Like Mother Like Son Ch. 04byDarkSammael©
Gabriel shook his head in disbelief, the unanswered questions from earlier swimming back into his mind so swiftly it made his head hurt. There would be time for thinking later, he decided. He checked and made sure the door was locked, determining that it was unlikely his mother would come searching for him. His dad barging in would be more typical, and the idea of the man seeing him jerking off was not the least bit appealing, particularly with the sort of material he had in mind.
It was a quick orgasm, taking only a few minutes as he fed off of the buildup from earlier. Gabriel grimaced and cleaned himself up roughly with the edge of his blanket, not even caring. It was an unsatisfying finish to what had been a very promising start. He flopped onto his bed, planning to rest for a few minutes. His limbs were warm and weightless, and the air conditioning felt like bliss on his hot skin. He made the mistake of closing his eyes, feeling a heaviness on his lids that soon overtook him completely. He quickly fell into a deep, enjoyable sleep.
He woke with a start, realizing the lamp on his desk was on. It must have been night, because no light fought its way through the blinds. He groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes, too tired to move. He couldn't remember leaving the light on, but it was far too bright, and he was laying there contemplating whether or not it was worth getting up to switch it off. Laziness won out for a moment, and he remained still, but something felt off. It was with a sigh that he struggled to get up, groggy and irritable. He froze instantly, as he realized he was not alone. His heart pounded in his chest so hard and heavy that it ached. A trickle of irrational fear skittered down the back of his skull.
"When...When did you get in here? I locked the door."
She threw a small silver key onto his desk by way of explanation. One slender arm was propped over the back of the small leather chair at his desk, and fingers played idly at the seams. Her hair was wet, and hanging around her face in black tendrils, leaving watermarks on her satin pajamas. He had always hated how baggy they were, concealing far more than necessary, though because of her build there was no way they could be kept from clinging to her rounded ass, even if they pooled around her thin legs. The whole thing was extremely unexpected, and he fleetingly wondered if he could possibly be sound asleep in his bed still.
"We need to finish what we started," she began, fingers picking at the stitching on the chair. "No one has to know; they're all asleep." He couldn't see her eyes properly because of the light behind her, and a shadow obscured one side of her face, making her seem all the more distant and untouchable.
He pondered that statement for a moment, letting it sink in. He was still completely confused as to her feelings regarding the entire thing; one second she was scolding him and telling him it was wrong, and the next she was asking him about his sexual experience and demanding that he masturbate in front of her. He eyed her skeptically, trying to ignore the strange flutter that crept from his lower abdomen up into his chest.
"What are you getting out of this?"
"Don't make this any more complicated than it has to be. You can either do it, or I can go to bed and we can never talk of it again. It's your choice," she said flatly, not looking the least bit affected either way.
"Okay," he responded, pushing the blankets down. Fuck it, he thought, I'll just do it.
"Take it a little slower this time," she instructed. "And take everything off first."
He bit his lip, chewing at it for a moment before lifting his shirt off. He sighed, and threw it off the edge of the bed, then moved onto his socks and everything else. When he was completely nude, he leaned up against the wooden headboard, adjusting his body until he was comfortable. His left hand found his balls, and massaged them gently, extending them ever so slightly so that they were resting freely between his spread legs. His cock was never one to disappoint, and typical of a teenager, it had sprung to life at the sight of his visitor. He rubbed lightly at the veined length, stroking much more carefully than he had the first time around. Eventually his left hand even wandered up his chest to pinch at one of his pink nipples, giving it a lovely tug that seemed to interest his mother.
He was surprised when she got up from her chair, arriving at the edge of his bed almost silently. He didn't stop, but he felt that strange something flit about his chest again as a result of her nearness. His mind traitorously thought about how good would it feel to have her hands running down his chest, or better yet, wrapped around his erection, massaging it to painful attention. It was almost too much that she was even there, for the second time, he reminded himself.
"You like this?" he asked, unable to refrain himself.
"Such an arrogant little shit," she breathed in his ear. "I certainly didn't raise you that way." He could hear the smile in her voice, and the sensation of her hot breath touching the side of his neck made his eyes close momentarily as a small shudder ran down the length of his body. She was never so close, never.
"You wish it was me fucking you instead of him," he asserted, letting out an unintentional moan, as she bent over him to get a closer look.
"Do I? I'm getting the impression that you wouldn't last very long; you're far too eager now that you've gotten over your little bout of nerves."
"Why don't you just give me a try and find out?" he invited, turning his head so that their faces were inches apart. She raised one of her impeccable eyebrows and licked her lips.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
It was almost too much to handle, and he felt himself nearing his limit. His hand was moving fast enough that his wrist was starting to hurt, and his thighs were tensing already. How the hell did this happen? One of her fingers lightly touched his forehead, pulling at the strands of hair that were in his eyes. It was a delicate and loving gesture, something he never expected out of her. She was, without a doubt, the untouchable ice queen, but he felt like she was melting somewhat. He couldn't stop himself from rubbing his cheek against the cool skin of her hand like a cat would, an automatic response that he would have been ashamed of any other time. The resulting slap stung harshly, enough to pull him out of his stupor.
He looked up at her, wanting to say something hurtful, only to find himself falter under her stare. She was looking down at him murderously, like he'd breached some kind of silent agreement between them. His hand had stopped its ministrations and was sticky from his excitement.
"I didn't tell you to stop."
There was a long pause, where neither seemed keen on backing down. A horrible smile was tugging at her lips again. It dawned on him that she already knew she had won. He shook his head angrily, giving her one final look of pure loathing before he started again, unable to stop himself, his entire body tense from the fury he was holding back. Interestingly, his mood, as usual, had a strange effect on him, and he found that his cock was as hard and insistent as ever. He fucking hated her, and it was frightening how much. He channeled it into his movements, even running a jagged fingernail over the sensitive head, with enough pressure to make himself screw his eyes shut. He felt like punishing himself for being so stupid.
Gabriel wanted to stop. He wished he had the self control to stop. There should have been nothing good about what was happening. Her fingernails shouldn't have been yet another catalyst to his arousal, weakening him into a hedonistic mess. He shouldn't have liked the feeling of her hot breath shifting his hair ever so slightly so that it brushed against his cheek, or the heat of her body which seemed to be radiating towards him in waves. Long tendrils of damp hair were dangling down onto his right arm, and for a moment he could almost pretend he was inside of her.
"Come on," she encouraged, her lips touching at his neck, feather-light and sending tiny shockwaves of pleasure down his spine.
God, he hated himself. She had barely touched him and he turned into a quivering mass of nerve-endings and need. He felt pathetic and worthless, just like she always had made him feel, and somehow the choking misery of it all settling in his chest made every muscle tense. It truly was too much. Her skin against his was like a pleasurable fire, and he felt himself let go, entire body rigid as his fingers were coated with several warm spurts of his seed. He moaned more loudly than he would have liked, knocking his head against the headboard painfully, as his eyelids unintentionally fluttered shut from the sensory overload. For that brief moment, everything was alright, and her being with him seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He took shallow breaths, and watched her from under his dark lashes. All he could feel were the perfect crescent marks that she was making into his sensitive skin, and the unnatural coldness of her fingertips. He almost didn't notice the thick substance that was swiftly growing cold on his stomach and the sparse, curled hair of his groin. Gabriel's eyes flicked to her fingernails, which were stark against his skin.
He felt somewhat humiliated by his quick, bodily reaction to her touch, but he would never let her know it. Instead, he took a few measured breaths, and had no outward reaction when she moved her hand and stepped away, though the sudden hollowness he felt was as damaging as a winter frost.
"I think it's your turn," Gabriel said, looking all the part of confident, even as his cock began to soften and the semen that had managed to drip onto the tops of his thighs from off of his closed fist, began to dry.
"I think it has gone far enough," his mother answered. Her breathing was quicker, he noted, and her cheeks had a slight tint of red to them. He knew she must be feeling something, but it remained an enigma to him.
Her dark eyes seemed to be drawn to his spent member, though they shifted to his face for the briefest of moments. Her hand reached out, stopping and resting on his thigh. Gabriel was afraid to do or say anything once again, knowing she would spook and lash out or storm off. A forefinger ran through a tiny pool of wayward come, smearing it down into the teenager's inner thigh. She brought the finger close to her face, rubbing it between the digits as though it was foreign to her. He couldn't tear his eyes away, and watched with grotesque fascination as she slid a finger against her bottom lip. Her pink tongue darted out to taste it, before she quickly sucked her index finger from knuckle to tip until it was clean.
Then, as though nothing had happened, she walked away from him, nails scraping across the glossed surface of his desk as she took her key, then closed the door of his room behind her with a soft click. Gabriel could only lean against his headboard, somewhat shell-shocked, and fighting with himself to not give into his urge for misery. He didn't get her; he didn't think he ever would. He couldn't begin to fathom how she could seem so interested and so cold toward him at the same time. Nothing made sense. What the hell else was new? And she wasn't even drunk, his rational mind added, causing him pause. He ran his hands over his face, letting out a sigh as he stared up at the ceiling.
By the time he'd cleaned himself up, and gotten back into bed, he still couldn't sort out his feelings. He was disgusted with himself for his lack of self-control, yet he couldn't think of possibly denying himself of such an encounter as they'd just had. He turned over several times, trying to get comfortable, trying not to think about how she had been in his room only a few minutes before, and how much farther he could have gone with it...
Then there was a low thump that made him frown. When it repeated, almost too quiet to hear, he felt his fists clench beneath his sheets. It was coming from the wall he shared with his parents' bedroom. Within a minute, the sound had achieved a steady rhythm, one that left no guessing as to what was the source. He shook his head in denial, burying his face into his firm pillow, hands balled around its edges. Are you fucking kidding? He thought, cringing as he heard a man's soft groan of pleasure. He rolled over onto his back, staring up into the darkness. Something evil was coiling in his gut, so overwhelming that it was making him ill. He felt sick to his stomach, and the sense of betrayal he felt, stung bitterly. So she watched me so she could go fuck him? He concluded bitterly, wanting to scream at her through the wall. What a damn whore. He tried not to think of her straddling his father, riding him to oblivion, but no matter what he did, the image kept flashing in his mind's eye, stabbing away at all his rampant insecurities.
All he could think was that she'd used him, that it had been some evil trick. Now she was making him pay, making him listen to her get her needs met by somebody else, his dad, no less. How could she be so cruel? How could she walk away from her son, straight back to her husband without some kind of ripple in her conscience? Because she doesn't have one! He thought angrily.
Gabriel was furious as he got up from his bed, not caring if they could hear the creak of the springs from the next room. He grabbed his headphones and iPod out of his messenger on the floor, and took it to the bed with him, cranking up the music as high as his eardrums were willing to permit without pain. He tried to focus on the lyrics, tried to focus on anything else but what was going on in the next room. He even tried to remember what the last lesson at school had been about, as dull and unmemorable as it had been.
By the time the sound had stopped, he was no closer to sleep. He spent the entire night awake, with something awful wrenching his insides into a twisted mess. He could not seem to swallow his hatred for her, which had been awakened to full capacity. Even so, he managed to lay in bed until early in the morning. Finally, when he could no longer stand it, he forced himself to dress and go down stairs because he was too hungry to wait any longer.
It was only 7am, hardly his usual time for rising. No one appeared to be up but his father, who he could hear down the hall, rummaging through one of the coat closets for something. Gabriel was too picky for most of the fare in the fridge, and settled on eating one the breakfast bars his mother kept stashed behind the boxes of cereal. It was chocolaty and grainy, and he focused on chewing it into an unrecognizable mush. Fortunately he didn't have to go to school as it was a Saturday, so he was perfectly content to mill around the kitchen, knowing he wouldn't have to face his mother until noon or later.
"Morning," David said, grabbing creamer from the fridge. "I'm surprised you're up so early," he said cheerily, adding a generous splash of the cream to his coffee.
"How was your night?" Gabriel asked bitingly, his azure eyes looking up from the countertop.
His dad looked somewhat confused by the question (as his son had never been the sort to enquire about how he was), but recovered quickly. "We got Izzy's pony working. You wouldn't believe that thing. It walks and neighs and does all sorts of crazy things. I think she's in love," he added with a wholehearted grin, taking a long swig from his coffee cup. The mug was pink, something Izzy had picked out for her dad for Christmas. Gabriel sneered at it, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
"Oh, hey Claire," David said good-naturedly. "Want some coffee?"
Gabriel flinched at her name, unable to stop himself from looking over his shoulder. Sure enough, she was awake and looking positively unhappy about it, her hair messy and her pajamas wrinkled. He immediately felt the anger prickle at his conscience, though he was almost too exhausted to acknowledge it. His mother grunted noncommittally, brushing passed David to rummage through the cupboards for something to eat. Gabriel watched as his father fixed his mother some coffee. When David placed it in her hand, she said nothing, downing it in a few goes, then handing it back to him, only to return to her search as though he was not even standing there. Somehow it made Gabriel feel slightly better.
"So mom, how was your night?" Gabriel questioned her, unable to keep the undertones of silent fury out of his voice.
She turned to look at him, her glossy eyes regaining some of their life. There was a quirk to her lips that was on the verge of being a smile. "Oh, nothing special," she answered, black eyes unsettlingly fiery. He could feel her probing him with her look, and he felt himself rise to the bait purely out of habit. Suddenly his insides were boiling again, even through the haze of sleepiness. His father was, as usual, oblivious.
"I've got to go. I'll see you all tonight," David told them, grabbing his things off of the counter. He looked like he considered giving his wife a peck on the cheek, but thought better of it, halting midway through the motion and instead giving her a reassuring smile. His mother didn't even watch David leave, never once breaking their silent contact, a battle of wills.
"Izzy is going to a birthday party later. I expect you to behave when I'm gone."
"Because I don't usually?" he replied, not leaving out the very evident sarcasm.
"You know what I mean," she answered, giving him yet another meaningful look.
"Worried I'm going to wreck your stuff?" He was smirking, though beneath the surface he was accusing and spiteful. "It's not as though you wouldn't deserve it."
"And what have I done this time?" she questioned, not the least bit amused. "Let me guess, I ruined your life? Isn't that what all you teenagers claim?"
"You know what I mean," he responded, using her own words against her. "Although, I have to say, it's surprising how much you've fucked me up given how much time we don't spend together."
"I fucked you up? Who was the one who came running with his pants around his knees?"
He scoffed. "Who was the one who watched her own child get off, then went running to daddy? Who do you think I learn it all from?" He realized very quickly that he had crossed a line, because she was instantly a few inches from his face.
"Oh, hit a sore spot did I? How does that make you feel, not being good enough?" she hissed through her teeth in a way that made the skin on his neck prickle and a cold splash of fear run messily down his spine.
He couldn't respond, too hurt and dumbfounded by her words. She had literally spoken his worst, darkest fears aloud. He swallowed, trying to regain his thoughts, his response that should have been even more cruel, but in his tiredness, the words seemed to evade him. He blinked, feeling something cold clench down on his very being, crushing him. How could she?
"I don't know why I ever thought you could care about anything other than yourself," he declared softly, getting to his feet.
"You should know better by now than to expect anything from me."
"I think that's the only thing we can agree on," he commented, shoving the barstool loudly into its place. "I'll be out."
It was the middle of the afternoon when he got back. He threw the car keys into the bowl in the hall noisily, hoping that Izzy was long gone. He didn't think he could put up with her screeching, even with the hours of silence he'd enjoyed at the park and walking down one of the old streets riddled with antique stores. He felt surprisingly better than he had, and some of his grogginess had worn off in the cool breeze and with the help of three energy drinks, which on his more or less empty stomach, had made him shaky. His mother's car was parked in the garage, which meant that they were either back, or hadn't left yet. If they hadn't left, he was going to go to his room, otherwise he might catch something on TV. The TV in his room was another thing his mother had taken away, after that time he had called her a stupid bitch to her face. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting; it should have been obvious to him after all the times he'd fought with her that she would just take something else away. Somehow he couldn't resist pushing her buttons.