Like Mother Like Son Ch. 03

He gave himself an experimental tug, which caused her to smile further. God, this was so fucking wrong. He knew they shouldn't, but just having her watching was causing a stronger reaction in him than the act of sex ever had. He felt something warm blossoming in his chest, which took him aback. He was thrilled that she was even paying attention to him; it was an added bonus that she was paying attention to him in such a dirty way.

"I noticed you seemed to like the parts with the queen, not just the princess," she said conversationally, her gaze flicking between the shy motions of his hand and his light eyes that were the polar opposite of her own.

It took him a moment to register what she meant, as most of the blood seemed to be diverting from his brain to more important things. "Yeah, I thought she was interesting. No one could touch her, but touch was what she wanted the most." He could distinctly recall the section where the wicked queen had her servants bowing at her feet, all furiously masturbating to her as she spread her thighs wide beneath her ruffled gown, all while sitting in the king's elegant, jeweled throne.

His mother had obviously been looking though his trashed copy of her book, which excited him further. He couldn't count how many times he had accidentally spilled some of his come onto the hungry pages and been forced to clean it halfheartedly with a damp cloth. It should have been disgusting, but he thought of it as a testament to his loyalty to her, even after how terribly she treated him, even after all the times he tried to harm her when he was a kid, out of nothing but spite because she had never so much as expressed the slightest interest in his feelings.

He was trying to get over his sudden bout of discomfort. It was different to have her watching, expecting. He was secretly analyzing everything about himself, even down to the clothes he was wearing, wondering if she found it all that appealing. How had the tables turned so quickly? How had it gone from fantasy to reality without him noticing? Had she had feelings for him too, or was she simply humiliating him or even humoring him? The disgust had been apparent the first time, and he couldn't help but think it might be lurking beneath the surface. If there was one thing he couldn't take, it was her criticism and pity.

"You're not being very enthusiastic," she noted. "You're not nervous, are you? It'd be a shame if you weren't as eager as you led me to believe earlier. What happened to all that supposed experience?"

Gabriel glared at her, hating her for her jibes, and forcing the thick head through his clenched fingers a few times, being a little rougher than was comfortable. His fingers were sticky from his excitement, and he knew if he could just focus and keep from over-analyzing, he could have another perfect climax. He had waited years for this moment, and he wasn't about to let his stupid insecurities get the best of him. He knew in reality that he could fuck her so much better than David ever could, and that strengthened his resolve. It was suddenly all too easy to fall into the familiar rhythm, his hand moving of its own accord, and his eyes never leaving hers. He wouldn't shut his eyes, couldn't. She was the epitome of everything he'd ever wanted.

His mother had slowly made her way around the counter, and was only a few feet from him, smelling sweetly of dried sweat and booze. It was intoxicating, making him take even deeper breaths. It was as though he been dropped into a lust-induced fog. She was watching his every movement like his father watched the television when he sat on the couch with the game on, as though nothing in the world could interrupt the keen focus.

"You need to take your shirt off."

He instantly yanked his white t-shirt up and over his head without question, feeling the cool air tickling at his skin. Her eyes seemed to devour him, which only succeeded in fueling the arrogance that had been beaten back by his discomfort. It was all falling away, as he couldn't seem to think about anything other than her usually cold eyes so interested in him and the somewhat grotesque act he was performing. It was sick, he knew that, but somehow the cold feeling that generally accompanied that realization was nothing more than yet another catalyst in what was turning out to be one of the most surreal moments of his life. He let his other hand wander the short hair of his groin and back up to his lower stomach, in a lazy caressing motion. He was trying to see her doing it in his mind's eye, and she seemed to understand, as she unconsciously licked her lips.

"I think you're liking this a little too much," she said, coming slightly nearer to him.

The intent behind the movement made his hand work faster. Come here, he wanted to say to her. Help me out, he pleaded silently. But he feared more than anything that saying the wrong thing would break the spell, and she would suddenly come to her senses and be horrified and sickened by him. Or even more in character, she would slap him and storm off.

"I could say the same for you," he returned, letting his head fall back slightly as he let himself slip even further into his excited haze.

He ran a nervous hand from the bottom of his jaw all the way down the curve of his throat, then further still. She was so still it was as though she wasn't even breathing, but her hands were clenching and unclenching, giving her away. She's turned on, he thought, letting out a disbelieving, breathy laugh as he smiled at her.

Gabriel knew he was going to get off soon. He was having trouble controlling himself and he had to slow down somewhat to stretch out the experience. His breathing was ridiculously labored, and he couldn't help his low moans as he observed her, looking all the part of the wicked, cruel mother he had inadvertently become obsessed with.

There was a loud bang, the sound of the heavy front door to the house closing. A second later, ice was trickling down Gabriel's spine. David. When they heard his father calling out down the hall, Gabriel's chest filled with an overwhelming panic. What the hell were they doing back so soon? Hadn't his dad said they were going to stop at the market too? It seemed like his brain had stopped completely, as he froze, trying to force his rational mind to take control. He's home! His mind screamed at him. Finally, things seemed to slide into place at the last moment.

"Fuck," he whispered breathily, eyes wide as he snatched his shirt up off the hardwood floor, and rushed to fasten his pants. His mother had come to stand in front of him, and unceremoniously ripped one of the pages from his notebook and scribbled something on it. Gabriel plopped himself down on the barstool, just as his father walked in, carrying a large pink and purple box. The head of a horse was clearly visible, and the package was so massive that his dad was struggling to hold it up by himself. David put it to the floor as gently as he could, shaking his head in silent amusement. Izzy came bouncing in behind him, squealing in excitement.

"I got a pony! I got a pony!" she exclaimed, putting Gabriel even more on edge. Her high-pitched voice was grating on his nerves. She was so fucking irritating.

"I could have used a little help, guys," David informed them, a smile on his face. He seemed to be oblivious to the fact that Gabriel was half concealed by his mother, crushing a devil of a hard-on in the waistband of his jeans in an attempt to tame it. It was already starting to wither from the teen's palpable irritation.

"Working on history," Gabriel answered unapologetically, staring hatefully at his father. Again, the man was seemingly unaware.

"Is...is something burning? Were you cooking, Claire?" David questioned, furrowing his brow and pointedly sniffing. "You smell it?"

His mother cursed, then hastily moved around the counter and over to the stove, where the salmon had started to blacken. Gabriel heard her mutter something that sounded like 'goddamnit', to which his father noticeably seemed troubled by. The man was such a religious prude; it made Gabriel's insides boil. He decided in that moment that he loathed everything about David, particularly his horrible sense of timing.

Izzy had noticed her mother's presence, and jumped up and down ridiculously. "Mommy, mommy! I got a pony! Did you see? His name's Wilfred!"

Their mother seemed to either ignore or not hear the little girl, as she looked down at the ruined food. With the small dinner more or less ruined, his mother tossed the entire skillet into the garbage can, sending the plastic container slamming into the wall with a satisfying thwack. She looked furious, her fingers reflexively curling into fists at her sides. Her teeth were bared, like she intended to snarl at someone. David came up behind his wife, ever the mediator, though he was noticeably cowed by her sudden outburst. He seemed hesitant to come too close, and he was right to fear, as she visibly flinched as he laid a hand that was supposed to be comforting on her shoulder. Jealousy began to roil in Gabriel, but dissipated just as quickly from her reaction. She doesn't like you either! He thought gleefully.

"Just fuck it. You can cook your own dinner," she said in anger, pushing passed her husband. She walked quickly, going in the direction of the basement, Gabriel deduced.

David was left staring at the floor, running a hand over his face. Izzy had wandered into the kitchen, her joy momentarily ruined by her mother's display.

"What's wrong with mommy?" she asked, pulling on her father's pant leg.

"Mommy's just having a rough day, Izz," their dad answered, ruffling the child's blonde hair. "Let's see to that pony, huh?"

"Yeah!" she said happily, conflict instantly forgotten.

"I'll help you with your homework as soon as we get this---" he paused, trying to remember the name. "Wilfred?" he questioned his daughter, to which she nodded vigorously, unable to contain her excitement. "---up and running, okay Gabe?"

"Don't bother," Gabriel responded, shutting his book closed a little harder than was necessary.

He pushed most of his work into a messenger bag he had slung across one of the nearby chairs, not caring that he was crinkling the papers. He flung the heavy burden over his shoulder ignoring the look of hurt that had crossed his father's features. God, David was such a weak, pathetic excuse for a human being. The man couldn't understand anything even if it was fucking spelled out. Gabriel still couldn't understand how his mother, who had always been disturbingly intelligent, had settled on someone so boring and mediocre in every way. His father embodied all the things his mother pointedly despised.

Back in his room, he angrily threw his things onto his bed, all the more annoyed when the bag hit too hard and rolled to the floor, scattering his books and a couple of the papers that had managed to come loose from their confinement. He snatched up a few of the wrinkled pages, the similarity of his reaction to his mother's not entirely lost on him. He had always thrown things. Just like her. He looked down at the paper, realizing the handwriting wasn't his. It was the small, messy script of his mother. He squinted, taking in what she had written, which was clearly intended for him.

It read: "Don't look so disappointed."