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Evening Delight	By : Prentice Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 55292 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor its characters and I do not make money from the creation of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Evening Delight
- 1
Title: Evening Delight
Author: Prentice
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: ADULT++
Warning: Infidelity, Older Woman/Younger Man
Pairing: Harry Potter/Molly Weasley
Author's Note: Written both for a prompt on hpkinkmeme as well as my own Merry Month of MILF 2019 challenge. If you're interested in participating, all you need to do is write a fic/drabble/etc. featuring a woman who could be considered a MILF through the end of May. Feel free to share with me if you do!
Summary: If there was one thing that every member of the Weasley family knew, it was that the kitchen was and always had been Molly Weasley’s domain.
If there was one thing that every member of the Weasley family knew, it was that the kitchen was and always had been Molly Weasley’s domain. Even before they’d had children, Arthur had learned quickly that it was a fool’s errand to try to bother his wife when she was busy cooking and had more than once suffered a wooden spoon to the knuckles for interfering. When the children had come, that hadn’t really changed.
If anything, it got worse…or better, depending on your point-of-view.
After all, Molly might not have been the most lavish of chefs – fancy dinners and overly elaborate desserts were a waste of time and energy as far as she was concerned and were usually only reserved for special occasions like birthdays or yule celebrations – but she more than made up for it by making delicious and hearty homecooked meals that could easily feed a small army.
Or, in her case, her family.
So no, it wasn’t really a surprise that the kitchen in the Weasley household was most definitely Molly’s domain and honestly, she preferred it that way. Not only because it was where she felt most comfortable these days, but also because it was the one place in the house where she could get a bit of peace and quiet when she wanted it. More so, when she needed it.
Much like Arthur with his ridiculous muggle-centric garden shed, the kitchen was and likely always would be a special place for her within the Burrow and was the one spot where she could rest and relax and enjoy a quiet moment without having to worry about something or someone bothering her.
It had been for years now, by design as much as by happenstance, and that hadn’t much changed since the second war had ended.
Of course, the Burrow was much quieter these days, what with almost all her children scattered to the four winds. All of them chasing their dreams and their futures now that they had the freedom to do so, but that didn’t mean they didn’t visit often. If anything, she seemed to see them more now; their weekly family dinners happening more and more frequently now that the worst was over and the rebuilding and healing had finally started, not just within their family but also the wizarding world at large.
It wasn’t easy, of course.
Stark reminders were everywhere these days. Not just in the form of a normally bustling street nearly empty or a hastily boarded over storefront, but also in the absence of a person or people with whom everyone had gotten used to seeing over the years. Their usual place in the world suddenly, heartbreakingly empty and everyone knowing that they would never come back…
It was hard and sometimes unthinkable, but the wizarding world was rallying.
Slowly, yes.
Cautiously, absolutely.
But they were rallying, and her family was no exception to that.
Their weekly family dinners and her children’s surprise visits happening so often that sometimes it was as though they never left. Not that their moving out had changed anything, really. Even when they stopped by, they usually ended up retreating to their old rooms, content to rattle around them until Molly called them down for dinner. A habit of a lifetime seemingly hard to break in spite of being old enough to live on their own.
It was, she frequently reflected, probably a good thing.
Especially at times like now, when the last thing she wanted was one of her children to find out what she was really up to in the kitchen…
Gasping softly, Molly clutched tightly at the edge of the nearest countertop, her knuckles already white from the strain. The peeled carrots she’d been preparing for an early supper nudging her fingertips and making her acutely aware of exactly where she was and exactly what she was doing. And, more importantly, of who she was doing it with.
Fighting back a whimper, Molly closed her eyes. Merciful magic, she shouldn’t be doing this. She knew she should be doing this! That theyshouldn’t be doing this!
She could hear her children just a few story’s above her, for Merlin’s sake.
Their familiar voices muffled but still somehow managing to bleed through the slowly decaying silencing spells on the walls until they were a steady buzz in her ear, one that she could barely make out over the sound of her heart pounding in her chest.
Fighting back another whimper, Molly squeezed her eyes closed tighter, teeth biting at her bottom lip as she struggled to contain herself.
It wasn’t easy.
Fingers were rubbing against her swollen clit perfectly, the slick sticky digits a delicious counterpoint to the thick slide of a cock inside her. The achingly arousing slap of skin against skin muffled only by the steady whistle and rattle of her kitchen readying itself for another meal. The quick and easy household charms she’d once been taught by her mother keeping everything running smoothly despite her obvious inattention.
Thank the gods for small mercies, Molly thought almost hysterically, her toes curling in her slippers when her lover gave another particularly hard thrust forward, his fingers catching against her clit until her pussy ached with how good it felt.
Merciful magic, but it had been so long since she’d felt like this. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt like this. Maybe before the war, back when the worst thing she and Arthur had had to worry about was if they had enough money to buy Ronald a new set of robes and not have to resort to hand-me-downs like they feared they would in the long run.
Possibly not even then.
It had been so long since she and Arthur had done anything more than kiss each other goodnight that she couldn’t be sure. Not right now anyway. Not right now especially.
Not with her pussy all but dripping with how wet she was, her son’s best friend fucking her roughly from behind, his surprisingly thick cock filling and stretching her in ways she hadn’t felt in far too long.
“Harry,” Molly gasped out weakly, “Harry, love, please – !”
Eyelids fluttering, Molly shuddered as Harry’s free hand scrambled from its place against her hip, wand roughened fingers covering her mouth and muffling her pleas as his thrusts slowed and his body pressed in hard behind her. Warm panting breaths ghosted along her cheek.
“Shh, Mrs. Weasley,” he shushed hoarsely, voice husky and low as he circled his hips deliberately, cock dragging along her insides so sweetly she couldn’t help but press back against him. “You don’t want Ron to come down, do you?”
As if to make his point, the sound of voices grew momentarily louder, the tell-tale open and shut of a door above them loud despite the pounding of her heart and the racket in her kitchen.
“Or maybe...”
Hand pulling away from her mouth, Harry slid it tenderly down her chin and neck until it settled over one of her breasts, his thumb rubbing against her nipple. It hardened beneath her robes instantly, the easy sweep of his thumb against the fabric enough to cause a shock of heat to shoot through her and her already sopping pussy. Merlin but it was a wonder she wasn’t already coming all over him, her cunt throbbing with every teasing sweep of his fingers against her.
They stayed like that for a moment, Harry’s cock dragging lazily inside her, hand cradling her breast and teasing at her nipple before suddenly his hips gave a sharp jerk forward, fingers pinching at her clit as his thumb dragged roughly against her nipple. Pussy spasming around his cock, Molly barely had enough time to cover her own mouth with shaking fingers, her shriek of pleasure barely stifled as Harry stilled again, cock throbbing inside her.
“Or maybe,” he continued, voice coming in harsh raspy pants as his hand wiggled beneath the ties of her robes and cupped her breast fully, nipple caught between his fingers. “You want Ron to come down and see you like this? Bent over the kitchen counter with your robes pulled up around your arse, dripping all over his best friend’s cock.”
Hips rocking against hers, he squeezed her breast gently, fingers rolling her nipple teasingly. “Bet you’d like that. Him seeing you like this. Or maybe Ginny. Bet – ah! – bet you’d like that more, wouldn’t you? Your – fuck – your little girl seeing you ride her ex-boyfriend’s cock. M-my cock. Wouldn’t you, Mrs. – oh fuck – Mrs. Weasley?”
Whimpering helplessly, Molly shook her head, thighs shaking as Harry once more started to rock his hips, wet fingers drawing away from her clit to clutch tightly at her robes as he built up an easy, maddening rhythm. Merciful gods but that was the last thing she needed – the last thing she wanted – to happen. If her Ronald or Ginevra – or any of her children – were to find out what she was doing or who she was doing it with…
Merlin but she didn’t want to think about it.
She knew it would hurt them. Not only because she was being unfaithful on their father but because of who she was cheating with. Ron and Ginny, especially, would be devastated she knew. Probably in ways she didn’t want to think about.
It was no secret, after all, that their Ginny was still holding out hope that she and Harry would one day find their way back to each other. She’d said so herself to Molly on more than one occasion. Ron, too, had begrudgingly admitted that he wouldn’t mind it if Ginny and Harry started dating again, if only because he wanted to see them both as happy as he was with Hermione and had matured enough to admit it.
It wouldn’t happen now, Molly knew.
It couldn’t. Not with her and Harry carrying on the way they were. The way they had been for a while now…
Not that she regretted it. After all, much like Ginny’s hope of reconciliation with Harry, it was no secret to any of her children that she and their father weren’t exactly on the best of terms lately. Hadn’t been, really, since the end of the war.
Not that they weren’t both relieved that it was over despite how ugly it had been for all of them. No, it was just that ever since it had ended, she and Arthur had somehow managed to drift apart. Their once happy marriage held together by nothing more than familiarity and the vain hope that maybe one day it might work itself out.
Which wasn’t exactly looking likely what with Arthur becoming even more of a workaholic, choosing to spend his days and, more often than not these days, his nights at the Ministry trying to wrangle some sense from the chaos that was the aftermath of the war.
In her more charitable moments, Molly liked to think she understood. Arthur wasn’t like her and didn’t find comfort in simply being at home surrounded by their family. He needed to be doing something; needed to be active. It was one of the things that had first made her notice him in their school days, the way he always had to ‘do’ instead of just ‘be’ like some of the other boys his age, but lately…
Lately, she was starting to resent him for it. Starting to despise the way he preferred to spend his time with his work rather than with his family. Spending long hours away from them all only to come home exhausted and interested only in a warm meal and a soft bed and nothing at all to do with her or their marriage.
Which was probably why…
Which was probably why it had been so easy to do this with Harry.
With Harry.
Ron’s best friend and Ginny’s ex-boyfriend.
That Harry.
No longer the shy skinny little boy who had asked her how to get onto the Platform 9 3/4, Harry Potter had grown up sometime when she wasn’t looking. Transforming, seemingly overnight, into a man, fully grown and powerful enough to defeat Voldemort.
Strong enough to be a hero.
Sometimes, she still didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Especially these days, with someone having finally convinced the sweet boy to visit a proper healer and start on a regiment of potions to repair some of the damage his horrible relatives and the war had wrought on his body over the years.
Far from being the smallest young man amongst his peers anymore, Harry had finally managed a long-delayed growth spurt and, while he would likely never be as tall or as broad as her Ronald, he still somehow managed to gain a few prized inches over her. His frame filling out until he looked lean instead of starved, finely boned instead of scrawny. In essence, he had become every bit as handsome as his father had been, the small but noticeable traces of his mother enhancing his masculine good looks instead of detracting from them.
Not that Molly was shallow or silly enough to fall into this - affair - with Harry because of his looks. Merlin preserve her but she was hardly a young girl anymore; she wasn’t a girl at all in fact. She was an unquestionably middle-aged witch with not only a husband but seven children, all of whom were, by any definition, fully grown.
To think that she would jump headlong into an illicit affair with her son’s not only famous but now legendary best friend just because he was attractive was ridiculous…and insulting.
To both of them, really.
No, the reason she had fallen into this so quickly, so easily, with Harry was simple: he made her feel wanted.
Not just as his best friend’s mum or as a motherly figure in his life but as a witch and, more importantly, as a woman.
Which was something she hadn’t felt in...
She honestly didn’t know how long.
Years, maybe. Decades. Long enough that when they’d first accidentally brushed up against one another - innocently, of course, right after his first long stay after the war, when Ginny had still been mostly hiding in her room and Ron and Hermione had finally come back unsuccessful and tired from their search for her missing parents – things had just happened.
Spontaneously, passionately, thrillingly.
One of his hands coming up to brush a stray wisp of hair from her face, fingers curling around the shell of her ear as he had smiled at her, something in his expression making her breath hitch strangely in her chest as his hand dropped back down to his side, fingers just barely missing brushing against the swell of her breast.
After that...
There had been other moments. Both large and small. Shared and lingering looks. Quick smiles and stolen bits of conversation when everyone else was occupied and busy.
The first time - sweet Merlin – the first time he had actually touched her with purpose, with meaning; hesitant hand sliding over the soft bare skin of her arm where she was chopping vegetables until she had shifted just so and the backs of his fingers hand teased along the edge of her breasts, their bodies blocking the touch from view as they chatted easily with one another, both of them trying their best to pretend that everything was normal.
It had been the sweetest most frightening torture for them both. So much so that they had both, over time, gotten bolder and braver with every touch, every look. Hands and touches lingering for just a shade too long, wandering into territory that was both forbidden and alluring all at once but never quite stepping over the point of real impropriety or notice from the others.
It might’ve even all stayed that way – simple lingering touches that brushed the edge of being something more - if it hadn’t been for that awful fight with Arthur. Not that she was blaming him; he had little blame in her choices now, but that night had been different. For both of them, though she wasn’t sure why.
It had just seemed like all too much.
A perfectly good dinnertime ruined by a fire call from one of Arthur’s many colleagues with a minor emergency that had seemed like the end of the world at the time. The simmering irritation Molly had felt when Arthur hadn’t even hesitated in agreeing to come in boiling over when she realized he had meant right then and not when dinner was over. The short and sharp conversation between her and her husband that had resulted in most of her children packing off to bed early or leaving for their own homes rather than have to hear their parents argue again and then Arthur leaving in a huff, door slamming behind him, and her with nothing to do but angrily clean the dishes and set the kitchen to rights.
It had been a bad night. Not just for her but for everyone, Harry included. He’d been there to witness her and Arthur’s spat, his face inscrutable as Ron and Ginny had hustled him upstairs and away from their parents.
It had been utterly humiliating for Molly. To have Harry witness that. To see how little her husband wanted to spend time with them, with her.
She couldn’t have explained why if asked and her embarrassment had only worsened when Harry had trudged down the stairs sometime later in the night and asked her if she was all right.
Bursting into tears had hardly been the best response under the circumstances but it was the only one she’d given, shame and humiliation heating her cheeks as she sniffled into her handkerchief like the silly old witch that she was.
To this day she still wasn’t sure how long she cried, muffled sobs and ugly tears tearing their way out of her as her children slept upstairs and their father Merlin knew where, but somehow, at some point, Harry had managed to brew her a strong cup of tea and settle her, his voice soothing as he promised her it would all be okay. That things would be all right. That she was just tired and that he was sure she and Mr. Weasley would patch things up in the morning.
She hadn’t believed him, of course; she and Arthur had been at loggerheads for months now, arguments their children weren’t even aware of playing out behind closed doors and silencing spells, but she still appreciated the sentiment. Especially from Harry. Poor sweet Harry who had sat with her while she cried, who’d made her tea just the way she liked it, and who looked and touched her like he wanted her...
Honestly, she couldn’t say why she’d decided to kiss him. It had just seemed like the right thing to do. A quick kiss to show her appreciation, her thanks, for how kind he’d been to her. That it had turned into something more, his mouth hard and hot against hers, his hands running over her body, tongue sweeping into her mouth like he just couldn’t get enough of her while her hands had clutched desperately at his robes.
Merlin, it had been…
It had been so good, so thrilling.
Her heart trying to beat its way of her chest as they’d kissed and kissed. His hands somehow finding their way into her hair while hers roamed his chest, his hips, and the lean sweep of his shoulders. Bodies pressed against one another until she’d felt the shape of his cock pressing against her, her pussy throbbing with sudden eager wetness as their tongues slid against one another.
They hadn’t gone further that night. Had, in fact, pulled away from each other before it could get too wildly out of hand, the banging of pipes from the attic making them both jump, but it had been a start. A beginning, not just to what they were doing, but also for what was to come.
Molly had barely been able to sleep that night for the thought of it. Her hands slipping between her thighs and down to her breasts, fingers playing with her nipples and teasing her folds until she was sopping wet and aching for Harry’s touch. Her own hands a poor substitute for what – who – she’d really wanted.
She’d come messily, achingly, with his name on her lips and in her thoughts and giddy like a schoolgirl for having touched herself to the memory of his kisses before she’d fallen into a restless sleep that had been filled with frustratingly vague but nevertheless arousing shadows and the sound of his voice.
Looking back, Molly wasn’t sure how she’d managed to function afterward. Her thoughts always caught on the way Harry had felt against her. How strong his hands had felt; how sure his kisses had been.
How she’d managed to get through an entire week without burning the house to the ground for being distracted, she didn’t know. All she did know, was that when she’d finally seen him again, she’d barely been able to restrain herself, her pulse thundering in her ears in anticipation every time their eyes met. The low murmur of his voice sending shivers down her spine as he spoke with Ron about his upcoming stag night and his wedding to Hermione.
Merciful magic but she’d barely gotten through dinner with how distracted she had been, her heart racing every time their eyes met over the table. Thankfully, she hadn’t been alone in her eagerness. Not with the way Harry had quickly offered to help her clean-up afterward, his already half-hard cock pressing against her side as he reached around her to put the dishes away the old-fashioned way.
It had been…
Merlin, it had been everything she had wanted. Everything she continued to want. The feel of him pressing against her, over her, breath ruffling her hair as his arms came around her.
How she’d ever managed to live without it, she didn’t know. Didn’t want to know, now that she had him. His presence enough to bring out a side of her she never knew she had. Especially when it came to this side of herself.
Hand dropping from her mouth, Molly’s finger clutched and curled tighter against the counter as Harry’s easy pace gave way to another burst of fast hard thrusts that had her stumbling forward, carrots rolling as she hastily braced herself.
Sweet gods, if anyone were to see her now – if one of her children were to come downstairs or Arthur decide to come home early from the Ministry for once – may the gods forgive her but she doubted if even Merlin himself were to walk through the door right now she’d be able to stop herself.
Not with how good this felt. How good Harry felt; his beautiful young cock sliding heavy and thick inside her, long fingers now clutching at her hips as he pulled her back hard against him. The wet rhythmic sound of their lovemaking only barely audible over the sound of dishes rattling as they placed themselves on the table or cleaned themselves in the sink.
It was all – Merlin, it was all just – just – too much for her.
“Harry,” Molly gasped helplessly, the liquid heat that had been building between her thighs turning almost painful as Harry groaned softly behind her. “Oh, sweet gods – I’m going to – Harry – don’t stop, love – don’t – I’m so – so close – please!”
Cursing softly behind her, Harry seemed to redouble his efforts, entire body hunching closer to hers as his cock jackhammered into her, balls slapping wetly against her throbbing pussy. Mewling, Molly pushed back against him, the warm press of his chest against her back making her keenly aware that they were both still mostly clothed. Her simple patterned house robes only pushed up and out of the way so that Harry could pull his cock from the muggle jeans he preferred to wear and slide himself deep inside her.
Choking back a cry at the thought, at the image they must’ve made, Molly’s legs began to tremble, pussy clenching as another wave of wetness began to drench her already sticky thighs. If she wasn’t careful, she knew her robes would be soaked through after this. Nothing a quick cleaning charming wouldn’t take care of, of course, but…but…
“That’s it,” Harry moaned hoarsely, breath harsh and panting against her back as the muffled sound of voices upstairs momentarily grew louder. “Fuck, that’s it. Come – come on, Mrs – oh, Christ – Mrs. Weasley. Come on my cock just – ah! – just like –!”
Keening helplessly, Molly's fingers scrambled noisily against the kitchen counter, carrots rolling to the floor unnoticed as her vision whited out, pussy pulsing and clenching as she came messily on his cock. How long it lasted, she didn’t know. It felt like forever; her entire world narrowing down to the feel of Harry’s cock working inside her, teasing out her orgasm until it felt like it would go on and on endlessly, the wetness of her own spend dripping down her thighs as Harry rode her through it.
Pleasure cresting, Molly whimpered as Harry’s thrusts gradually slowed until he was still inside her, cock still hard and straining her in pussy despite her own orgasm. Panting, Molly slumped against the countertop, legs quivering and weak from the little shocks and pulls of pleasure that were still singing deep inside her. The feel of Harry’s cock – so painfully hard and twitching inside her, the poor dear – making her feel full and tender and so deliciously used that she couldn’t help but sigh contentedly.
Merlin but it had been too long since she’d come like that. Too long since she’d had a man fuck her like that. Since she’d had Harry fuck her like that; the fortnight it’d been since they’d been able to do more than exchange a few hurried touches or frantic kisses stretching out until Molly had thought – recklessly, foolishly – about sneaking into Ron’s room one night and riding Harry while her son slept just a few feet away instead of a few floors away.
She hadn’t in the end.
Of course she hadn’t, but she’d wanted to, some wild part of her warming at the thought of how depraved it would be, how wicked. The thought lingering with her so much so that she’d played with herself more than once while Arthur slept, oblivious and unaware that his wife was teasing her swollen clit to thoughts of their son’s best friend. To Harry, who was sleeping only a few floors away, and who she’d taken in her mouth just a few hours earlier, a strategic and well-timed trip to the bathroom while Ron and Ginny bickered over Quidditch scores giving them enough time for Harry to fuck himself down her throat and come all over her face.
“Fuck,” Harry rasped faintly, meaningfully, from behind her as if he could hear her thought, fingers flexing rhythmically against her hips as the clatter of footsteps and doors opening and closing echoed once more upstairs, the low thump and bump of something falling following close behind. “Fuck. Molly. I want to – can I – ?”
“Your turn, love,” Molly murmured almost tenderly, trembling hand lifting to brush her tousled hair from off her sweaty forehead. Glancing over her shoulder, she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him; his brow sweaty and skin flushed, round glasses sitting smudged and crooked on his nose as he panted. What she wouldn’t give to have a picture of him like this. To have a picture of them both like this.
Just for her own eyes.
Just for when she needed it.
Eyes closing against the thought, Molly shifted, hands once more bracing against the counter as she rocked herself against him, cunt clenching down around his twitching cock. His reaction was instantaneous, hips and cock jerking as he gasped. Moaning softly, Molly squeezed around him again, pussy throbbing.
He still felt so good inside her. Better than he had before if that was even possible. The blinding rush and high from her orgasm fading enough that she could enjoy the thick press of him against her inner walls, cunt stretched around his length.
“Harry,” Molly started, a hand lifting to cup her own breast, nipple aching sweetly beneath her robe as she continued to rock back against him. “The boys will be down soon for tea, you need to – ”
“Come in you?” Harry finished for her, voice ragged. His hips trembled against hers, cock sliding in and out of her incrementally. “Is that – ah, that what you want, Mrs. Weasley? Me to come in you?”
Hand sliding from her hip, Harry cupped her other breast and squeezed it roughly, chest pressing tight against her back as he leaned into her. Another thump and bump sounded from upstairs, the clock on the wall clicking over as one of the arms – Arthur’s arm – ticked over from work to travel. Molly shuddered.
“Harry,” she whispered, voice catching in her throat as he rocked into her a little faster, a little harder. “I – yes. Yes. Please, love. Give it to me. I want to feel it – feel you.”
Huffing softly, Harry nudged her forward, hand trailing from her breast to push against her shoulder until she leaned more fully against the kitchen counter, upper body braced on her forearms.
“Remember to stay quiet,” Harry warned lowly, breathlessly, waiting for her nod before he –
Mouth snapping closed around a strangled shout, Molly did her best to keep her feet under her as Harry fucked her roughly from behind, his punishing thrusts quickly growing wild and more uncoordinated as he chased after his own release.
It didn’t take long; his orgasm crashing into them both with a suddenness that had them both crying out softly, the achingly sweet sensation of Harry spilling inside her almost enough to make her come again. Her entire body trembling as she pressed herself back into each rough thrust until her pussy ached with how good it felt. With how good Harry felt, his cock and come filling her up in ways she never would’ve dreamed of just a few short months ago, their affair fulfilling a longing – a hunger – she didn’t even know she had until it was being satisfied.
“Molly,” Harry groaned lowly, voice a gravelly underscore to the clink and bubble of her kitchen as his hips slowly stilled against hers once more, still-twitching and jerking cock buried deep inside her. “Fuck.”
“Sweet boy,” Molly murmured breathlessly in return, body slumping against the countertop as she tried to catch her breath, eyelids fluttering. It would be so easy to give into the sweet ache inside her now, to enjoy the way Harry’s cock filled her up, filled her full. The warm press of his body against hers enough for her to wish that they had the time to relish every second of this.
They didn’t, though.
They couldn’t.
Not with Arthur’s clock arm still hovering precariously over ‘traveling’ and the noise from upstairs growing louder by the second; a signal, if there ever was one, that they were quickly running out of time.
Shifting, Molly whimpered as Harry moved gently inside her, spent cock twitching as he gently slipped out of her, come trickling instantly down her already sticky thighs. Instinctively, Molly clamped them shut, the wet slide of her skin enough to tell her what a mess she was. What a mess theywere.
Hand lifting to brush a few sweaty curls from her forehead, Molly turned, a low happy hum escaping her when Harry immediately met her in a kiss, his tongue sweeping possessively, eagerly into her mouth. He was always like this afterward, bless him; hungry and eager, desperate for a few more seconds of contact. A few more seconds of her.
Pulling back slowly, Molly smiled, a warm flush spreading across her cheeks. He was so handsome like this, so –
“Mum!”
Jolting, Molly gasped, eyes widening even as Harry jerked away from her, hands immediately fumbling his spent cock back into his pants, fingers clumsily pulling up his zipper. Swearing softly, she hastily followed suit, hurriedly smoothing her house robes back into place, tender breasts aching as she stuffed them back into her robes. Hands lifting, she quickly fluffed her hair, eyes meeting Harry’s own as he pushed his glasses back up his nose and scrubbed his fingers through his sweaty fringe.
“Mum!” Ron called again from somewhere up above, the low shuffle of footsteps thumping near the stairway growing slightly louder. “Mum, is supper ready yet?”
“A few more minutes, dear!” Molly called, another flush working its way across her cheeks when Harry leaned in beside her, body pressing briefly against hers as he plucked his wand from the countertop. Flicking it carefully, his softly murmured cleaning charms were all but lost to the clink-rattle of a few finished dishes plating themselves and the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs.
Turning back towards the countertop, Molly barely had enough time to press a quick, hasty kiss against Harry’s cheek and gather up the carrots that had fallen before her Ronald came charging out the stairway.
“Mum, did you – Harry, mate!” Ron called in surprised delight as soon as he saw his best friend, lips pulling into a happy grin. “When did you get here?”
“Not long ago,” Harry answered easily, wand tucked safely back in his pocket as his fingers brushed Molly’s arm affectionately. “I was just saying hello to your mum.”
Clearing her throat softly, Molly picked up her discarded knife as she once again started chopping carrots. “Supper will be ready soon, dears. Why don’t you both go wash up? Oh and tell your brothers, won’t you, Ronald?”
“Will do,” Ron agreed cheerfully before turning his attention back to Harry and dragging him towards the stairway. “You look done in, mate. Rough day at work?”
“Something like that,” Harry replied, the sound of his voice fading as they both made their way back upstairs.
Humming softly, Molly shifted, a sudden new trickle of Harry’s come leaking onto her thighs as she used her wand to dump the last few chopped bits of carrot into the stew she’d been making. From across the room, Arthur’s clock arm shifted, the large clockface chiming as his name went from ‘traveling’ to ‘home’ and from somewhere up above her, the muffled sound of thumps and conversation drifted. Sighing contentedly, Molly smiled.
Her kitchen really was her favorite place in the entire Burrow.
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Evening Delight