Despite the fact Moira told Harry to 'forget' about the whole picture fiasco, awkwardness consumed her every time she looked at him; let alone when she was forced to converse. Who could blame her though. It wasn't every day you saw someone touching themselves as they stared at pictures of you. Quite frankly, she found the whole situation a little... unreal.

In one way, she felt flattered. And in the other; straight up creeped out.

Getting hórny was a part of human nature, something to not feel ashamed of. That didn't mean however, you could rub it in other people's faces. But in Harry's defence: he hadn't known she would be home so soon, otherwise he would've thought twice about doing what he'd done. Or so she liked to think.

They were currently seated on the couch, mindlessly watching television as they consumed the beef stew Moira had prepared.

"Can you pass the pepper?"

Harry obeyed wordlessly, then continued to eat his dinner.

"Thanks."

This was how things had been going for the past week. They interacted as little as possible, meaning that the words they did exchange were polite yet curt. Nothing like how they used to be. Moira would blush whenever he looked at her for even a fraction of a second and vice versa. It was like they’d time travelled and were back to acting like gawky teenagers who didn’t know how to behave towards the opposite gender.

You’d think this would be the right time for Harraël to go back home, after practically having lived at Moira’s place for one and a half months. Yet, the thought did not tempt him. He only ever went back to his penthouse for clean clothes. Because he knew that once he ‘moved out’, the distance between them would become too real. And eventually, tear them apart.

He wasn’t willing to lose her nor his son, now that he’d gotten used to the family life. Even though the situation they were currently in wasn’t ideal. They were adults, not a bunch of kids. It had gotten to a ridiculous point: enough was enough. And something had to be done about it.

They watched TV, trying to keep themselves distracted. However, nothing could stop Harry’s rapid heart rate or stop Moira’s hands from trembling. They kept shifting in their seats, sneakily glancing at one another.

Moira’s eyes wandered from her plate to the TV. She saw the flashing images, yet she didn’t see them. Her mind was elsewhere. She decided to just get it over with, and address the elephant in the room.

"We.. uhh need to talk.."

Harraël looked up, seemingly surprised she was talking to him to begin with. "I-err yeah we do." He said, scratching the back of his neck, muting the program they’d been watching.

Both of them stared at the muted TV, hating the stretching silence.

“Perhaps we can just turn the TV off.” Moira suggested gently.

“Oh! Uh, yes of course!”

Grabbing the remote, he quickly pressed the red button and turned his full attention to her. Wondering how he was going to get through this convo.

Taking a deep breath, she said: “We need to grow up and get over ourselves.”

Harry looked a little taken aback by her word-spitting. He sat there, hesitantly glancing at her fidgeting frame as she continued. “So what you were horny and jerked off to my pictures. It was wrong –to say the least. But you’re a big man, in more ways than one so it is to be expected you have a high libido. Let’s embrace that it happened and accept that we can’t do anything to change that.”

The corner of his eyes slightly crinkled as he grinned, deciding to ignore the ‘big man in more ways than one’ –part of her speech. “Couldn’t have said it any better myself.”

Moira –who saw right through him– stuck out her tongue in a childish way. “Shut up.”

His playful expression suddenly turned serious, “I’m sorry, Moira. For everything”

“It’s alright.”

“No it’s not,” he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have sniffed around not the other… thing.”

“Let’s just forget about it,” she waved her hand dismissively. “And this time, truly.”

Two dimples popped Harry’s cheeks, causing his smile to almost literally light up his face. “God, I’m so glad everything’s going to be normal again, you have no idea how much I hated myself.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s in the past.”

“And I’ve been dying to kiss you.” He confessed, shuffling closer to her.

“Then why the hell aren’t you.”

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist as he turned her to face him and gently kissed her lips. His lips were warm and soft against hers; they weren’t rough or rushed. They moved along with hers slowly, mixing and mashing in perfect sync. She couldn’t help but feel heat spread within her from the quixotic way Harry was kissing her, but she didn’t question it. This was too good to question. Yes, it was surreal. But more importantly, she’d missed his kisses.

Pulling away in an almost seductive fashion, he left her wanting more.

Harry smiled, feeling captivated by the look of utter tranquillity on her face. She wasn’t even trying and she had him at the palm of her hand. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open and saw him staring down at her. Impatiently, she groaned and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, re-attaching their lips and kissing him deeply.

She swiped her tongue over his bottom lip, earning grunts from him. Suckling sweetly on his tongue, he tasted of mint and something else she couldn’t pinpoint. Either way, it reminded her of his scent. Which was evocative with a hint of cinnamon; more masculine than anything a fancy cologne company could concoct.

An eager mewl bubbled out of her throat as he began to playfully bite her lip, bringing about waves of passion. In return, she ran a hand through his hair and pulled on his curls. Harry’s lips changed against hers. They were suddenly more urgent; moving faster, yearning for more. His hands slid lower down her waist, his fingers brushing against her backside. She enjoyed the feeling of his warm hands brushing her there, and she even leaned into him more, arching her spine for more access.

Out of the blue, someone politely cleared their throat, forcing them to jump apart.

“Mom!” Moira exclaimed as she blushed; looking like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Which technically, did seem to be the case. “What are you doing here!?”

As the two of them rose from their seats, the woman in question approached them.

Ignoring her daughter’s question, Emelia’s wrinkly, blue eyes fell on the unfamiliar man. Causing Moira’s embarrassment to almost be replaced with confusion as she watched her mother’s stare glue itself to Harry, eyeing him like an uncaged animal. The usually cheery woman now looked like she’d seen a ghost.

“You must be the donor.” She deadpanned. Immediately having noticed the extreme likeness between her grandson and this man. Oliver’s irises were literal replicas of his daddy’s and he surely hadn’t inherited the curly brown hair from her side of the family.

Harry’s blood ran ice cold, It felt like his whole world split in half, broke and tumbled into thousands of tiny pieces. He felt like he had been punched in the gut. Hesitantly, he snuck a peek at Moira from the corner of his eyes. Did she take her mother serious enough to believe her?

An almost amused expression made its way onto Emelia’s face as she compared her daughter’s confused eyes with her lover’s wide, frightened ones. And how the flushed color of his cheeks had changed to deadly pale in mere seconds.

‘She doesn’t know,’ the voice in Emelia’s head concluded.

“Oh no, he’s not.” Moira’s tiny body stood partly in front of Harry’s much larger one, shielding him away from her mother’s eyes in an almost protective stance. “You've met him already remember? In the delivery room? This is Harraël Stones, he’s my-“

“Boyfriend.”

Her mouth fell open in pure shock, feeling his arms encircle around her waist, pressing her flush against him. She felt his firm chest press into her back, and his soft curls brush against her cheek as he laid his chin on her shoulder, giving me a squeeze around her middle.

“Yes, boyfriend.” The word easily rolled off her tongue. And as if to prove his point, his lips kissed the back of her neck, his hand sweeping her hair over her right shoulder to give him more access. For an instance, her eyes closed, a shiver threatening to ripple through her spine from the shockingly enjoyable contact. Then she remembered the other person in the room.

"Ohh, I remember now, yes. You had a beanie on your head back then, I didn't recognize you."

Subtly trying to detach herself from Harry’s hold, Moira quickly changed the subject by asking if anyone would like anything to drink. Her mother had never met any of her previous boyfriends, hence why her skin crawled with discomfort. She wasn’t one for public display of affection, especially not in front of the person who’d given birth to her.

“I’ll be right back,” Moira announced, venturing off into the kitchen to prepare three cups of tea.

Once her daughter was out of sight, Emelia turned to Harraël with a certain glint in her eye that told him she'd recognized him all along. She was testing him, he realised. And dread filled him, anticipation silencing his lips.

“Can we have a word?” She said finally, her voice barely audible.