A/N: Well, lets go in for a ride. This is gonna go a bit psychological and in taboo theme, so it might be uncomfortable for some, but then again, you guys have rode through the whole starter part of story with Vasha so more or less you guys might like this.
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The scent of lavender and sleep-filled warmth surrounded me before consciousness fully arrived. Something soft pressed against my face with each slow, rhythmic motion, rising and collapsing like an ocean tide made of silk and skin.
I blinked against the morning light filtering through thin curtains and realized my nose was buried in the valley between someone's shoulder blades. An arm draped over my chest, heavy and possessive, pinning me to the mattress with the casual authority of long-established habit.
I knew that weight. I knew that particular arrangement of limbs tangled with mine, the way legs intertwined and an ankle hooked over my calf.
Mom had snuck in again.
I exhaled through my nose, my breath ruffling the thin strap of her nightgown where it had slipped down her shoulder. The fabric was some kind of silky material that did absolutely nothing to hide how warm she was, how she seemed to radiate comfort from every inch of contact.
Her back pressed against my chest with the complete trust of someone who had done this same maneuver approximately three thousand times before, and I could feel the slow expansion of her ribs as she breathed, deep and content in whatever dream she was having.
My right arm had gone numb somewhere around three in the morning, I guessed, based on the pins-and-needles sensation tingling from shoulder to wrist.
Her fingers were still wrapped around my hand, clutching it against her sternum like I might float away if she didn't hold on tight enough. I tried to wiggle my fingers. She responded by pulling my arm closer, making a small displeased noise in her throat, and pressing her backside more firmly against my hips.
I checked the alarm clock on the nightstand through half-lidded eyes. Digital red numbers glowed 6:47 AM. School started in an hour and twelve minutes.
Mr. Pau would definitely notice if I was late again, and his idea of discipline involved that thick wooden ruler he kept in his top drawer. The thought was enough to get me motivated.
"Hey," I mumbled into her hair, trying to extract my arm from her grip. "Mom. Wake up."
She made that sound again, higher this time, more insistent. Her hand clamped down on mine with surprising strength, and she twisted slightly so her face turned toward me on the pillow.
Her eyes were still closed, her mouth curved in a sleepy smile that made her look younger than she was. Her morning breath wafted across my face when she spoke, warm and faintly sour.
"Five more minutes," she whispered, drawing out the syllables like honey dripping from a spoon. She shifted again, rolling partially toward me so her forehead pressed against my jawline, then my cheek, then she was nuzzling into my neck with the single-minded determination of a cat seeking the warmest spot on a windowsill. Her nose pressed right against my pulse point, inhaling deep and loud like she was trying to bottle the scent, and then her lips were there too, pressing wet kisses along the tendon that ran up to my ear.
"Mom," I squirmed, trying to tilt my head away from the assault. "Come on, it's ticklish there."
She made a humming noise, not pulling back, her breath hot and damp against my skin. "You smell good," she mumbled, another kiss landing way too close to my jaw for comfort. "Like my baby."
"I smell like sleep because I was sleeping," I pointed out, grimacing and managing to finally leverage myself up on my elbows. She came with me, refusing to break contact, so we ended up in a sitting position on the bed with her practically in my lap, her legs straddling my waist and her arms looped around my neck.
The nightgown had bunched up completely around her hips now, and I kept my eyes focused on her face out of practiced self-preservation. "And you're going to make me miss the class."
She pulled back enough to look at me properly, her hands sliding down to rest on my shoulders, thumbs tracing circles against my collarbone through the thin fabric of her sleeves. Her hair was a mess, wild curls going in every direction, and there was a pillow crease on her left cheek that looked like a faint scar. She was smiling, though, that particular smile that seemed to take up her whole face, eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Fine," she said, drawing out the word like she was granting me a tremendous favor. She leaned in and pressed a loud, smacking kiss to my forehead, holding it there for several seconds before pulling back. Her hands lingered on my shoulders, squeezing, then slid down my arms in a long, slow caress that raised the hairs on my skin. "Spoilsport."
She finally untangled herself, moving with the fluid grace of someone who did yoga every morning while I was still unconscious. The bed dipped as she shifted her weight, swinging her legs over the side and standing up in one smooth motion. I gave her a light smack on the ass to get her moving, the contact sharp and sudden against the silk. She yelped, more surprised than hurt, and tossed a look over her shoulder that was all mock outrage and giggles.
"Rude!" she laughed, rubbing the spot but not moving away faster. If anything, she swayed her hips more as she stepped toward the center of the room, playing it up.
The nightgown fell back into place around her thighs, white fabric glowing translucent against the morning light streaming through the window. I stared at her back, wondering how the hell she could feel so soft when I grabbed her but look so taut and firm from behind. She never exercised, never went to the gym, never did any of the cardio shit other moms obsessed over. Just genetics, I guess. Good genes.
Wait, I thought, flexing my own bicep and feeling the hard curve of muscle there. Can't really bitch about the genetic lottery when I'm cashing in on the same perks. Me and whatever sperm donor contributed to this apparently hit the jackpot.
She stretched, reaching her arms toward the ceiling, and I heard her spine crack in three distinct places.
"Mmm," she made that noise again, arching backward, hands clasped behind her head. The movement pulled the fabric tight across her chest, outlining shapes that I absolutely did not think about because this was my mom and some things just didn't register as relevant information. "Shower's going to feel amazing."
She dropped her arms and turned to look at me over her shoulder, still smiling. Her hair fell down her back in a dark cascade, swaying slightly as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. The sunlight caught her profile, making her skin look golden and flawless.
"Don't fall back asleep," she warned, pointing a finger at me. "I'll check if you're still in bed after I finish."
"Yeah, yeah," I said, flopping backward onto the pillows she had vacated. They were still warm from her head, still smelled like her shampoo. I pulled one over my face, then pushed it down to my chest, staring up at the ceiling fan as it rotated in lazy circles.
I heard her walk toward the door, the soft slap of bare feet on hardwood, the whisper of fabric against skin. She paused in the doorway, and I turned my head to watch her go.
The morning light was spilling properly through the window now, turning everything gold and soft at the edges. I could hear birds outside, and somewhere in the distance the sound of a speeder bike engine gunned to life as one of the neighbors left for work.
Mom looked back at me, silhouetted against the hallway, and blew a kiss with her fingertips. "Love you, baby."
"Love you too," I answered automatically, the words as routine as breathing.
Then she was gone, hips swaying in that particular way they did when she walked, fabric shifting and settling with each step. I heard the bathroom door click shut down the hall, followed seconds later by the sound of running water.
I lay there for a moment longer, listening to the house wake up around me. The springs in my mattress creaked as I shifted, pulling the thin blanket up over my chest even though I wasn't cold.
Everything was exactly as it should be.
I stared up at the ceiling fan, watching the blades spin in lazy circles, thinking about how fucking perfect she was. Like, actually perfect. When I was a kid, I used to think she was cooler than the superheroes on TV. She could open any jar, fix any broken toy with a hair tie and some glue, and she'd never once raised her voice at me even when I deserved it. She was softer than any pillow, made pancakes that were somehow crispy and fluffy at the same time, and could kill a spider with her bare hands without screaming like a banshee.
We'd always been close. Since I was little, she'd been the one I ran to when I had nightmares, the one who checked under the bed for monsters. She loved when I complimented her—noticed her hair or her outfit—but there was this weird vulnerability there too. Like last year when I mentioned offhand that Mrs. Henderson from next door looked good for her age, Mom had gone quiet for like two hours and then asked me like three times if I thought she was still pretty. She'd been sensitive about that stuff ever since... well, ever since I could remember. Maybe something from before I was born, some ex who'd been an asshole about her looks or something.
But yeah. Perfect mom. Perfect body. Perfect cooking. And she was all mine.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling my muscles unclench one by one.
Outside, the sun climbed higher over the suburban rooftops, casting long shadows across the lawn. Another Tuesday morning in Anchorhead Heights.
I closed my eyes for just a second, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face through the window, listening to the shower running down the hall.
This was going to be another perfect day. Just like the every day of the past 18 years.
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[A Few Moments Later]
The kitchen smelled like fried protein and sweet syrup. That combination usually meant Mom had been up since dawn cooking enough food for a family of twelve.
I was already halfway through a stack of purple pancakes when I realized she was staring at me again. Her chin rested in her palm, elbow propped on the table. Her plate sat empty in front of her, just a coffee cup steaming gently next to her hand, but her eyes were fixed on my mouth with this focused intensity. Like she was watching the most interesting holovid in the galaxy.
"You're not eating," I said, gesturing at her empty plate with my fork. A piece of sausage fell off and bounced against my napkin.
"I'm enjoying watching my handsome boy," she said, smiling wider. She leaned forward and pushed a glass dish toward me. Something steaming and covered in cheese. "Try the nerf casserole. I used extra spices."
"I'm full," I mumbled around the pancake in my mouth. "Seriously, I'm gonna explode."
She made a small clicking noise with her tongue. Then she picked up her own fork, loading it with a hefty chunk of the casserole. "Just one bite. For me?"
She held it out across the table, her wrist twisting so the fork hovered right in front of my lips. "Open up."
"Mom, I'm eighteen. I can feed myself."
Her lower lip pushed out, trembling slightly. Her eyes got that wounded look she had perfected over two decades of motherhood. She set the fork down on her plate with a delicate clink and folded her hands in her lap, looking down at the tablecloth.
"Of course. You're right. My baby doesn't need me anymore. You're all grown up now."
I sighed, feeling the familiar mix of guilt and exasperation pooling in my gut. "That's not what I said."
"You used to love when I fed you," she continued, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. She picked at a loose thread on the tablecloth. "Remember when you were little? You'd say 'more mommy, more' and I'd fly the spoon around like a starfighter..."
"Fine," I cut her off, leaning forward and opening my mouth. "Give it here."
The smile snapped back onto her face instantly, bright and victorious. She scooped up the food again and held it to my lips, her eyes tracking my mouth as I took the bite. The cheese was too hot and burned the roof of my mouth slightly, but I chewed and swallowed while she watched with this satisfied expression. Her foot bumped against mine under the table.
"Good boy," she cooed, setting the fork down. She reached across the table, her hand darting toward my face before I could pull back. Her thumb swiped at the corner of my mouth, rough and quick, collecting a smear of syrup that had been sitting there. "Messy."
I grimaced. "Gross, use a napkin."
But she was already putting her thumb in her own mouth, sucking the syrup off with a pop. Her eyes never left mine. "Mmm. Sweet."
I wiped the rest of my face with my sleeve while she laughed, that low warm sound that filled the kitchen. The chrono on the wall beeped, and I glanced up at it, feeling my stomach drop.
Seven twenty-three.
If I didn't leave in the next three minutes, I'd miss the transport and have to walk, which would definitely make me late for Pau's class. The thought of that ruler made my palm itch.
"Gotta go," I said, pushing back from the table. The chair legs scraped against the tile floor. "Pau's gonna eat me alive if I'm late again."
I grabbed my bag from the hook by the door, slinging it over my shoulder as I reached for the handle. Behind me, Mom cleared her throat. A deliberate sound that stopped me in my tracks.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, her voice soft but carrying that edge of expectation.
I let my head fall back, staring at the ceiling for a second before turning around. She was standing now, having moved from the table to the middle of the kitchen floor, her arms open wide. She looked small standing there in her bare feet and nightgown, her hair still wild from sleep. But there was nothing small about the way she blocked the path to the door with her stance.
I trudged back over to her, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her cheek. Her skin was soft and smelled like the vanilla lotion she kept on the bathroom counter. I started to pull back, but her hand shot up to cup the back of my head, holding me in place as she turned her face.
Her lips caught me at the corner of my mouth.
Then I felt it. A brief, wet flick of her tongue against my skin tasting me. She pulled back with a grin while I jerked away, wiping my face with the back of my hand.
"Ugh, Mom! Seriously?"
"What?" She blinked innocently, her eyes wide. "I'm just saying goodbye properly."
"Your tongue was out."
"Was it?" She tilted her head, then shrugged, her shoulders rolling in a way that made the straps of her nightgown slide down her arms. "I love you. That's all."
Before I could respond or escape, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my waist. She pulled me into a full-body hug that crushed my bag against my spine. She was soft everywhere, her body molding against mine as she buried her face in my neck, inhaling deeply.
I tried to pull back, putting my hands on her shoulders to create space, but her grip just tightened. Her arms locked behind my back like steel bands.
"Mom, I really gotta—"
"Shh," she whispered against my throat, her breath hot. "Just ten seconds. You never hug me anymore."
"I hugged you five minutes ago in bed."
"That doesn't count. You were half-asleep."
I squirmed, feeling the seconds ticking away on the chrono, but she held firm. Her body pressed flush against me from chest to knee. I could feel her heartbeat through the thin fabric of her nightgown, steady and strong.
Finally, after what felt like an hour but was probably only twenty seconds, she loosened her grip with a contented sigh. She stepped back, her hands sliding slowly down my arms until they caught my fingers.
"Okay," she said, squeezing my hands once before letting go. "Go learn things. Be good."
I turned toward the door, adjusting my bag and reaching for the handle. I had it halfway open when the sharp crack of her palm against my ass echoed through the kitchen. Hard enough to sting through my pants.
I jumped, yelping slightly as I spun around, one hand going to my backside.
She was already walking back toward the table, hips swaying, picking up her empty coffee cup like nothing had happened. She glanced over her shoulder at me, winking. "Love you, baby."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, stepping out into the morning air and pulling the door shut behind me.
My cheek still felt damp where her mouth had been, and my ass stung slightly as I started down the walkway toward the sun scorched streets.
Above me, the Imperial Rat Destroyer drifted slowly across the blue sky, casting a shadow over the neighborhood that lasted exactly three seconds as I walked through it.
I checked my watch again. Seven twenty-six.
If I ran, I'd make it.
[Image (Mom)]
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PS: It's confusing but hold on to your seats.
As promised, there is going to be a bonus chapter today but you gotta wait half an hour.
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Thing is that next 4 chapters are ready to upload but I got to get my lunch so gimme half an hour, and then 1 up here, and other 3 up on Patreon.
Next Update : Tomorrow same time.
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