Anger

Chapter 1. Anger

"I'm sorry, Lils," his dad says with a self-loathing smile, pecking his mum on the lips before lumbering away. He leaves the kitchen and heads to the living room, where he disappears into the fireplace, floo-ing to the Ministry.

His mum stands at the doorway with a frustrated look on her face.

Harry winces. While he understands his dad's position, he believes it could have been handled better than breaking the news at the last moment.

Today is his parents' anniversary. They had planned to spend the entire day together and finish it off with an elaborate romantic dinner. Unfortunately, his dad couldn't get leave from the head of the department, so he went to work instead of accompanying his mum to the Muggle world for clothes shopping as planned.

Harry glances at her now.

She is still rooted in her place, dressed in a tight, resplendent black dress with a plunging neckline that accentuates her hourglass figure, that draws attention to her large, round breasts and plump, voluminous rear. Her long crimson hair is braided down her shoulder, baring her pale neck. And her fists are clenched at her sides, her eyes getting watery by each passing second. Biting back tears, she lowers her head and plods towards the dining table to collect the dirty dishes and take them back to the sink.

There's a slouch in her posture and disappointment in her eyes.

"I'll help." Harry swallows the last bite of his toast and gulps down the glass of orange juice before standing up and helping her bring the dishes to the sink, the rustle of her silk clothes and her soft footfalls his only companions. With how tight the dress is on her arse and thighs, it's a miracle that she can even walk.

She offers him a distracted nod, not even bothering to look at him.

Usually, his mum does every house chore with a wave of her wand, but perhaps she is too preoccupied with her thoughts for that. Or maybe she just wants to work her hands and distract herself. All he can do is assume.

Once all the dishes are stuffed into the sink, she picks one up and starts cleaning it by hand instead of using magic.

He is standing beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body, to notice the expensive perfume clinging to her black dress. He shifts from one foot to another, hesitating, not knowing if he should leave her alone or keep helping her.

"You can go, sweetie. It's your last summer holidays. No reason to waste it on me."

If he was a moron, he would've missed the barb. No, even a moron wouldn't have missed that, actually.

He playfully bumps against her side, taking a dirty plate and picking up a soaped scrub. "I said I'd help, didn't I? And I feel we don't spend as much time together as we used to."

"True. But you're a grown man now. You don't need your mum anymore. No one does, it seems," she sighs, her eyebrows furrowing and her lips pressing into a thin line as she scrubs the plate extra hard.

Knowing he needs to distract her from her gloomy thoughts, he does something unexpected.

He steps behind her—ignoring the temptation to look over her shoulder and down her dress—and squeezes the scrub in his fist over the nape of her neck, forcing soapy water to trickle down over her skin, making her flinch. "Harry!"

"That's what you get for being such a downer. You have the opportunity to spend time with me, but you're wasting it by thinking about another man instead. That's infidelity," he says, unbothered by her murderous glare as she whirls around to face him. Taking a step forwards, he drops the scrub and grabs her shoulders firmly, looking down at her with a grin. "Stop moping about the older model and enjoy your time with this newer one."

Her lips twitch, and he considers it a win, though he yelps and jumps back when she flicks her fingers and sprinkles water on his face.

Wiping it with the back of his hand, he narrows his eyes at her broad grin. "I'll make you pay for that."

She shrugs, the gesture doing funny things to her massive jugs. Taking a step back, she raises her soapy hands in defence, her smile shrinking. "I was just getting even, sweetie."

"Now I'll be getting odd."

She starts running before he even finishes his threat. Not that it helps. She barely reaches the door before he grabs her from behind and pulls her against his chest, clamping down a moan as her hot body presses into his, as her bubbly rump fits snugly on his groin. She giggles and squirms in his arms when the water droplets from his wet hands seeps into her dress and onto her stomach.

"I give up. I give up. Let me down, you brute," she whines, struggling in the air as he picks her up, bear hugging her, pressing his face in her warm neck, fighting against the urge to sniff her perfume.

Letting her down, taking the opportunity to slide her heavenly arse down his crotch, he looks at the damp patches on her stomach. "Be glad I didn't have a bucket of water nearby. You'd be drenched otherwise."

She rolls her eyes and looks around for her wand. "I think I left my wand in the living room."

"Here, let me," Harry says, unholstering his and drying the damp patches on her black dress.

"Thank you, sweetie." She moves back to the sink, unaware of his lecherous gaze on her backside, and peers at the mountain of utensils. "How about you do these too? I don't feel like cleaning them by hand anymore."

With another swish and flick, the dishes are done.

She turns around to shoot him a gentle smile. "Thanks. You can get back to your room if you want. Chores are done and my mood is better."

"Nope. I am free today." He closes the distance between them, stopping just a step away. "I will be following you like a duckling. You better entertain me."

It's a lie. He has many tasks to do, but he knows she needs him now. If he left her alone, her mind will be ready to darken her thoughts and fill her with gloom.

Her eyes sparkle as she raises her hand to pat him on the shoulder. She used to love patting his head, but the height difference would make that awkward; he is nearly a head taller than her. "I know what you are trying to do."

"Bugger! You realised I'm trying to pester you for my amusement?"

She chuckles, her green eyes overflowing with a soft, endearing look. "Fine. I'll allow you to pester me for the whole day. It's been a long while since I had you clutching my skirt and following me everywhere."

"You're saying that as if you have any other option."

She slides down her hands to his chest from his shoulders and rises on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his head.

"What was that for?" he asks as she steps back, her lips stretched in a small smile.

"For being such a sweetheart," she says, quickly adding, "anyways, I still have to buy new clothes even if your dad failed to stand true to his words. Are you up for replacing him?"

"Ouch. I'm just a replacement, huh," he says, his lips twitching as he loosely hangs his arms around her waist, fighting against the urge to tug her closer, to keep her tightly against him, to feel the heat and suppleness of her body, to breathe in the scent of her skin and dress.

She lets out a chuckle, hugging him as if reading his thoughts, burrowing into him, pressing her large, pillowy bust against his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck and placing her face on his collarbone. "Yes. I have a newer model now, don't I?"

He feels her mirth roiling off her. But he is too busy taking in all the taboo sensations bombarding him to continue trading banters.

The feel of her divine breasts. The heat and the softness of her dream-turned-reality body. The thinness of the dress. The thickness of her bra. Everything makes him feel alive. Like a dead branch suddenly on fire. His fingers are splayed over her bare back, and if he was brave and suicidal, he would've tried to slide them over her plump, voluptuous cheeks.

He is the one to step away from the embrace, fearing a physical reaction to his sinful thoughts. "Give me a minute. I'll be back after I change into something better."

"I'll be in the living room. As you can see, I don't need to change. I'm already dressed to impress."

"That you are." He gives her a once-over, his eyes lingering on the generous amount of cleavage. "But maybe change into something modest. You look like you are ready to go either to an expensive restaurant or a ball."

She smiles proudly, spinning for him, giving him an opportunity to assess her dress. Since it is backless, her entire back is exposed. Not only that, the fabric hugs her butt and accentuates the large, upside-down-heart-shape rump. Then it loosens a little as it reaches her knees, flaring down to her ankles. "I'm not changing. I don't care if this dress will attract everyone's attention. I don't care if I look ready to go ballroom dancing. I have put too much effort into wearing it to let it go to waste."

"Alright. That just means I have to wear a three-piece suit to match your style. A sacrifice I'm willing to make. But beware, we will get many odd looks. Are you sure you want that?"

"I am." She nods resolutely. "This is my day. And I'm not letting it get ruined because of your dad."

"Alright. Wait for me." He leaves her in the kitchen and runs upstairs to his room.

He opens his wardrobe and grabs the three piece suit in white-black colour scheme. He puts on the shirt, vest, trousers, and the jacket. Then he styles his hair, adopting a windswept look. At last, he sprays his favourite perfume and slips into a pair of shoes. Giving one final look at his reflection, he nods to himself and hurries downstairs.

His mum is sitting on the satin sofa in the living room, reading the Daily Prophet.

Brimming with confidence, he walks around the sofa and stands in front of her. Her awed gasp only fuels his self-esteem. "How do I look?"

She jumps to her feet and closes the distance between them, running her hands on his vest, smoothing imaginary creases. "Believe me when I say that I haven't seen a more handsome man."

He snorts, shooting her a wry look. "I don't think you would believe that if I weren't your son. That's pure motherly bias."

"Maybe," she smiles, unbuttoning the first button of his shirt. "But I'm not lying; you can be sure of that."

"Thanks, mum," he says, leaning down and pecking on her cheek. "Shall we?" he offers his elbow.

She hooks their elbows with an excited smile. "I know a desolate spot near the muggle shop. I'll side-apparate you."

"Right."

And then he feels the familiar sensation of apparition. He closes his eyes momentarily as his body twists through a thin pipe. When he opens them again, he is standing in a dark alley.

His mum stumbles a little and he catches her from behind, loving how her soft butt is pressed against his crotch.

"This dress is a nightmare to walk into." She chuckles sheepishly, standing upright, nodding her thanks.

"Knowing you, it will take us hours to finish this shopping trip. I hope you can survive until then." He grabs her hand and leads her out, towards the giant building complex, towards the mall.

She gives his hand a squeeze. "I am a veteran in surviving tight, restrictive dresses. Don't worry."

He feels eyes latching onto them as soon as they are in public. No doubt all those eyes are trying to burn a hole in his mum's clothes, their gazes locked on her eye-catching butt or generous cleavage.

"Can you feel the eyes undressing you?" He rolls his eyes, unclasping his hand from hers and snaking it around her waist in a possessive gesture.

She moves closer, her side brushing against his with every step. "Yes, it's flattering—both their appreciation and your cute protective behaviour."

"You really like this attention? I thought women disliked them." He steers her towards the big glass doors of the mall, trying not to mind every turning head to freely ogle his mum.

She hums thoughtfully. "Not every time I go out, of course. But I am trying to appear special today. So no, I don't dislike this."

"You look special every day. You don't need to dress up for that." He states it in a matter-of-fact tone.

Her tinkering laughter draws gazes, and she presses even closer to him. "You are my adorable son. You would say the same if I were wearing dirty rags."

"Not really. Then you would look ugly and unhygienic," he quips, amused by her affronted gasp.

"You were supposed to say 'yes'," she pouts, but her twitching lips give away her humour.

"I was being truthful," he says as she finally steps away from him, making his hand drop from her waist.

As if entranced, she doesn't reply and hurries away to the clothing section of the mall in quick, small steps. "Come, Harry. I want to see if that dress is still here."

Sighing, he jogs after her. It will be an exhausting couple of hours.

~xXxXx~

Harry thought the mall would be the only place of his torture. But no, apparently, his mum buys her special lingerie from a specific shop. That was a surprise. Then again, he wasn't really privy to his mum's thought process regarding undergarments.

That's why they were approaching a small shop wedged between a liquor store and an old, shabby building.

"You can still go home, sweetie. You have suffered enough." She squeezes his arm, her eyes gleaming with mirth.

"And miss the best part? Who wouldn't want to see their mum buying lingerie?" he says sarcastically, eliciting a hearty chuckle.

She shakes her head, pushing open the door and leading him inside. "Fine, suffer then. And be silent here."

The shop is narrow yet exceptionally long. It is well-lit with strategically placed lamps illuminating every corner, enhancing the display of its well-furnished interior. A sleek glass case spans the entire length of the room, doubling as the counter. Within the case, an array of fancy underwear is meticulously arranged, showcasing a variety of styles and colours. The sight leaves him momentarily dazed as he glimpses at the price tags. These small pieces of clothes are bloody expensive!

It's not only the case. The walls are also decorated with vivid shades of lingerie, ranging from things that cover nothing to things that cover something. There are even a couple of mannequins, their plastic tits and arse enwrapped by lacy materials.

He feels increasingly embarrassed, not knowing where to look. He really should've taken his mum's offer to run away.

"Lily! It's been a while." A stocky, light-haired middle-aged man stands behind the counter, dressed in a polo shirt and Bermuda shorts, his casual attire a stark contrast to the shop's elegance.

Harry finds it very odd for a man to run a lingerie shop. He silently labels the man as a potential creep but keeps his opinion to himself, accompanying his mum to the counter.

"Billy," she smiles warmly, leaning forward with her elbows on the display case, seemingly unfazed by her hanging breasts and his unabashed leering. "Give me your best piece. Something to seduce my hubby tonight. He'll probably be tired and not in the mood, so don't hold back. Give me the sexiest thing you have."

Harry blushes slightly, taken aback by her words. Now that was unnecessary information.

Billy, on the other hand, bursts into an uproarious laughter. "Lucky bastard. I'm surprised he can be not in the mood when he has a woman like you."

She shrugs exaggeratedly, her breasts jiggling in front of Billy's appreciative gaze. "Even the best food at a five-star restaurant becomes boring after a while, you know."

"Aye, still a bastard if he cannot keep his woman happy, if you ask me." Billy grins, walking away to the farthest end of the shop, opening many drawers, probably to find the 'best' piece like his mum asked.

"That was… different," Harry speaks up for the first time, unable to hide his irritation. The way she just talked to that man made his head pound with rage. It was such a level of familiarity and crudeness that he would start questioning her loyalty if he didn't know better.

She chuckles and bumps her shoulder against him. "That's how two adults with no sense of shame and a long friendship talk. You develop it after buying your knickers from the same man for years. I've known him since you were a toddler."

"He didn't even look at me. I don't think he even knows I'm here. He was too busy staring at your chest." He scowls, not satisfied with her words, and leans against the glass case, fixing her with a disapproving look.

She rolls her eyes. "Obviously. It's the dress. And he is a brazen flirt—has been from the start. Don't worry. It's just words; he knows I'm a married woman."

"If you say so." His tone reveals his dissatisfaction.

Her eyes soften and she holds him by the shoulders. "I get that it's weird for you to see your 'pure' mum talk and interact with others like that. But I'm not only a mother, you know. I'm a woman, a friend, a wife, and many other things. Just trust me. Know that while I occasionally like to be the centre of attention, it doesn't change the fact that I'm married and have the most adorable son."

The moment is ruined by Billy, who returns and spreads half a dozen sensual lingerie on the display case. "Choose any, love. If none of these gets your man's blood pumping, you should find a new one. And it's quite lucky that I'm back in the market."

Harry has to literally take a deep breath.

She titters, running her fingers over the lingerie. "Oh? Wasn't this the wife number three?"

"Four, actually."

"Did she catch you sweet talking to your customers?" she hums, eyeing the red lingerie, opening the top and pressing her palm in the inside.

"Nah, she caught me in bed with her own daughter." Billy smirks, crossing his arms behind his head.

The creep still hasn't acknowledged Harry's presence, easily ignoring the contemptuous glare aimed at him.

"I hope she was of age, or I'll have to call the police," she mutters distractedly, discarding the red one and scrutinising the black pair.

"You know me, love. I'm not that far gone. Julie was twenty-eight. I wouldn't have minded putting a ring on her pretty finger. But she thought I was too much of a dirty scoundrel to make a good husband."

'I wonder why.' Harry wants to snark.

"I wonder why," his mum says dryly, mirroring his thoughts.

She nods and chooses the black pair. It's a set consisting of a delicate thong and a bra with intricate floral designs on the large cups. "Pack this one."

He cannot help but imagine the droolworthy sight of her in that ebony lingerie. His cock gives an excited twitch.

"Good choice." Billy folds them neatly and then promptly chucks them in a plastic bag. "One-fifty."

"That's for others. I'm your regular customer. Don't try to rob me, please." She crosses her arms under her chest, accentuating the swell of her breasts.

"Fine, one-thirty," Billy sighs. "This is branded stuff, love. It has a fixed price. I'm already giving up my profit because I'm too sweet on you."

"I'm sure. How about hundred?"

Even Harry cringes at the ridiculous haggling.

"You going to drop to your knees and earn that discount?"

Now he has his wand in his hand, ready to curse the crap out of the arsehole. But his mum grabs his wrist and keeps it at his side.

"I'm afraid not. How about ninety-five."

"That's not how bargaining works, love."

"Ninety, take it or leave it."

"Darling, I am the shopkeeper. You take it or leave it."

"Fine. Let's go, Harry." She thankfully starts to leave the bloody shop before Harry either cringes too hard or commits a murder.

…

…

"You're such a pain, Lily. I love when you come and hate when you go. Fine, give me a hundred. And this time, I'm really losing my profit."

"Now this is why I love you." She chuckles and hands him the money and takes the plastic bag.

"I will believe it when you flash me those majestic tits."

"Faith doesn't need proof, Billy. Just believe it." She gives him a cheeky smile and leads Harry out, putting extra sway to her hips for the man's benefit.

"I so love watching you go."

Harry takes a deep breath and by the time he exhales, the door is closed behind him.

He was this close to trying the Killing Curse for the first time.

"That was fun," his mum snickers.

"Let's go home." He keeps his tone even, but that doesn't conceal his anger.

Instead of looking guilty, his mum only smirks in amusement, squeezing his hand. "Okay. We better do it before you curse someone."

~xXxXx~

Harry wrenches his arm free as soon as they pop into their house. And this time, he doesn't try to catch her when she stumbles, letting her fall on her knees.

"Ouch." She unsteadily rises to her feet, dusting off her tight dress. "I wouldn't have minded a little support."

But he's already stomping out of the living room, ignoring her reproaching words.

"Come here, sweetie. Let's talk it out. You don't want to ruin my day now, do you? Not after all the effort you put into improving it." she sighs and plops down on the sofa.

He hesitates mid-step, then reluctantly returns and sits down beside her.

Her amused chuckle tests his patience, though he doesn't push her head away when she gently lays it in his lap, facing upwards.

"Look at me," she asks softly, her arms crossed at her belly.

That's a problem. With the way she is lying with her head in his lap, it's quite easy to let his eyes wander. The obscene expanse of pillowy breasts that wobbles with every movement nearly ends the conversation before it can even start. But he is an experienced veteran in controlling his gaze. So with a little effort, he looks down—directly into her eyes, only briefly glancing at her dark red lips. "I'm disappointed in you."

His eyes twitch when she chuckles again. "I know. Boohoo, mum flirts with people and enjoys attention. She is the most vile person in existence, isn't she?"

"I wouldn't say that." He caresses her cheek, marvelling at the soft texture of her skin. "The way you strutted, the way you revelled whenever someone looked down at your chest, or the way you flirted with that Creep Billy, it all made me deeply uncomfortable. It was like you were shamelessly cheating on dad right in front of me."

"Look, I'll confess that I was pretty heavy-handed because of my residual anger at James." She takes his hand and kisses his fingers, looking increasingly sheepish. "And I'm sorry you had to see that. But cheating? You'd have to be a moron to think that. Looking is fine. Flirting is fine. Everything is fine, honestly, until there's real touching. Until you actually start to entertain the idea of betraying your husband. And sweetie, I've never slept with anyone other than your dad. I won't change that now just because I'm a little angry."

"I see." He brushes his thumb across her rosy lips. They are indescribably soft. "I guess I get pretty territorial when it comes to you."

She laughs, kissing his fingers again, not minding the placement of his thumb. "Very. Even more than your dad, I think."

"Well, I have to protect my beautiful mum from all the perverts."

Her lips curve up in an affectionate smile as she raises her arm to trace his jaw. "You will never know how much I love you for that. And thank you for spending your time on me this morning. It was entertaining seeing your cute possessive side."

"As if I would say no to being in the company of a hot, older woman. If you weren't my mum, I'd have already stolen you away from dad," he replies, hoping he didn't go too far.

She chuckles dryly, poking his cheek. "Easy there. If you keep up, I'll actually start believing it."

Suddenly seized by unbridled desire, rationality abandons him, and he lets his eyes wander. From her plump lips to her slender neck. From her milky cleavage to her toned thighs. He stares at them like a starving man at a feast. Not only that, he drags his hand down her neck and lightly holds her tit, squeezing it, making her eyes widen. "Do you think I'm joking? No, I actually mean it. You are the hottest woman in my eyes. You're what I've compared all my girlfriends to."

She swats his arm away from her chest and sits up, her cheeks flushed as she releases a nervous chuckle. "Stop it, you! You're taking this joke too far."

"I'm not kidding," he repeats seriously, watching her face cycle through embarrassment, shock, flattery, and many unnamed emotions.

He doesn't know what possessed him, but he wants her to know the truth—to know how he feels. He wants her to be aware everytime he ogles her. He wants her to blush and look away when he touches her. He just wants her to see him.

She fidgets beside him, opening her mouth several times to say something. But no words come out. At last, she simply shrugs in defeat. "I don't know how to respond to that."

"You don't have to." His arm wraps around her shoulders, and he kisses her hair, glad at how readily she cuddles into his side, even after such a revelation. "I said it just so you know how much I admire you. Spending time with you is a blessing that I'll never take for granted. You are the first love and lust of my life."

She groans and hides her face in his chest. "Enough with your damn compliments. Few more, and my stomach will be shredded by butterflies."

"Fine, fine, I'll let you live for now." He rubs her bare back, his palm greedily soaking the heat of her skin.

He wants to push her down on her stomach and kiss every last inch of her alluring back.

"Thanks." She gives an exaggerated eye roll, not reacting to his ministrations, tracing small circles on his vest with her thumb, right where his heart is. "I have a question."

He inhales the scent of her hair with his eyes closed, focusing solely on his senses of touch and smell as he waits for her question.

"Do you really see me in a sexual light? Like, do you get excited when thinking about me? Or like when you accidentally see me naked?"

Her voice is small and shy.

"Every night. Do you want details?" he quips, not bothering to open his eyes, knowing she is blushing up a storm.

"NO! No, don't, please." She thumps her head against his chest. "It's my fault for even asking."

"Absolutely."

"You do know that it's weird and nothing will ever come out of it? First of all, I'm married. And secondly, you're my adorable son." Her tone is full of longing regret, and she presses her palm on his beating heart, as if to console it.

"Of course. I've known that from the beginning. Don't worry your pretty head over it," he says distractedly, too focused on the feel of her skin and the fragrance of her hair.

She instantly melts in his arms, laying her chin in his lap. "Thank Merlin. I thought it was a bloody confession. And I didn't want to break your heart."

"I'm not an idiot." He bites back a moan, this position giving him freedom to take advantage of her backless dress. His splayed finger flows up and down the ridge of her spine.

"Debatable."

"Do you want me to throw you on the floor?"

"Probably not."

"Then shut up."

She hums noncommittally. "I cannot believe my own son wants to fuck me. I-I still cannot digest that. It will take time to sink in."

"I'm this close to throwing you off the sofa."

"I was just thinking out loud."

"You think? That's news to me."

"Har har. Wait, is that a tent in your trousers?"

His eyes snap open, his palm abruptly halting in its movements, and his face turns a bright shade of red. But he doesn't back down, even as his heart thunders in his ears. "Yes. What do you expect when I have someone like you cuddled up in my arms? And your prancing around provocatively and oscillating tits didn't help earlier. I think I'll burst if you simply touch it."

"Eww." She pulls away, standing up, her wide eyes transfixed on the tent in his trousers. "I am not touching that."

"That was just hypothetical." He quickly adjusts his trousers, trying to make it less noticeable.

"Good. Because don't even think about it. Just because I love you and didn't curse you for your weird confession doesn't mean I'm ready to do things with you," she babbles rapidly, wringing her hands, her eyes still on his erection.

He snaps his fingers. "Stop. Stop using your dumb brain. I'm not expecting anything. This is just a natural reaction of having someone divinely attractive pressed against me. It will go away in a few minutes."

"Good. Very good." She takes a deep breath before exhaling audibly. "No more cuddling, I guess."

"Yeah."

"Shame."

"I know."

"Also, you should go take care of it. If what you said is true and you've been this way for a while, you should rub it out." She tries to keep her tone clinical, but her bashfulness is impossible to hide.

"Thanks, mum. I couldn't have guessed," he says sarcastically, his horny gaze latching onto her cleavage. The plunging neckline seems quite convenient now. He can easily bury his face in there without needing to undress her.

"You're welcome, sweetie. I hope you don't expect me to teach you masturbation. Because I will not," she jokes, trying to lighten up the atmosphere.

She horribly fails at it and his cock gives a twitch at the image of her hand snugly wrapped around his girth.

"It moves!"

He doesn't know if he should laugh or dig himself a grave. "I think I should go to my room."

"Definitely."

"Also, before I get post-nut clarity and cringe at this idea, I have a request for you."

"Uh huh." She is still taken by his erection, seemingly unable to take her eyes off it.

"Since you already know that I'm attracted to you, do you mind giving me masturbation aid?"

"What!?" Finally, her disbelieving eyes meet his.

"Listen. The lingerie that you bought refuses to leave my mind. Can you please put it on and model for me? I'll take pictures for… reasons. Please, mum, say yes."

"Hell no! Are you out of your damn mind?" she erupts, throwing up her arms, unintentionally giving him the best view of her shaking tits.

"Didn't you say looking and flirting is fine? And you seemed fine with throwing your tits on stranger's faces, but not me? You sure you even love me?"

"Don't try to manipulate me, Mister! These are two different things."

"Mum, please." He lowers his voice, his gaze imploring, his tone pleading. "I can never have you. I can never have the woman I love the most. Please spare me at least this, these mere crumbs."

"Merlin! You're so melodramatic," she groans, but her expression has softened and he knows he has won. "Fine. I'll wear that lingerie and model for you. And yes, you can take pictures. But I swear, Harry, if these pictures ever get leaked to your dad or anyone, I'll strangle you."

He deadpans at her. "Do you really think I will ever share these with anyone?"

"...Fine." She concedes his point. "Go take care of your problem while I put my lingerie on. Be back in five minutes. And no bloody touching or annoying comments. I'm already giving too much."

"Love you." He grins and prepares to leave the room, surprised that she actually agreed to it.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." She slumps on the sofa, resting her head on the backrest, her crimson braid hiding her cleavage.

As he reaches the door, he stops and turns around, struck by another idea. "Mum, I have another request."

If the way her eyebrows twitch is any indication, the answer will probably be no. But he's already crossed so many boundaries that he's willing to risk it.

"Go on," she utters, peering at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Give me your knickers. I'll use it for my 'problem'."

…

…

Instead of exploding, she simply sighs. Then, she surreptitiously slides down her underwear and tosses it at him. "You know what, why not? Take it and go before I lose my sanity."

He bunches the tiny thing in his fist. This is what covers his mum's unattainable treasure. It is a fancy one: marron knickers made of silk. The texture—the feel, it's mesmerising.

His cock throbs in his pants and he shoves the underwear against his nostrils, sniffing it deeply like a junkie.

A throaty moan tears out of his throat. Her knickers don't really smell of anything. But it's the act itself that makes his cock pulse like a beating heart.

He doesn't think he has ever been this hard before.

"Sweetie, can you not do it in front of me, please? Just go." The blank tone of his mother breaks him out of his head.

"Sorry." And with that, he scampers away.