starts to count the number of her children's hands that have been in Harry's pants.
Harry almost doesn't care, because a part of him thinks he deserves it for letting it happen, because even though they had always started it he always finished it, and of all the ways to find himself a real part of their family, that was the stupidest. "Leave my family be," growls Charlie, and Harry does flinch this time, because Charlie will leave here in a few days or weeks and Harry won't know how to follow that order without leaving them completely, because he's addicted to them now, to red hair threaded through his fingers, freckled skin under his lips and that sense that no matter how they used him, at least they liked him, as well.
Harry is unable to keep silent entirely as Charlie sets his teeth on the other side, marking Harry as surely as any animal marks its territory. "You'll just leave me, too," he says accusingly.
Charlie's head comes up and he cocks it at Harry, considering, then shrugs. "You deserve it, for using my brothers and sister," he says, and Harry looks away in defeat, even though he hadn't done it on purpose, not with any of them.
Charlie's hands are suddenly all over, pulling away the bedclothes and Harry's pyjamas and baring him, small and pale and trembling, to the hot anger in Charlie's eyes. Whatever he sees in Harry's face isn't enough to stop him, and Charlie's hands are rough against his skin as they tweak and pinch and explore him. Harry wants to protest when a thick finger inserts itself none-too-gently in his arse, because he hasn't done more than this and he isn't sure this is how he wants to remember his first time, but then he thinks of Ron and Bill, Fred and George, and he just opens his legs and gives in.
"Were you this much of a whore for all of them?" Charlie asks, and then he's casting spells Harry doesn't know and sliding two fingers in, slick and hot and, dammit, good enough to make Harry's cock stand up and agree with anything.
Harry shakes his head, but Charlie doesn't seem to be paying attention to that end of him, his other hand holding Harry's thighs wide as ungentle fingers go from two to three and get just an edge of pain that makes Harry gasp and squirm. "A little rough fingering shouldn't bother a slut like you," says Charlie, and Harry looks away, eyes bright, and finds some well of inner strength to shove Charlie away and scramble to the other end of the bed.
"I'm a v-virgin," Harry stammers, already bracing himself for Charlie's derision or disbelief.
Charlie cocks his head again, birdlike, as if comparing this with what he already knows to be true. "You didn't fuck any of them," he says flatly, not so much a question as a questionable statement.
"G-ginny and I never got past second base," says Harry, managing to cover himself with a bit of the sheet and feeling both like a big girl and a little better for having done so. "The r-rest were just hands and mouths. Bill barely even k-kissed me," he admits, looking down as he realizes just how much he let them have of him, while he was too busy taking what he could get to notice the cost.
Charlie's fury runs out of him, though his cock is still red and angry, jutting forward like it still wants to spear Harry no matter what Charlie might think of the proposition now. "So, you pretty much confined the entirety of your adolescent fumblings to my family?" he asks, and Harry nods and shrugs.
"It's not like there's anyone else," he says, and that seems to mollify Charlie completely.
Harry flinches again when Charlie comes toward him, but the hands this time are gentle, and the kiss an apology that even Harry can understand. "I suppose that's so," he says, and draws Harry into his arms unresisting this time.
The touches that follow still have a little of that edge, Charlie's resentment at having to share this with his siblings and Harry's own anger at being so ill-used, but that's all right because at least it's honest, not that it wasn't before. They kiss and touch and Charlie lets him explore just a little, though they're both too hot for it to last long. Before he knows it Harry is once again under Charlie, legs spread, only this time they're head to toe and Harry's faced with the rather daunting task of figuring out how to give his second ever blowjob upside-down.
It seems a lot less intimidating once Charlie starts sucking him, and Harry lets the fat cock fill his mouth up with its warmth and stifle his cries. Two of the fingers find their way back inside him, and this time they're seeking pleasure instead of revenge and they find it, making Harry's brain explode behind his eyes. He's very glad his body is smart enough not to bite down while his mind is otherwise engaged, and he's surprised when Charlie's thick, bitter come fills his mouth just as he's coming down off his own high. He chokes and splutters and Charlie laughs and holds him, kissing away his embarrassment and making him glad that Charlie got mad at him after all.
Though really, he wants some toast with lots of jam after this, if only to get the taste of ashes out of his mouth.
Harry can no longer look at any of the Weasley brothers without flushing in shameful desire and remembrance, except Percy, who has the distinction of being the only child of Arthur and Molly Weasley whom Harry has never snogged. It is unfortunate for Harry that Percy notices this lack, and that Percy has grown past his days of hiding from his problems and now actively works against those things that make him feel left out of a family whose love he so desperately craves.
"Why not me?" he says one afternoon, after an awkward tea with the whole family wherein Harry avoided everyone's eyes and Percy very nearly managed to have an engaging conversation.
Harry sighs and pulls Percy into the lee of the woodshed, his cheeks now properly pink as he feels the by-now-familiar mortification rise up in him. "Why not you what?" he asks, though he's fairly sure he knows the answer.
"Why do you look at them all like that, but not me?" Percy asks, and Harry winces; it's not that Percy knows what Harry's been up to and feels left out, it's much worse. Harry is going to have to explain just what exactly Percy's been left out of, though a certain part of Harry is cheerfully hoping that this will cause Percy to include himself in the dubious honour of having been one of Harry's paramours.
Harry sighs and bites his lip, then shrugs. He lied to Percy all through his schooling, in deed if not always in word, and he can't bring himself to compound that particular sin now. "I... we... kissing," he says, knowing this doesn't explain anything at all, but having no idea how to start.
"You want to kiss them and not me?" says Percy, and Harry can just hear the brittle hurt in his voice.
"No, no, I want to kiss you, I mean..." Harry looks up, licking his lips, staring at the tight bow of Percy's mouth. "I've kissed them because I'm an idiot, and you haven't given me a chance to be an idiot with you yet," he says, as close to an explanation as he thinks he can get, as words like "blowjob" and "wanking" aren't something he thinks he can say in front of Percy without a great deal more motivation, and less clothing.
"You want to kiss me?" Percy asks, and Harry can at the moment only bless him for his self-centredness.
"I want to kiss you," he says again, the words coming much easier the second time, and he steps forward, close enough to smell the clean, fresh-laundry scent of Percy. Every stitch of Percy's clothing is perfect, every hair in place, and Harry wonders what it's like to find such satisfaction in one's appearance. In anything, really. "Do you want to kiss me?"
Percy apparently is taking this new man-of-action role to heart, because his head dips forward and his lips are brushing over Harry's before Harry quite understands what's happening. It's nearly over before it's begun, but Harry's hand helpfully threads itself into Percy's hair and gives Harry that extra half-second to start kissing back, to make it good, something worth remembering later, when he's been exiled from the Weasley clan forever for having tasted of the final fruit of this family tree, sullied the last bit of purity they had kept from him.
There's something different in Percy's kiss, a hunger that Harry recognizes as an echo of his own desperate need to be loved by one of them, any one of them really, so long as he's got a cock and red hair and freckles and the name Weasley attached. They all were different, really, Ron's kisses warm and lazy and friendly, the twins' kissing him like it was a game, Bill's from perfunctory to almost regretful and Charlie's, angry even at the end for things Harry couldn't possibly fix, or change. Percy's kiss is just a little bit stilted, like everything Percy does, as though he read about it in a book somewhere and is trying very hard to live up to some ideal that Harry doesn't even understand.
Percy's arms go around his waist, and Harry melts into him, showing Percy just a little how to relax by example, though certain parts of him are filling with their own sort of tension. "Is this what you wanted?" Percy asks at some point, his lips bruised and eyes wanton and wild-looking, as well as Harry can see through two sets of smudged glasses.
Harry nods, unsure of what he actually does want but thinking that this is as close to it as he can imagine at the moment. Percy smiles one of his self-satisfied smiles and Harry doesn't even mind it that much because then Percy goes back to kissing, and it's as if the pause let him gather up what he's learned, because there's a genuine heat behind it that makes Harry's toes curl. Harry makes a small noise in the back of his throat and that is, of course, the moment when Charlie comes around the corner looking for their extra Quaffle.
"I wondered if you'd get around to him," says Charlie, not at all the words Harry would have expected, if he'd been aware enough to expect them at all.
Percy's eyes blaze and Harry feels his heart melt a little bit that Percy would defend him, and his body as well, hiding in Percy's taller shadow from the memory of Charlie's rage. "I wanted him to," says Percy, arms still holding Harry safe in their shelter.
"He wanted to know why I blushed for you, and not for him," says Harry, feeling shy and confused now that he's tasted all seven, and found that none of them return his feelings of longing except, perhaps the one who'll likely reject him for having needed to try them all in the first place.
Charlie shakes his head. "I didn't know you swung that way, Percy, didn't you have a thing with that Clearwater girl in school?"
It is Harry's turn to defend Percy and he says quietly, "I think I'm evidence that one girlfriend does not a straight man make." The slight tightening of Percy's arms around him are reward enough, though they both flinch a little when Bill comes looking for Charlie and finds them thus.
"Is this six or seven?" Bill asks, leaning on Charlie nonchalantly, though there's a glint of something in his eyes that reminds Harry of their last kiss.
"Seven," says Charlie, shooting Bill a glance and then adding, "But I don't think he's let any of us fuck him yet."
"You're a virgin?" says Percy disbelievingly, and Harry bangs his head against Percy's rather sharp collarbone.
"Yes, I'm a virgin," Harry mumbles into Percy's robes "Could we possibly make this conversation any more mortifying?" he asks rhetorically, and of course his question is answered in the way these things are, by the twins coming to look for their errant brethren.
"Oi, Harry, been getting yourself a bit more of the old Weasley charm, have you?" says Fred, walking right up and nudging Percy, eyebrows waggling absurdly.
"He does fancy redheads," says George with a leer, "You should've seen his face when we gave him the new Swish & Flick."
"You should see his face when he comes," says Ron from behind Percy somewhere, and Harry rather wishes the ground would open up beneath him and swallow him, just to make this conversation stop.
He's concentrating so hard on his embarrassment he doesn't see the nods of all the men around him, or have a hope of understanding the unspoken communication passing between them in the way that brothers do, even the odd ones sometimes. "You ought to show me how," says Percy, and Harry goes completely still, shock and desire warring for control over his body as he goes hot and cold and then hot again. He can't possibly mean what Harry thinks he means, because Harry is just never that lucky outside of situations involving a certain deceased Dark Lord.
Harry is still in denial as they lead him upstairs, excuses given in passing that they want to show Harry some game they played in their youth called Dragon in the Den, and might not be down in time for dinner because you know how long it takes with this many players. Mrs. Weasley smiles indulgently and gives Ron an ever-full jar of lemonade for them to pass around, and Harry tries not to look as stunned as he feels.
"Have you ever been with a guy, Percy?" Charlie asks as the door is shut and warded. They're back Ron's room again, and Harry is starting to think his entire sexual education will play itself out on poor Ron's bed, since his own is really a cot that's been cushioned with spells.
Percy looks like he might puff himself up the way he used to, but the moment passes and he shakes his head. "I could never... even Penelope and I only got so far."
"Just like me," says Harry softly, thinking of how he'd always got the feeling there was something missing when his hands were touching soft skin and softer flesh. Percy melts a little more, and Harry can't help but step close and kiss him again, even with all these other eyes on them.
"You'll be first then, it's only right," says Bill, and Harry's surprised when they're all agreeing, and he realizes he doesn't mind that they're going to share him around like a party favour. At least this way he'll get his fill just once, and more than his fill; he'll be able to gorge himself on a feast of Weasleys and never look back with regret for things -- or people -- left undone.
"We'll show you what to do," says Charlie, and a shiver goes through Harry at the memory of the last time Charlie touched him so intimately, and how it almost went so horribly wrong between them.
Harry looks up into Percy's confused and needy eyes and says, "I think it should be you," and is gratified when Percy understands at least one of the things Harry means.
"All right," says Percy, dipping down to give Harry another kiss, one that lingers and melts into other kisses while hands undress them both, Harry letting himself drift with the ebb and flow of touch and word and kiss drifting around him. He is faintly aware that the twins kissing each other is met with less shock than they might have hoped, and that them kissing Bill and Ron in turn is what sets Charlie to laughing so hard he's nearly crying, but mostly Harry is thinking about how it feels to be held in Percy's arms while they're both naked, and how he doesn't mind at all that he has to go up on his toes to keep their kisses going in one unbroken line.
Soon enough the twins are pulling them apart and leading Harry to the bed, where Charlie is already waiting with his wand at the ready. "I'll show you the spells, Percy, and you can renew them when it's my turn," he says, as though Percy will ever again need to know how to get Harry ready to be fucked by six of the hottest men he's ever met.
"I feel like I'm dreaming," Harry says, and they all look at him as though they were just now remembering that he was, in fact, a person as well as a potential fuck toy.
Bill tangles his fingers in Harry's hair, sitting next to him on the bed and kissing him with that same edge as the last time, that Harry still doesn't really understand. "Do you want this, Harry?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over Harry's lip. "All of us?"
Harry swallows, and makes himself look at them all individually, from Ron's familiar and beloved features to Charlie's open expression, his face finally holding that gentle affection Harry's fantasized about. Harry looks at the twins, lounging at the foot of the bed and smiling for all the world as if they aren't naked and don't mind if they're not allowed to do more than watch, if that's all that's on offer. Percy is trying so hard not to close off, wearing his own doubt on his face, that brittle pride just waiting to be shattered by Harry's rejection. Harry meets Bill's warm, slightly wistful gaze, and nods. "I do, but... not if it's... not if you'll make me go, after," he says, hoping that they'll say it's all right, because he really, really does want this quite a lot.
"We won't make you go," says Bill, glancing at Charlie significantly.
Charlie nods just the tiniest bit and adds, "But you'll have to choose, after. Who you want from now on."
Harry's heart lodges in his throat and he has to swallow twice before he can speak. "Y-you mean I get to stay with one of you?" he asks, something he's not allowed himself to hope before this moment.
They all nod, and Harry feels the last of his fears flowing away as he fills up with wonder and desire both. "Then please, I want to have you all, if wh-whoever keeps me won't be mad," he says, then lays back against the pillows and spreads his legs, feeling wanton and just a little self-satisfied as all the eyes flash with heat.
"We won't be angry," says Percy, kissing Harry's forehead. "If this is what you need, then we all l- care for you enough to give it to you, just this once."
"We all love you enough," Fred corrects, grinning.
"Like a brother, you might say," says George, making them all laugh at the implications of that statement.
"I don't think I want to know if you do this with all your brothers," says Harry, though of course his mind immediately starts giving him images like a great naughty Weasley-shaped picture puzzle where all the pieces can fit together, if one knows just how to turn them.
Fred and George laugh and Ron looks faintly horrified in his usual way, though he recovers with gratifying alacrity when Charlie slips his hand down between Harry's legs. "The first spell is for him," says Charlie, touching his finger to Harry's pink, greedy little arsehole and raising the level of tension in the room in the best of ways. Harry moans as the spell tingles in a way he hadn't noticed the first time Charlie had cast it on him, his mind having been occupied with other things at the time.
Harry is also beginning to feel like a piece of very tasty meat, as the eyes on him all grow just a little hungrier.
"Then your fingers and cock both need slicking, the first time, though the rest of us won't need the fingers so much," says Charlie, and a shiver runs through Harry as he realizes they're really going to do this, to stuff him with a surfeit of Weasley until he can take no more, and then fill him further.
Charlie's fingers returns and one slips easily inside, surprising another little moan from Harry. "He'll be pretty relaxed after the first spell," Charlie says, and Harry can tell this little lecture is mostly for Percy and possibly Ron, brotherly advice and a hot shag all in one. "But you'll want to finger him a bit most days, unless he's really hot for it."
Harry whimpers, cheeks flaming at that, and says, "I'm right here, you know," in a tone that makes them all laugh and brings back some of that sense of fun that had conveniently kept Harry from panicking earlier.
"You'd better be paying attention, then," says Charlie with a wink and a grin, and another finger up Harry's arse.
Harry nods, trying really hard not to make any more embarrassing noises, but that goes right out the bloody window when Charlie's fingers start moving, in and out and dipping forward to set off sparks inside of him. Bill takes Harry's hands and holds them overhead, not so much to restrain him, Harry thinks, as to display him. "You're lovely like this," says Bill, confirming Harry's theory, and Harry tilts his face up, hopeful for a kiss to stop the stream of little sounds dropping from his lips with each stroke of Charlie's fingers.
Bill obliges him, drinking the cries that follow Charlie's third finger. Harry lets his eyes shut and his mind wind down enough that he's actually surprised when Charlie's hand disappears and is replaced by Percy's body.
"Do you really want this, Harry?" Percy asks again, pride demanding that Harry confirm that it's Percy he wants and not just any one of them.
"I want you, Percy, please," says Harry, shameless and undignified now in his greed for them, all of them really though it seems strangely fitting that the last kissed should be the first to have him.
That's all Percy needs, and his cock is inside Harry's body with a suddenness that almost feels like Harry missed something but is probably just Percy's eagerness and Charlie's excellent preparation. It feels good, in ways Harry can't even imagine the words for, because "hot" and "full" seem inadequate somehow, but they're the only ones he has. "Good," he says, because that one can't be argued with, and he strains upward, hoping for another of Percy's hungry kisses to complete the circuit inside him.
Percy is as obliging as Harry could have hoped for, and Bill lets his hands go so he can wrap his arms around Percy's back, his legs staying splayed wide because he can't think to do anything else with them anyway. "Really good, Harry," says Percy, and there's that note again, that says it means more to Percy than it did with the rest of them, that tells Harry that they gave him to Percy first because they're smarter than Harry is after all.
"Perfect," says Harry, a word that has come to mean a lot of things to Percy and, Harry hopes, can be something else good between them now. Percy's eyes close and when they open they're shining with something too bright to name, and Harry kisses away the doubts and rocks up, urging Percy to move.
Percy gets to the hint and his hips rock back, and they both take to shagging like a fish to swimming, their bodies finding the way of it naturally and without much help at all from their admittedly preoccupied brains. Harry is trying to swallow all the sweet sighs and soft moans from Percy's lips, and Percy seems to be determined to touch every inch of Harry's skin that he can reach. Harry would be doing the same, but he can't seem to make his hands leave Percy's hair, delighting in the newfound permission to muss it up and tangle his fingers in the soft curls that result.
It doesn't take long, in the way of first times, and soon Percy is gasping and coming and Harry is grateful to be second, even if all it takes to set him off is a single stroke of Percy's warm, sweaty hand. It feels so much better to come with Percy in him that Harry can already tell he's going to want to do this a lot more, and he nearly laughs with the absurdity of that thought, given his current situation.
"Thank you," he says softly, still carding his fingers through Percy's hair not so much to restore order as have an excuse not to stop touching just yet.
Percy swallows and kisses Harry again, then says quietly, "Thank you, Harry, I'll never forget this." And Harry knows neither of them will, that they'll be old and grey and never for a moment be able to look at each other without thinking of this exact moment, of the two of them in Ron's bed with the afterglow still shivering along their nerves like static electricity.
Harry slowly becomes aware that they've still got an audience, but he finds he doesn't mind the eyes this time, not with sex riding his skin and making his limbs heavy and languid. "Who's next?" Charlie asks, when Harry's eyes meet his, and Harry can't mind that, either, even though Percy's still on top of and inside him.
"You are," says Harry with a grin, though he kisses Percy one more time all long and slow and languorous before letting him go. "How d'you want me?" he asks, stretching sensuously and feeling the lovely fuck he's just had in every muscle and sinew, seeing the heat of it in their eyes as well.
"Ankles on my shoulders and my name on your lips," says Charlie with a wink, and he thrusts his cock toward a rather dazed-looking Percy. "Do mine first so we know your aim's not affected, then Harry as well."
Percy goes a bit pink, and then starts to laugh, and then they're all laughing at how absurd the whole thing is, practically the entire Weasley clan waiting their turn at Harry's precious arse. When they recover, Harry is still feeling like the cat that got the cream, and Percy looks like he just might survive watching all his brothers have Harry after all. "Right, you first," Percy says, then slicks up Charlie's prick with a precise bit of wandwork that makes Harry rather envious of the willpower it takes to perfect his magic to that degree.
"Then you," says Percy, his voice warmer as his eyes glide down Harry's body, a satisfaction in them that says louder than any words that he did this to Harry, and he's justifiably proud. One long, wicked finger teases at Harry's entrance and then the spell tingles through him again, and he doesn't even blush at the moan that escapes; he's become quickly inured to his own wantonness, mostly because they seem to think the noises are a good thing, and he has to agree when he thinks of Percy's quiet, lustful sighs.
Harry squeaks just a little when the finger retreats along a rather ticklish path, which saves him from any sort of embarrassing reaction to Charlie being suddenly between his legs. Instead of gathering Harry close, Charlie kisses him once, hard and hot, and then drapes Harry's legs over his broad shoulders and fits his prick to Harry's greedy little opening. "All right?" Charlie asks, and Harry's nod turns into an arching gasp, which turns into Charlie's name as he slides into Harry, thicker than Percy but just as long, as they all are, the lucky bastards.
Charlie's strokes are neither languid nor gentle, and he sets up a hard and fast rhythm that gives Harry no time to regret the lack of kisses or think of anything beyond the pleasure being forced into him, one thrust at a time. Harry grows hard slowly as the tension seeps into his bones, though he's pretty sure Charlie's going to finish before he can come again and it's not like he thinks he can get off six times in such a short span anyway. He decides to test a theory and tightens his body up just a little more, and is rewarded with a gasp from Charlie and a particularly hard thrust.
It takes very little time after Harry discovers this new trick for Charlie to be coaxed over the edge, and Harry is feeling quite rightfully smug as he wraps his legs around Charlie's waist and pulls him down for another kiss. "Quite all right," he says, grinning, and Charlie just shakes his head and grins right back.
It's been decided while Harry was otherwise occupied that Bill should be next, and then Ron, and the twins request last place with ominous talk of wanting to try something different. Harry can see a certain sort of symmetry in this, and he readily agrees, stealing a couple of the kisses he'd wanted from Bill the first time before letting himself be manoeuvred onto hands and knees and prepared one more time.
Bill feels huge, and of course he is, biggest in the family and Harry has a reason to know, but Harry also suspects it's got something to do with the position. "God, still tight," says Bill as he sinks in the last inch, and Harry lets out a little moan and shivers with need.
"Still big," Harry counters, giving Bill a little squeeze though honestly he's not sure he wants to be much tighter around Bill's prick.
That gets a laugh, from Bill and their audience, and Harry's surprised when the thrusting starts before the laughter properly stops. He throws his head back and spreads his legs wide, bracing his hands on the footboard and just holding on, letting Bill pound into him as deep as he can go, which is pretty fucking deep. A slow tingle builds in Harry, starting from his toes and making his hair stand on end, and he's starting to think he can possibly come just from the relentless thrust of Bill's cock into him.
He doesn't get to find out, and doesn't care at all, because Bill's hand wraps around him all slick and warm and starts stroking Harry off with the dexterity that all boys learn as soon as they're old enough, though Harry suspects Bill's got to adjust a bit since Harry's feeling about half his size at the moment.
"Want to feel you come," Bill hisses, and Harry hears and obeys, spilling all over Ron's not-at-all-clean sheets with a shout.
Bill keeps thrusting through Harry's orgasm and Harry is starting to think he'll just come forever, until all the moisture in his body has exited via his prick, when Bill finally lets out a strangled groan and comes. Harry collapses onto his elbows, head hanging down like a horse that's been overworked, trembling and whimpering as his limbs tingle with the last vestiges of that amazing release.
Bill pulls out and Harry finds himself gathered into Ron's arms, the lemonade bottle set to his lips. He drinks but not too deeply, mindful of the exercises yet to come, and curls into Ron's body gratefully. "Thanks, mate," he says, and Ron is grinning when he tips Harry's chin up and plants a warm, slow kiss on Harry's lemon-tart mouth.
"Want a bit of a rest?" Ron asks solicitously, and Harry nods and is pleasantly surprised when they all gather close, heedless of their nudity and relation to one another as hands settle all along Harry's tired flesh.
"You're really lovely when you come, Harry," says Charlie, and Harry finds that he's got enough spare energy to blush just a little at the compliment.
"I think any one of us would keep you now," says Bill, and Harry sees that thing in his eyes again, elusive and perhaps the opposite of hopeful. Harry remembers what Bill said to him, and understands a little bit, that Bill won't want to let go and maybe none of them will, and that in the same way that Harry's only going to have this one time with them all, five of them will only have this one chance with Harry as well.
"Will there be duels?" Fred asks.
"We're scrappy fighters," says George, and Harry can tell that this is their way of saying that they'll step aside, not because they don't want him, but because they've already got someone.
"No duels," says Harry with a tired little laugh, and he steals another sip of lemonade before he adds, "If it'll come between any of you, I..."
Fortunately they stop him before he can say something that stupid, because really, Harry can already tell he won't be happy with anyone but a Weasley. "Don't be silly, Harry," says Ron of all people, kissing his nose. "Then we'd all lose."
"Not that it's a contest," says Bill with a wink, and Harry thinks that Bill's glorious fuck was a bit of competitiveness anyway, not that Harry doesn't appreciate it.
"We just want you to be happy," says Percy, his voice wistful in that way that shows Harry that he's already taken himself out of the running as well, which makes Harry's chest ache in ways he'd rather not think about.
Rather than address the issue any further without having tasted all the goods, as it were, Harry yawns and stretches and gives Ron a thorough snog. "I think it's your turn now," he says, ignoring his body's vote for a nap now and more sex later.
"D'you need the spell?" Ron asks, and Harry shakes his head; he's had so much slick stuff put into him that he fair squelches, and even Ron's impressive girth isn't enough to intimidate him now.
"Just on you," Harry says, not foolish enough to try it completely without.
Ron casts the spell on his cock, then leans back against the wall and pats his thigh. "Come sit in my lap, let me hold you," he says, and Harry's charmed by the idea of it, and climbs on eagerly.
It takes a bit of wriggling about, but Harry sinks down on him, finding that Ron's the fattest of them all if not so long as Bill, and Harry's pretty glad that he's the one controlling the way it slides in and out of him. Harry finds that his eyes are level with Ron's and it's intimate and warm, his arms around Ron's shoulders and legs around Ron's waist and his whole body moving, rocking him up and down. He presses his forehead to Ron's and feels the weight of seven years of affection, the familiar kindness of his very first friend, and flutter of this new desire that's blossomed between them.
"I never knew you'd feel this way," Ron says, and Harry can't help but smile and kiss him, rocking his body just to drink Ron's gasps.
Harry doesn't know what to say to that, anyway, so it doesn't matter to him when Ron's big hands cradle his hips and start driving them down harder. Harry's used to the size by now and it feels wonderful, it's all felt wonderful today and some part of Harry is wondering when it will all crash down around his ears, because he's never been allowed to have something this good all to himself. He throws his head back and mewls when Ron's mouth finds his nipples, and he can't help but wonder how the rest of them missed such an obvious source of pleasure.
Of course, he hadn't been quite so exhausted for the first three, but now he needs more than the obvious to coax the heights of desire from him, though he also feels almost desperate not to come just yet, knowing there are still two more to go. "So good," he says, using his whole body to move himself on Ron's cock, trying to milk Ron's release from him. "R-ron!" he says at the height of one thrust, a shudder running through him and nearly stealing away his control.
Instead it's Ron's control that breaks, Ron who buries his face in Harry's neck and comes, his whole body bucking and shuddering as he adds to the mingled seed inside Harry.
Harry shivers and holds on, petting and soothing Ron until he's come down, until his grin is back and accompanied by more of those languid, lazy kisses. "You said my name," says Ron, nuzzling at Harry's cheek and then kissing him one more time.
"You made me feel good," says Harry, as if this is any kind of explanation, but it is enough for Ron and that's what matters.
"And now it's our turn with sweet Harry," says Fred from behind and, Harry thinks, off to the left.
This is confirmed when George whispers in Harry's right ear, "We want to both be in you together."
Harry gasps and turns, staring from one to the other and down at their cocks, not as big as Ron's, sure, but not small either. "I really don't think that's possible," he says, looking to Bill and Charlie, hoping that older, wiser heads will prevail.
"We're wizards," says Charlie with a shrug, as if that explains everything, and actually it sort of does.
"But it won't be permanent, right?" Harry says; he won't let the twins break him, spoil him for anyone but them just because they want their bit of fun.
"Cross our hearts," says George, looking serious for once in his life.
"You'll be fit for your beau," says Fred, eyes only slightly sad that he knows it won't be him, won't be them.
"Whoever that may be," says Harry coyly, though he can tell his heart has already chosen despite the very wonderful things that have been done to his body by each of them.
The spell they use doesn't even feel all that different from the one Charlie showed them all, but when Fred slips three fingers in him it doesn't feel big at all, and Harry can trust that it won't hurt when they sandwich him between them and both their pricks probe at his entrance. They're kneeling together on the bed, legs tangled and Harry between them, Harry resting mostly on Fred's thighs with his arms around Fred's neck while George drapes Harry's legs over his shoulders, much as Charlie did earlier.
They slip in one at a time, though Harry can't say who was first, and when they're done it's almost too much even with the spell, pleasure so intense it's near pain. "Can't... won't last," he gasps, cradled against Fred's chest while George strokes his face and cock.
"Don't try," George whispers, and Harry can tell that the waiting and watching affected them after all, though Harry is sure they're loathe to admit it.
"Come for us," says Fred, and it's the us that does it, both of them, all of them wanting to see him come one more time.
White static washes through Harry and his mouth opens in a silent cry, eyes wide and sightless as he comes over George's hand, arse clenching tight around the two of them. If coming with one cock in him had been ecstasy, this is almost torment, too full, too much. He's let them fill him up until he can't take any more, and he's almost grateful when the tension leaves his body and he can just relax and take it.
Not that there's much more to take, a few dozen thrusts of them sliding together inside his body and they come almost together, or close enough that it doesn't matter to anyone but them who came first. Harry is panting now, shivering, and he can't help but be relieved when George pulls out, then Fred, laying him down on the bed and holding him between them. There's a little tingle as one of them reverses the spell and Harry shudders, knowing he's gorged himself past his own limits just because he knows he'll never get to have this again.
"All right, there?" they ask, petting his hair, and Harry realizes it's been minutes and he's not said a word.
He swallows and nods, then manages to say, "All right, just... I can't say it's a bad thing that you'll never do this again." They seem like they understand what he means, though, that he's had one bite too many, gone one shag too far, and he's grateful when gentle hands sit him up and feed him lemonade and kisses.
When Harry's had enough of both to start noticing things outside himself again, they're all sitting on the bed with him, and he's being cradled against Percy's chest this time. Fred and George have once again taken up the foot of the bed, and Ron's is still the hand that feeds him welcome liquid, though he, Percy, Bill and Charlie share the task of feeding him kisses.
"Have you decided?" Ron asks, going straight to the heart of things when he sees Harry blinking up at him.
Harry nods, eyes travelling in shy glances from face to face. "You mostly all know, don't you?" he asks, and though it pains him to give up the ease of Ron's touch, the mystery in Bill's eyes and the fire in Charlie's, it's Percy's familiar longing that Harry needs. They nod, and Percy looks as though he might cry, or throw up, and Harry's heart goes out to him. "Percy, d'you want me?" he asks, suddenly as unsure of his welcome as Percy is of his place in Harry's heart.
Percy's eyes fly open and he stares, disbelief giving way to dawning joy as he realizes that he's finally got the one thing he's always wanted -- he's won a love of his very own, and from his brothers no less, proven himself best in the family after all, at least in Harry's eyes. "How could I not?" he asks, and the rest of them withdraw and start dressing as Harry and Percy kiss and kiss and kiss.
They've all gone, leaving Harry and Percy to themselves for a few precious moments, and Harry can't help but ask, "You're not mad, about them... having me?"
Percy shakes his head, fingers stroking over Harry's face as though he's not quite sure Harry's real. "You were so beautiful, even at the end, and I never would have seen that if they hadn't shown me," he says, and Harry's a little shocked at how wise he sounds.
"Finally learning to see past the rules," says Harry teasingly, leaning up to kiss him again. "I promise, though, just this once. I'm yours now, no more snogging anyone else for me, no matter what his last name is."
Percy laughs, and this is where we leave them, limbs tangled and fingers gently exploring, mouths bruised with kisses and a future ahead of them both. Percy Weasley, Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic, Prefect, Head Boy, Third Son of Arthur and Molly, can now add Beloved of Harry Potter to the list of his accomplishments.
In the end, our story isn't about sins and virtues, not for Harry Potter. Harry is just happy to have family enough to please any glutton; he no longer has to envy the Weasleys, or be angry that he's only an interloper. He is proud whenever Percy whispers his name at the heights of pleasure, lust precluding sloth as he drinks each one in greedily. And the only virtue he cares about is the one he's got in such abundance, or perhaps merely realized that he had it all along -- love.
Title: Seven Sins, or, The Misadventures of the Bros. Weasley With One Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived