There were knickers everywhere. Harry had gone to use the loo while Hermione cooked dinner, when he’d been confronted with the unexpected colorful sight. While he knew that Hermione wore knickers, of course, he’d never given much thought to what sort she wore beneath her comfortable clothes. If he’d been asked, he’d have guessed simple cotton.
He now sat on the closed lid of the toilet staring at the skimpy scraps of silk, lace, and some see through material that couldn’t possibly cover her bits. There wasn’t anything functional or average about these knickers. In fact, they looked uncomfortable and awkward. How could anyone wear something with that little scrap of material barely covering their bum?
There was a variety of colors, from solid black to scarlet, dark blue to pale ivory. There wasn’t a pattern or design on any of them, all solid colors and looking as if they might have matching bras, which weren’t hanging from the shower curtain or by magic so they’d dry. He was glad about that, at least. It was distracting enough to be faced with all these sexy knickers. He couldn’t imagine how embarrassed he’d be if he saw bras with their cups that normally held her full breasts. If they were like this, didn’t the lace rub against her nipples?
“Oh, God,” he groaned and covered his face as his thoughts went in that direction far too easily. He was twenty-six years old and had seen knickers before. Hell, he’d taken them off beautiful women more than once over the last few years. Yet he couldn’t remember ever feeling this way just from seeing knickers.
He should not be this aroused by his best friend’s knickers. It was so very wrong and he just knew that she’d know what he’d been thinking about, which made him blush as he looked again at the sexy knickers. It wasn’t actually the skimpy bits of silk that affected him this way. No, that would have been somewhat understandable since he was a man and, well, men could get aroused by just about anything.
It was the thought of Hermione wearing nothing but the skimpy silk and lace that had him aroused and confused. She was his best friend, a girl he considered a sister, and these thoughts were decidedly not platonic or brotherly. True, it wasn’t the first time he’d thought of her in a similar way.
During the last year, especially, he’d been feeling things he really shouldn’t and thinking and wondering about things he had no business even considering. Fantasies were one thing; being confronted by the inevitable proof that she was a passionate and sexy woman was quite another.
Had anyone else seen these knickers? The thought made him curl his fingers into his palms. She’d not dated anyone seriously since she and Ron had broken up nearly six years ago, but he knew she had gone out with other guys a few times during the years. He was jealous, of course, which was an emotion he wasn’t used to.
“Harry, dinner is ready.”
He glanced at the closed door, down at his crotch, and then back at her knickers. It was so tempting to grab a pair and wrap them around his cock, to wank with them so he could feel the soft silk sliding up and down his growing erection, but he couldn’t. There was just something wrong about the idea of wanking in her loo with her right outside. That didn’t stop him from stealing a pair of scarlet silk knickers he hoped she’d not miss and stuffing them into the pocket of his jeans. Later, he’d lie in bed and indulge that particular fantasy.
His shirt was long enough that it covered up his reaction to the knickers, thankfully. He washed his hands and left the loo, walking into the kitchen to find her putting the finishing touches on their meal. They met for dinner a few nights a week these days, alternating between his flat and hers. Tonight, it was at her place, though it was the first time he'd ever seen her knickers drying after she'd done laundry.
“Smells good,” he told her truthfully. She smiled at him and he felt awkward suddenly. He’d stolen her knickers so he could wank with them later, and he was now fighting the desire to press her against the counter and kiss her so well that she’d want to be more than just best friends.
There had been a few times over the years when he’d have sworn she looked at him in a non-platonic way but she was so hard to read when it came to these things that he couldn’t be certain. He didn’t want to ask her out if his growing feelings weren’t reciprocated because then things would just be weird so he kept his mouth shut.
He pushed up his glasses nervously and sat down at her table, his gaze moving to her arse. Was she wearing blue lace or black silk? Maybe it was innocent white or sexy red? He shifted in his chair as he thought of both possibilities, complete with matching bras that barely covered her breasts.
This was ridiculous. He was flushed and even more hard as he thought about how lace might feel on the back of his hand if he slid his fingers into her knickers to caress her wet cunt. When she put down his plate, the scent of jasmine and oranges brushed against his nose and her breasts rubbed against his arm.
“You okay, Harry?” she asked with concern after he jerked slightly when she accidentally touched him. “You look feverish. Are you sick? I’ve got some Pepper Up potion if you need some.”
“I’m fine,” he assured her. Oh yeah, Potter. She’s going to really believe that when you’re talking like that. His voice was low and husky, obviously aroused, and the knickers were burning a hole in his pocket. He glanced up at her and gulped when he realized how close she was standing. She had a curious expression on her face, one she got when she was trying to figure out something, and their gazes met. Her eyes widened suddenly and she blushed, a pretty shade of pale pink that wasn’t as dark as the flush currently on his face.
“Oh,” she whispered as she blinked at him but didn’t move away. She licked her lips and looked as if she wanted to say something but remained silent.
“Fuck,” he cursed softly before he stood up and pulled her against him. He kissed her then, his nose bumping hers as he tried to get into a better position, and then it was just right. He didn’t relax until she began to kiss him back, shy and tentative before it deepened. Kissing her was bloody amazing, he decided as her lips parted beneath his. There was passion and desire, gentleness and desire, and he wondered why it had taken him so long to do this.
When they pulled back, she stared at him. “Harry?”
“Hermione, I---“ He was awful at this and just knew he’d say the wrong thing. “I want---we should---will you---do you want---“
Hermione covered his lips with her fingers and put a halt to his stammering. She smiled at him, caressing his cheek in a gentle way that made him lean in to her touch, and slowly nodded. “Yes, I want, Harry.”
“You do?” He cringed at how he sounded but she didn’t seem to mind. Instead of replying, she leaned up and kissed him again. He pressed her against the table, shoving his plate away as he lifted her onto the surface.
Her legs went around his waist and he tangled his fingers in her soft hair as he deepened the kiss. He didn’t want to rush anything since it was Hermione and this was definitely more than just lust, but he couldn’t help hoping that he’d have a chance to find out what knickers she was wearing before the end of the night.
The End