Fic: Mother's Love

[lebateleur]

This fic had been percolating in the back of my head for I don't know how long, and today it finally managed to force its way out onto paper.

Wild Adapter, rated R, very dark. Mother's Love

Mother's Love
by Trismegistus

       She is so strung out she can barely put one foot in front of the other, but that doesn't matter to him. He isn't here to watch her walk, and if she's having trouble standing, she'll get on her back that much faster. That's where he ultimately wants her, after all.

       She probably isn't pretty, but he's too drunk to tell. She was probably pretty once, but she's taken too many drugs since. Now she's just sunken, used up, skinny, but he likes them skinny. Skinny makes him bigger.

       He's got his hand on one bony arm, fingers digging into the tired flesh. He guides her behind the curtain and into the little room.

       Once inside she lifts a hand and brushes ineffectually against his grip until he removes it. Then she staggers over to the bedstand and yanks the drawer open. She pulls too hard and it clatters to the ground, contents spilling in all directions.

       She stares stupidly at it, as if surprised to find that it's no longer in the bedstand. Cow, he thinks. Then she drops to her knees and scrabbles around on the floor, fingers clutching drunkenly at the pills as she gathers them up. Red pills, yellow pills, striped pills. He glimpses part of a withered tit hanging out the cup of her bra, the nipple swollen and puckered.

       He doesn't like to think about some other customer's mouth sucking on her tit, so he drags her back to her feet. She cries out in dismay as the pills go spilling back out of her hands. He half pulls, half tosses her onto the bed, then hands her his glass of whiskey and a couple of the pills.

       She tilts her head back and they're gone in one swallow, pills, whiskey, ice.

       He turns away from her, disgusted, and begins removing his tie, his suit jacket, his shirt, his belt, folds them carefully and lays them across the back of a chair.

       When he looks up again her eyes are fixed on him, glazed and bloodshot. "You got a family?" she asks, voice hoarse with tobacco smoke and use.

       "I ain't here to talk about my family," he says, taking off his pants.

      "You got a family?" she continues, as if she hadn't heard him. "Nice salaryman like you. Got a family? Got a wife? Got a-" her voice hitches in her throat. "Got a son?"

       He ignores her and takes off his briefs.

       "I had a son once," she slurs. "A beautiful son. My baby boy."

       "Yeah, alright," he says impatiently. He's only got an hour with the bitch.

       "--Had a son," she repeats. "Beautiful son and then he came along. Ku- Kubota came along and now my baby boy..." She breaks off into ragged sobs. Her cigarette-wasted voice is harsh and crowlike.

       "Fine. Whatever," he mutters and then he pushes her onto the mattress and pushes her slip up around her thighs. She's dry when he parts her knees and pushes into her, too dry and he can't enjoy it, so he pulls out again and gets the little tube of gel from the bedstand. It's cold when he puts it on his dick but at least he can get in her now.

       It warms up fast enough once he's hammering into her and he stops thinking about anything but what he's doing, what he came here for. She's getting into it too, giving little stifled gasps that turn into real moans and sobs as he rides her. "Ah," he pants, "Ah, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah." It feels good so he pulls the bra open and claws at one of her tits. Her face is red, twisted. He's giving it to her good and she likes it.

       She writhes under him, hands pulling at his hair. He slaps them away and they twist around the bedpost instead, chipped red enamel on her ragged nails. He slams into her, tight quick thrusts and she whispers something. She's talking about how much she likes it, he knows. He spikes his hips into her again. That'll show that cold, angry bitch back home. He can give it to a woman good, no matter what she thinks. She whispers again, louder, more forcefully. He leans close to hear it.

       He's expecting the sounds she's making to be praise, so it doesn't make any sense to him at first when they aren't. "Nobukunnobukunnobukunnobukun," she's saying.

       The bitch. He ain't paying her to say some other motherfucker's name. He slaps her, hard. Pinned beneath him she twists her face away, presenting the unmarked cheek and he slaps that one too. She whimpers, and then says the name again, as if she thinks she can defy him, and then he's pounding his fists into her until blood is pouring from her mouth and nose and her throat is too bruised to make noise any more.

       He leaves her there on the bed and puts his clothes back on, quickly, angrily. Fucking bitch. Fucking, fucking bitch spoiling his lay like that.

       It isn't until he's out the door that thinks it might have been her son's name. He feels bad for a moment, about hitting her. And then, what the fuck? Bitch deserved it. She had no business thinking about her son while he was on her, anyway.




これで以上です。

Comments

[perseid.livejournal.com]

...wow, this really hurts. >__< So much tragedy and so much angst in so little words. wow.