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Mama never asks him to come to bed with him. Mahito was eager to join him this time, nearly uncontrollably so.
To Mahito, he wouldn’t trade this time with Mama for anything in the world.
Last time Mama had asked him to come to bed fully undressed, something special happened—he had never experienced something like it before. That special thing, whatever it’s called, needed to happen again. He needed to be so close to his mother again: as close as he could ever have dreamed to be.
So warm, and so intimate—no clothing to divide them. Ever since that special thing, any other time he was petted, hugged, or kissed, was never enough. It was as though he was deprived of something he truly needed: being one with his mom again.
When they were one, Mahito hadn’t a single care in the world; for he had Mama, and he could never ask for anything more.
He scampered into the sheets just as soon as his clothes were off and immediately clung to his dear mother, giddy and jittery. Mama was also naked, and warm, too. Mahito was overjoyed. He was in his mother’s embrace—that’s all that mattered.
“I’m so excited, Mama,” he squeezed around his waist.
“For what?” Nothing had even happened yet.
Mahito giggled, “To be with you, Mama. It’s so special.” He settled more comfortably, curled up and ducked his head under the sheets. “It’s so warm.”
He murmured from under the blankets: “We’re doing that thing again, right?”
“‘That thing?’” Kenjaku replied almost whimsically, feigning blissful innocence and ignorance. Mahito would need to explain it himself because Mama didn’t know.
“What we did last time, when we were both naked, when you’re touching me and it felt…” He seemed to not know what he meant to say. “Warm and fuzzy… and we were close like this,” he huddled closer and muttered, more unassured this time, “Where you were touching was so new to me.” He seemed in awe but his tone was muddled with confusion and unknowing. His mother said nothing and idly stroked his back, a shallow smile spread on his face which Mahito failed to see.
With no intervention, Mahito dropped the subject cluelessly and moved to a new one.
“I love being so close to you,” he wriggled and their skin melded; nothing was left between them. “I love being with Mama,” he gave a hushed whine as his arms loosened and slipped away from his mother's torso. Kenjaku knew what to expect next: he was always predictable. That begging of his was a ritual at that point: he would always have that sullen little look on his face before he would reach for his breasts.
And that he did.
On cue, Kenjaku turned onto his back and Mahito leaned over. He hummed as he held Mama’s breasts tenderly, “I love this time with you, Mama.” His mouth latched on and he closed his eyes, content.
Kenjaku found his hand to the back of his head and petted his hair, but he only indulged him for so long. Mahito wasn’t done by the time he heard his mother’s voice. “Ok, that’s enough,” his hand was already on Mahito’s wrist prying him off and he loudly cried out in protest. His lips left his breast unwillingly and he tried to push back towards his mother even still. “Why, Mama?” he wept and clung on with a vice-like grip.
“Mama… but I want you.”
“You want Mama?” His tone was tantalizing: a treat which dangled in front of Mahito’s eyes, sarcastic in a sense which he couldn’t pick up on; he never could.
“Yes!” Mahito’s excitement and desperation couldn’t be hidden and he looked at his mom pitifully. He told Mama what he wanted to hear—the answer was already obvious, but he must hear the words come from his mouth. “Please?”
“Didn’t you want to do that ‘thing?’” The question was so direct he could see how Mahito’s eyes wided even in such dim light. There was happiness and anticipation in those eyes and Kenjaku sneered when he saw it. Mahito thought nothing of the look on Mama’s face; he never did. Mama always gave the best presents when he made that face, and so he nodded.
Without another word, a hand slipped between Mahito’s legs. He didn’t know why his mother touched that place when they were last together like this, all he knew is it felt good when Mama touched it.
Fingers invaded the such intimate crevasse and stroked along its length. “Ah—Mama!” he seized. “What is that place?” a wandering finger made him shiver and his body futilely pulled back. “What are you touching, Mama?” He had to know, but Mama hadn’t answered him last time either; and just like last time, Kenjaku paid no regard to the question.
“Doesn’t it feel nice?” he asked instead.
Mahito tried to cease squirming, he knew it only upset Mama. He never wanted to upset Mama, not ever.
“Uh-huh,” he managed to utter—it was the truth—but his composure only lasted so long. His voice shook, “Mama… Why does it feel like this?” his hands clenched around something, he wasn’t sure if it was his mother, the sheets, or nothing at all. Two fingers dug in and he yelled out in shock. Kenjaku wasn’t going to be generous only using one—he needed Mahito to actually cry this time. At best, this was only a warning for him.
Mahito screamed, his voice strained, “Ow, Ow!”
Absolutely clueless, Kenjaku thought.
“Hey… that hurts, Mama.”
Perfect.
Mahito shifted, trying to pull further away, but not enough that he knew Mama would be upset. The fingers pressed in all the way, and he squirmed, his voice was worn again: “Mama!” he whined, “Why are your fingers there?”
“I did this last time, remember?” he answered.
Mahito groaned and swayed his body, attempting to show even a semblance of compliance. “I guess…”
The fingers were removed and Mahito sighed with relief. “It’s achy…” he pouted. Kenjaku gently shushed him and he obediently went silent with slightly less of a frown left on his face. He was happy, or so he convinced himself. He loved being with Mama, no matter what.
“Turn around,” Mama’s voice was sweet, irresistible in the sense that Mahito couldn’t rebel against such gentle, loving guidance. Before he could adjust, Kenjaku had already pulled off the blankets and grabbed his limbs, turning him around himself. Pushed onto his front, Mahito didn’t know what his mother wanted with him until he moved behind him and felt his hands at his hips. He peered over his shoulder and the fear written on his face was titillating; his mouth hung open as though he was about to cry already. Kenjaku stroked a thumb over his hipbone in false comfort, trying to hide how pleased he truly was at that moment.
His hips were forced upward and he gasped and jolted in response. “No, no! Wait!” Mahito thrashed and strained against his grasp in an attempt to turn around.
“What now?” he replied, his grip undeterred.
“No, not like this! I want to see you!” he blubbered and scrambled more, his hold on him relented and allowed for him to roll to his back. “I want to see you, I want to look at Mama…”
Unaffected, he replied, “That’s it?”
Mahito wanted to frown, but nodded and held onto Mama’s forearms.
“You didn’t need to freak out,” his tone was reserved and even, but tinged with spite. It wasn’t reassurance, Mahito knew that much. “I’m sorry…” he replied instinctively.
Mahito was underprepared this time—just as he should be. Maybe this position wasn’t so terrible, he’d be able to see the drool roll down his chin and the tears well in his eyes looking down at him this way.
Yeah, this works.
He pushed in just barely and without warning, which immediately rewarded him with a shriek: “Ow, ow, ow! That hurts! It hurts!”
Kenjaku sighed, as if he wasn’t at fault, as if this wasn’t the exact reaction he hoped for. “Sometimes it hurts, Mahito.”
“I don’t like it!”
He shushed him again and put a soft but insincere hand to his cheek.
“Do you know why people do what we’re doing right now?”
“No,” he answered so quietly.
Kenjaku paused so that he would listen carefully, intently: an answer just out of reach which Mahito begged to receive.
“It’s love,” he said.
A pained smile spread across Mahito’s face, he placed his hand over his and gently traced along the tendons. “Really?” a plea of reassurance.
“Really,” he answered.
His eyes were watery. “Mama…” he said with longing.
“Don’t cry,” he moved to wipe the wetness from the corner of his eye.
“I’m just so happy… Mama loves me so much…”
Kenjaku gingerly pecked his forehead before he pushed once more and Mahito yelped and sniffled, “Why does it hurt, Mama?”
He neglected to answer and instead placed his mouth over his to force him silent and started to move forward and back. Mahito still cried out against his lips, reluctantly prying himself from Kenjaku’s affection which he desired so terribly. “It hurts!”
This time Kenjaku didn’t reply with any reassertion of ‘real’ love, he only continued to move and suffocate him. Mahito’s breaths were shaky as he accepted it. Such things were to be treasured: Mama never gave such kisses.
He moaned, “Make it not hurt so much, Mama—“
Kenjaku huffed. Mahito wasn’t quite crying yet… not nearly enough, anyway.
“Be patient,” he murmured. “It didn’t hurt so much last time, did it?” A diversion, a distraction.
Mahito fell for it unknowingly, and sobbed in reply, “Last time felt good, it felt dizzy,” he recalled as if it were a dream. Kenjaku groaned, “Tell me more,” he wasn’t focused on anything besides the visual of how their bodies connected. He looked down and watched it all.
Somehow Mahito managed to say: “It felt like I was going to pass out,” Kenjaku would have been surprised he spoke so clearly had he cared enough to listen. He grunted and hit harder; Mahito whimpered. He only wanted to please his Mama—he hadn’t praised him yet, calling him a good boy as permission to stop. And so he continued, “I never felt so close to Mama—I loved it so much…”
Kenjaku couldn’t have cared less.
Nothing stopped, he made no effort to be more gentle from Mahito’s obedience. Mahito failed to suppress his wailing, despite his attempted diligence. Surely Mama wasn’t doing this all on purpose—surely he didn’t mean for it to hurt.
“Mama, it’s hurting, it hurts—you’re hurting me…” The way Kenjaku told him to hush was the gentlest Mahito had heard, and the kiss had planted had never been so careful before—but the violation didn’t stop. He closed his eyes and wept, both trying to shut out the sensation but equally trying to drink and savor every last drop, as it was being put upon him by the mother he loved so much. Mama has always had Mahito’s best interest in mind. Mama always knows what’s best for Mahito. Mama loved Mahito best of all.
He sobbed, “Please, Mama…”
“Love can hurt,” his voice was calm and his words void of meaning.
Love? Mahito thought. Love? He tried to better bear it all from his mother’s assertion. But he needed more. More of any sort of words, any sort of kisses, any sort of thing to distract from the tearing and searing between his legs. But it never came, Mama had done none of that, Mama kept going.
Maybe Mama needed a reminder. “Mama, I love you, Mama…”
The exclamation nearly made him stop, not out of pity or mercy, but because it was intrusive. He thought his wailing and pleading would make it more exciting, or at least entertaining; but it was just grating. How much doting did he possibly need? His mind wandered elsewhere, away almost completely, while Mahito’s body rolled with each push and pull.
“I love you, Mama. Do you love me?”
After a moment’s hesitation: “Yes.”
He would never say the words directly: an ‘I love you,’ had never once met Mahito’s ears, and it will be kept that way.
The response earned a joyous moan from the thing below him. The thing called for his mother once more and moved subtly and compliantly in rhythm, as if subconsciously. He clung on and there was still pain, but he accepted it with devotion: for he knew his mama loved him too.
Kenjaku groaned, finally reaching the end; Mahito made a weak noise at the sudden loss of pace. And just like that, he pulled away, leaving Mahito with a lost and lonely expression, unable to understand everything all at once. He didn’t know why it had all stopped so abruptly and why Mama wasn’t on top of him anymore. He was uninvaded now, the only contact they now had was where his legs were splayed apart around his waist and how his rear was pressed against his lap. “What happened? Why’d it stop?” He could only assume he’d done something wrong.
“It’s over. That’s how it ends,” he replied. Mahito was puzzled even further by his vague answer. “‘How it ends?’… Did I do bad?”
Kenjaku smiled slightly and Mahito faintly saw it. “No,” it was only partially true. ‘Good enough,’ would have been more apt.
It was as good of an answer as Mahito was going to get, and he had to come to accept it.
The moment quickly turned sour as once Mahito sat up his breathing hitched as if he were to cry again. “I’m sore…”
Kenjaku looked at his broken spirit and quivering lip. He basked in sight while he could—though it crossed his mind that maybe he pushed his own luck a bit far. Mahito may just start to pull away from him: reject his kindness and start to resist his restraints like some kind of impudent child.
Whoops.
Mahito sniffled, seemingly wanting to open his mouth to speak, but simply couldn’t. He suffocated on his unspoken pleas.
Kenjaku moved to embrace him and Mahito held on to him by second nature, he was already trying to silence himself to keep Mama from hearing his sniveling. Mama did something that he’d never done before, though. Mahito froze at first upon feeling teeth against his ear. He gasped and pulled away, which didn’t deter Kenjaku from biting him again.
He yelped and twitched, “Mama!” His voice sounded joyful at least, but equally surprised. He seemed calm for the moment, his body relaxed and leaned towards this new sensation Mama brought to him. But soon he groaned quietly, “I feel gross…”
Even despite the aching, something felt different with his body. He stuck a hand between his legs and wandered about. Kenjaku watched him tense up and how his face contorted in shock. “What is that?” Mahito asked and held up his fingers in display to his mother, now covered in fluid.
This hadn’t happened last time.
“Is this ‘how it ends?’ Is this what you mean?”
Kenjaku saw how the gears in his head turned as he watched his own hand curiously. “What is it, Mama?”
“Semen.”
His face scrunched at the word. What an unpleasant word. “And it's yours, Mama? It’s from you?”
“Yes,” he said so plainly, stating the obvious. Mahito looked back at his digits closely.
“Ah…” he sighed pleasantly. “I’m so glad… Mama gave it to me, I’m so happy. It’s Mama’s…”
Kenjaku grimaced and his lip trembled in desperation to stifle a laugh. He didn't couldn’t decide whether to chortle or to scoff—but he resisted either outcome, reluctantly.
“…Wash your hands, Mahito. Your body, too, while you’re at it.”
He frowned. “Now?”
“Unless you want to feel even ‘grosser’ than you do now,” the tone was gentle: Mahito couldn’t not follow his mother’s instruction with such a tone. “Okay…” he said. Despite his words, he still sat in place sullenly and Kenjaku started to get up.
Wait, where was Mama going? His time with Mama can’t end so soon.
“But Mama,” Kenjaku felt the liquid from his hand smear against his skin as he was grabbed longingly. “I wanna be with you.”
“I already told you to wash up.”
“No, I want Mama first,” his voice was soft but pouty as he crawled back into the sheets. “In here, Mama,” he pulled the blankets over his head. Kenjaku knew at this rate Mahito wasn’t going to get up and wash the very second he slipped back into bed, which only meant dealing with whining and crying because of the discomfort of filth and scum in his body later.
“Mama?” he heard his name called wistfully as Mahito peeked out of the sheets. And sure enough, he followed in suit and joined him. Mahito clung to him inseparably and nuzzled his head against his neck like he always did. He hummed, for he was finally at peace despite the aching in his body: the pain in the place where he was sure he was torn and bleeding.
When Kenjaku hadn’t immediately reciprocated his love: “Mama, hug me?” He did so, and Mahito cooed, “I love Mama so much.”
“You don’t need to say it every 5 minutes,” his lips were against Mahito’s hair involuntarily. Mahito only squeezed him tighter: a reminder of his love in its own right. “I have to say it every time I think it.”
Aww.
Mahito lifted his head to look at him directly. “I’d do it again, Mama. I want Mama to be happy.” He hesitated before he continued. “Maybe… Maybe I’ll be better next time, so it won’t hurt.”
Maybe.
Kenjaku hummed in agreement, the corners of his mouth tugged into a small grin—it was reassuring enough in Mahito’s eyes. “But it made you happy, right Mama?”
“Of course,” he stroked the back of his head. Mahito giggled and jostled in place before he moved to hover over his mother and kissed his lips. It was full of such longing, thirst for any love in return—his unbridled love palpable.
He pulled away, “When Mama’s happy, I’m happy too… even when it hurts,” his voice was saddened by the last of his words, but he still smiled, even if it didn’t reach his eyes.
Another kiss.
“I’ll make Mama happy, I’ll do anything for Mama,” and Kenjaku will take him at his word.
This time, Mahito looked at him wearily as he broke away. Kenjaku knew that look. “Mama, I want more.”
“More what, hm?”
“Kisses. I can have some since I did good, right?” He was already leaning closer as he pleaded, and Kenjaku let him. He let it go on as long as Mahito wanted. One last kiss, and he was finally satiated and content as his hands slipped to his mother’s breasts. As he always did, he fondled them momentarily before he suckled. And this time, Kenjaku didn’t stop it. His hand rested on the back of his dumb little head, and soothed his hair with his thumb.