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[sweetsalome]

The mental and physical prepping for this day was a little uneven.  Not that her dad has a lot of baking equipment, but a trip to Target and that is pretty much taken care of.  Like meeting her birth mom, there was a number of waffling moments in which she considered just backing out at the last minute.  Really it won't be the hardest thing she has ever done, but it felt a little like putting herself in harms way.  Like stepping out in front of a train or a truck with the thought that at the last minute the traveling force would somehow swerve and miss her.

There was almost a feeling as if jealousy wouldn't be the issue but doing or saying something stupid would be.  After their vacation in Virginia, Salome found herself a bit more confident in their relationship.  She was his, and he was hers, there would ever be a way for that to change.  You can't change blood, DNA, what they had.

Not to mention it all going down on a Saturday when all she would rather do is lay about and be lazy, spending a majority of the day in her pajamas.

Not that she isn't in her pajamas now, sprawled out on the couch with head phones in.  Waiting.

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[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Salome takes the stairs two at a time, pulling her hair back as she runs and putting it up in a bun at the back of her head. He always cheats at hide and go seek, he counts too damn fast, cheater. One day she'll get him, get him good, find the perfect hiding spot or just not count at all and try and follow him where he hides. He is a good hider, she could hardly ever find him when they were playing for reals and then she would get so, so upset, worried that he was really gone. And then she would go back to the base and there he would be.

The next time he would make it easier to find him and everything was all better. Just because a person gets big, doesn't mean they ever really grow up, which can be a problem. A big problem depending on the person.

Upstairs in her bathroom she finishes pinning up the loose strands of her hair, tucking them all away carefully before going to her closet to find the little surprise she found when she was out shopping one day. The wig is dark, stopping right above her jaw, framing everything nicely is a set of bangs which she currently is too afraid to try out with her own real, hair, the same with the color. It is a much better option then cutting and dying her own silky blond locks. Plus if she gets bored with it she can always change it back or to something else.

New hair in place she goes out searching for her father. Ready or not . . .

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

He's like the hide and seek ninja. That's what happens when you're in the businesses he's in--you learn how to hide objects, and you learn how to hide yourself. Of course, there were also times when 'hiding' would consist of hiding on the roof to smoke a quick joint. That one time where she started to cry he almost felt badly, though she ended up with ice cream from the ordeal. All in all, not a bad trade-off. Generally, though, he's always been a relatively honest hider, since a game's no fun if nobody can win.

He's grown up in some ways. But in other levels, particularly temperamentally and impulsively, he's simply incapable. Which is unfortunate, but he's at least aware of it even if he won't admit to it when confronted. But it's good that he's still in touch with his younger self. It allows him to get down to Salome's level.

When she's out of his sight, he glances over the living room, the cellar, the upstairs. After a few seconds he decides the best course of action is to creep up after her, silent on the balls of his feet as he moves up the stares pressed to the wall to keep the boards from creaking beneath his toes. His head is low as he prowls through the hall in total silence. He hears her in her room, so he skips over that completely and moves forward instead to his studio, shifting canvases around as quietly as possible. The stack of them propped against the wall is ideal, and he shifts the finished, unframed paintings around until he can make a believable-looking little fort of them. Enough space that he'll be able to go undetected beneath them until she moves them, but close enough to the wall and their original positions that it doesn't look as if he's hiding beneath them.

Just as he gets his legs pulled up beneath the canvases, he catches the sound of her bedroom door opening. He grins to himself, resting his head against the wall while listening for her footsteps, his heart thrumming quietly in his ears.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Her mistake was thinking that since she is giving him something that he would hide in an easier spot so gratification is not delayed. After searching for a few minutes she will realize how incredibly silly that thinking is.

She heads down the stairs first going toward the back porch in order to check the place he first suggested they go after their little romp on the couch. When he isn't there she stands around for a moment or two before going back inside to begin a search of the first floor, opening doors and pushing things aside to see if she can find him. She needs to learn his secrets in hiding, though she doesn't spend a whole lot of time with the need to hide per say, but a person never knows when they will need to hide and not be found. She pauses in the kitchen looking at the basement door. She really doesn't want to go down there, it's creepy as fuck.

So she turns around to head back up stairs to see if he somehow managed to get up there when she was looking. "No trading hiding places!"

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Pft. If they're going to play hide-and-seek, they're going to play hide and motherfucking seek. She forgets that though she may not have the patience for delayed gratification, he sure as hell does. He savors the opportunity to torment her.

Father of the year.

As he listens to her footsteps and realize they're moving no closer, but further away, he chokes back laughter. Richard listens carefully to the noise he hears--is that the backdoor opening?--and, fighting back another smirk, he slides from his hiding place and makes his way to her bedroom.

He should have hidden in the basement, now that he considers it. She seems to hate that room. He supposes it is rather bad-vibes now, considering what he keeps in it from time to time, and what goes on down there. But there's nothing in there now except an aura. Still, every second she delays in front of the basement is another second for him to get comfortable.

Too late, Salome, he's already traded. He leaves the door at the same angle she left it and drapes across her bed, folding his hands behind his head as he lies in wait for her. Hands tucked behind his head, legs propped up ultra-casual on some pillows or stuffed animals.

Ultra-casual. Been here the whole time.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Jerk-ass of the year! 

He is a cheater, a total cheater that’s what he is.  Despite that, she loves him, kind of, sometimes, most of the time anyway.  He just can’t help it, he never learned how to play well with others, she blames it on his upbringing.  Clearly she was raised better because she would never, ever cheat at a game like hide and go seek.  Nope.  Never. 

She totally would.  Especially if she was playing against him, it’s a matter of pride.  And beating him of course, always beating him.

Standing at the top of the stairs she puts her hands on her hips and looks around, checking first his little studio, rummaging around the paintings and behind the doors (the usual places) and then behind the couch there and anywhere else a grown man might be able to fit.  Coming up empty she checks his bedroom next, very disappointed that he’s not actually there. 

The last place she’ll look is in her room, why would she even look in there?  Unless he was a cheater and he some how got up in there when she was downstairs.  Something he would totally do, because that is just total Richard.

Standing in the doorway, one hand on her hip the other on the doorframe.  Looking at him pointed.

“You’re a cheater and by being one are setting a poor example for your daughter.”

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

See? He's only teaching her valuable life lessons. The importance of cheating to get ahead in the world; the fact that if you need to hide at some point in your life, you'll probably have to change hiding places; the need to fight fire with fire; the satisfaction of victory.

These things are important.

He thinks all this, grinning to himself while he listens to the sound of her footsteps. Into the studio--lucky he left it--then his bedroom, which he considered, but would have been too obvious. By the time she arrives in the doorway he's draped himself artfully upon her bed, one hand still tucked behind his head and the other resting upon his stomach. That shit-eating grin is firm upon his face, too, and he turns it upon her only to have it freeze. His mouth opens, though his smile certainly doesn't fade, and his gaze sparks with renewed interest.

Jesus Christ.

He attempts plays it cool, grinning as he sits up and slowly makes his way across the room to her. "Cheating! Tsk, no. This is just strategic playing. I had to hide in the last place you'd look, and to do that I had to wait for you to leave your room. I'm setting a great example for you, teaching you how to present a creative challenge."

His hand slips around her waist and the other hooks beneath her chin. "My, Salome, did you do something to your hair? You look quite ravishing. Not that you don't always." He pushes her gently, one inch at a time back out into the hallway, toward his bedroom. "But for some reason you do look--exceptional. I simply can't seem to put my finger on it. Let daddy look at you in his room, the lighting is better there. Perhaps I'll be able to figure it out then."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Cheating is cheating no matter how he justifies it, but it certainly does give her a look into how the real world actually works as opposed to how people says it works, or how it should work. Richard has instilled in her a healthy distrust and paranoia that she will never really be able to shake. It will serve her well for the rest of her days. Trust no one.

She trusts his smile through and when it grows like it does she knows that she has done something very right. Of course he would like the dark hair. Susan has dark hair, Delilah even has dark hair, she is the only blond in his life (for the moment.) Eyebrows lifting slightly she tilts her head a bit as he touches her chin to examine the change.

"I think I look a little moore like you now, don't I? So no one will wonder again, hmm?" It would be a pretty drastic change to actually do it but it is fun for the moment. Or any other moments they might like. He moves her backward and she goes easily, smirking a bit when they get too the doorway of his room - that's when she turns in his arms and makes an attempt to break from his arms and run to the bed.

Ermahgerd his bed is the best bed ever to jump on.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

If she ever ends up in the business world for God knows whatever reason, the lessons her father has taught her will work particularly well. And Susan's lessons function well there, too.

"You do, you do indeed. No doubting you're my daughter." And how, it makes his blood boil through his veins to see her with dark hair. She's the sexiest blonde he's ever known, and the color suits her, but this--now this is nice. This is very, very nice. It makes her look sophisticated, even when she breaks his grip to take a running jump upon his bed. He laughs and follows her, having flashbacks to all those times years ago when she was much tinier and more prone to bouncing on his mattress.

He laughs and springs after her, trying to yank her down by the legs so he can get a good look at her. That most predatory smile of his makes his way over his teeth while he admires her, and his fingertips ghost down the front of her throat and up over her jaw as though tickling a cat beneath the chin.

"You look so sexy with dark hair, Salome. You may not look a lot like me around the face," he chuckles and tilts his head, "but you do bear an amazing resemblance to your grandmother. A much younger version, obviously. More beautiful. But it's certainly there." Only in this family could that be considered a compliment from lover to lover, rather than a creepy sign that your sex partner is Norman Bates. "You're a more stunning and vibrant creature than she ever was, though."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Oh man she used to love to bounce up and down on his bed, sometimes with him even on it but the bed is so big and she was so tiny it was pretty easy to get away with it. Less when she decided to sing to him. How he put up with it heaven only knows, though by the time she was bouncing and singing she was a lot more personable person. She doesn't do much bouncing now because he grabs her and pulls her down on to the bed as she laughs and laughs.

Stretching out across the bed she let's her thighs fall open as she calms and listens to his compliments. She can see something in his eyes, that dark fire that make her think that he is thinking something rather devious. Like usual. Moving her tongue out over her bottom lip for a moment she suddenly grins when she tells her she looks a bit like her grandmother.

"Why thank you, what a sweet boy you are," her fingers brush over the top of his head gently before she pushes herself up on her elbows to kiss him gently. "She never gave you what you were looking for, did she? You know that I can, why don't you be my little boy tonight?"

Because why should they stop at one level of incest?

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Oh, please. The singing was the best part. That little baby singing voice was so adorable that even he couldn't resist it. That song about monkeys jumping on the bed was certainly apropos, though; he always had to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn't fly off and crack her skull. He would have jumped with her, but his leg was even worse back then.

Still, though, it wasn't exactly difficult to put up with her games, and he was happy to not only encourage them, but to play along. Like with her games of pretend. She always loved that. Not just Cats, but whatever cartoon or book she was into, or whatever game of house she wanted to play, he was almost guaranteed to be roped in to playing some role for her. And it was always entertaining, he had a sense of humor about it, and it was nice seeing her having a good time.

And now, she suggests another game of pretend. One that makes his bones rattle. He leans into her kiss and grins against her mouth, ducking to kiss her throat, her collarbone. The inversion of their roles strikes him as so deep and strange, but so erotic for it. And not at all dissimilar from all those games of house where he would be shoehorned into the role of husband or dog or sometimes son.

As his hand slides gently over the curve of her waist, he grins and lifts his head to kiss that beautiful mouth again. "You do, Salome. You give me more than anybody else could hope to. And you would make for a good mommy, wouldn't you?" His grin turns cheeky and he ducks his head to nip her ear. "Though I warn you, I'm quite the handful. A rather incorrigible boy, if I do say so myself."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Even the big bad wolf had a soft spot for Little Red Riding Hood. Little Salome was maybe blessed with an extra helping of cute because of who her father is, so he would find her acceptable to keep around. Especially when she started to sing and be independent, so much easier after that in some ways.

Salome always thought that she got lucky for a playmate when she was little. It helped that he was kind of sort of little as well, he didn't have any problem playing her pretend games because he had the time and maybe, just maybe he didn't have a lot of time to play pretend games with other kids when he was little. To busy killing the neighbor's dog and setting fires probably. Anyway she liked playing with him when she was little because he was pretty okay letter her pick out his role and giving the "choice" roles to herself. That bitch Megan down the street always got to be the mom.

Whore.

Now she likes playing with him as well, she always gets the best roles and comes so hard what isn't there to like? A slow grin as she slides a hand down between his legs when he mentions that he is a handful. Indeed he is. "Well that explains where I get it from. I'll be a very good mommy to you, I've had enough practice, and I know what a boy like you needs."

A gentle squeeze of his cock and she makes a move to sit up and change places with him.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

It's true, he did. She wouldn't be nearly as tasty if she weren't so sweet, after all. No doubt that cuteness really is what got him so attached to her so soon even with his temperament. And, yes, she was a fun child, and it was good to play with her. He had never exactly been the most social little boy when he was a child, so he hadn't been much for playing the first time around. In some senses it was making up for lost time.

He never liked that kid, or her hillbilly family. They had a couch on their porch. Hideous. The uncle was a good customer, though he hardly counted as family since they didn't let him around, which was about the only reason he was fine letting Salome play with the girl. No child has had a group of friends silently scrutinized to the degree Salome's friends were, to be sure.

That gentle squeeze of her hand pulls a soft groan from him; his hand fits around the nape of her neck, his head lifting away to admire her with all that dark hair. Wigs are never super-convincing, but this one looks good, good on her, believable. Beautiful. A fun, sexy little change, like letting her play a role that turns him on fast as the flip of a switch.

He rolls upon his back, grinning while his hips arch into her hand. He stays sitting up to plant kisses upon the back of her shoulder, her neck, murmuring, "I know you will, you're too clever and beautiful to be anything but a good one. And what does a boy like me need, mommy?"

Meanwhile, miles away, Susan thinks the phrase 'A sound beating,' without really knowing why the words make their appearance in her head. Presumably, she then shrugs and resumes stirring her cauldron.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

It wasn't so much that Salome was an anti-social child, it was just that her dad hated all the tots in her play group. Maybe not the kids but most certainly their parents, and really children are just reflections of their parents, so it was only a matter of time before little Tommy had too much apple juice and gave a leer at Salome, and then shit would get real.

In the end he just didn't want anyone to take away his playmate, the only woman who wasn't fucking him and could put up with his bullshit. Only now does she catch on to some of his crap, most of the time she is blinded by her absolute love and adoration of him to catch on to it. Even when he pulls that marriage shit she'll still love him.

Maybe. If he's lucky.

He lays down and she sort of curls up next to him, supporting herself on one hand as her other moves over his chest and up to this cheek. Tender little touches, so soft and sweet as she runs her fingers through his hair and softens the expression she takes on. She tries to picture him as her child, it is mildly difficult since he is older then her, but she ages him down a little and ages herself up and that seems to work.

"A boy like you, my little Prince needs love and kisses." She places light ones all over his face, brushing the tip of her nose against his in a sweet little Eskimo kiss. "And he needs to tell me what is bothering him. I'm not a mind reader, I can only know what you tell me."

Apparently Salome does not subscribe to Susan's Wicked Witch of the West Parenting Digest. Though there is nothing wrong with a good smack to be sure. Especially with Richard.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Just so. He kept an eye on them, but wouldn't get in the way of them as long as Tommy kept his sticky little hands to himself. One game of doctor and the little fucker would have been eating the curb. It's not bullshit, it's just being a protective parent.

She can go all angsty teenager on him and decide she hates him hates him hates him and his stupid house and his rules and his face, and he'll still love her with an elemental adoration. He'll win her back, he's sure of it. Once she comes down from her rage and realizes that he loves her the same as before, and that nothing will change that, not even her ugliest behavior, she'll come around again. It requires dedication, patience, and unconditional love.

And a tolerance for being slapped around or set on fire.

Richard grins at Salome's behavioral diagnosis, putting on his sweetest face--not hard, considering her kisses. He chuckles low and nuzzles back against her, shifting shyly beneath her embrace. "There's nothing bothering me, mommy. I just...I don't know." He glances askance, his thumb drifting gently along the line of her jaw. "I know you get lonely, but I hate seeing you going out with whatever boyfriends you keep. Don't you know you're too good for them?" A boyish scowl of jealousy twists his mouth. "You shouldn't waste your time with stupid men who don't appreciate you. I love you too much to watch that. You don't need them, I'm right here."

Reality and fiction blend so seamlessly sometimes.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

YOU READY TO TASTE THE CURB, TOMMY?! YOU READY?!

GLAD THOSE ARE BABY TEETH SON, YOU DON'T NEED THOSE ANYWAY. BACK TO GERBER'S BITCH.

Salome isn't going to have to worry about having a husband, every single man within a 200 mile radius of her knows that her father is a crazy sonofabitch. You only need to curb stomp one toddler before being marked for life apparently. Narrow minds in small towns.

She blinks at him a few times when he speaks and, for a moment, she isn't sure how to respond to what he says. It brings up so many of her own feelings, what she said to him that first night and she isn't sure if it's because it's something he really feels or because he heard it from her and it sounded good. Sure there is a little twist on it but it is pretty much the same. He doesn't need any of those other women, he has her, and she loves him, she loves him oh so much. If only he could just see.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet little Prince," she coos softly and puts her lips to his forehead, gently kissing him before pulling back and giving him a smile. "You're just a young boy, and sometimes I need adult company, that's just not something that you can give me." The backs of her fingers slide over his cheek as she stares at his mouth, wondering what her grandmother thought and saw in these moments.

"You know I love you, it's just in a different way. You'll understand when you're older."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

That laugh was sorely-needed. People are so irrational. Anyone with eyes could see any little pissant who tried to get fresh with his daughter was asking for a cement sandwich.

He wasn't even thinking about what Salome said to him. He's thinking about his thoughts on his own late mother, and, moreover, he's thinking about Salome having boyfriends. Certain feelings run in the blood as much as the desires they accompany. In fact, he completely fails to see the parallels between this conversation and Salome's feelings.

Richard's scowl only deepens. "They aren't worth your time. Maybe if you had somebody who was worthy of you, it wouldn't bother me so much. But you're too beautiful to waste time with them." He props himself up to better look into her face. "I know that maybe I can't be everything you want me to be yet, but you could teach me. You could let me grow into it. I know that you love me, but I don't just love you. I love you." His hand slips around to rest against the nape of her neck.

"I can't be your boyfriend. I know that. But you're beautiful. You're wonderful. And I may not be able to be your boyfriend, but I can appreciate you more than any man you've ever met. I don't want you to be anything but my mother. But we could make our relationship that much deeper if only you'd give me a chance to show you how badly I want you." There's fire in his eyes. His hands frame her face and his lips clamp down over hers. His hands slide around her shoulder, her back, and he breathes the sweet taste of his daughter's mouth while happily taken in by their little game.

This moment never happened to her grandmother. This moment tried to happen and ended early in shameful horror that caused her to lock herself in her room. They didn't speak for a week after that, and when they did, it was strange, and every conversation only fed his mounting frustration. To be so close, but to never have even in passing. Two years later she was dead in her room and he sat on the stairs waiting for Susan to arrive and help him clean up his mess.

Oh, the complicated path life takes.

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

Never has been pretend stomping a toddler been so much fun!

His inability is one of the major flaws in lacking empathy, if he had been able to see it, if he could see it then things might be a little different between them. Maybe he would have realized that he could not give her what she desires just like his mother couldn't give it to him, and there would be nothing. Maybe he could have tried and disappeared up into Canada to make a go of it. Maybe, maybe, so many maybe's but the real world doesn't run on maybe's, it is run on what did happen and here they are. In his bed, her naked and him partially naked, playing a game, a game that is playing with parts of her head and heart that she isn't sure she can manage.

It is in her nature to just give him whatever he wants, she loves him, whatever he asks of her she is more then happy to give him. Even now she wants to give in, she wants to kiss him and kiss him and teach him how to fuck her. It didn't happen that way in real life though, did it? No, there was pain there and rejection and she doesn't plan on letting it get that far but she'll hold out a little bit longer then he did with her.

Her eyes widen when he kisses her, holding her in his grip so tight. Putting her hands on his shoulders she gasps when she manages to pull away chest heaving. He takes her breath away, even in the middle of play. "Oh! Oh my love. You're confused," her hand up to his cheek, his lips as she gives him a rather sad look rather then anger and shame. "I know you're alone, and that you have certain . . . desires, but you'll find a lovely young woman of your own soon." And that is real, and that is hurt as she looks at him with a gaze that has gone from sad to wet.

"You'll be so happy with her, and you'll be able to do all those wonderful things with her, and you'll be swept away by her. That's not something that I can give you, I'm your mother and I love you so deeply." Her teeth sink into her bottom lip for a moment and she looks down her hand sliding down the forearm of the hand currently gripping her.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

Unfortunately for Salome, he feels he's giving Salome everything he wanted from his mother. He loves her, he is giving her that love, that deeper relationship. It's simply that she's not his peer. She's not capable of feeding the more disturbed pockets of his psyche. Someday, maybe, when she gets older, and he outgrows his penchant for murder, he'd be willing to revisit the relationship aspect. But for now, he has to act as father, not lover exclusively.

She plays the reluctant coquette and it makes his blood boil. He watches her pant, feels her hand upon his cheek. Hers is a much gentler rejection than the one his own mother gave to him all those years ago, but even so, it produces something akin to a growl from the depths of his chest. "I'm not confused. I know what I want, and what I want is you. You can give me what I want. Yeah, sure, there will always be girlfriends. I've had girlfriends before and I'll have them again, but you can give me a thousand things that they could never hope to."

He lowers his head, examining her face, and then he sees the wet emotion in her eyes. For a few seconds he gets the feeling that this is hitting close to home for her, and he tilts his head. His fingertips hook beneath her chin and he tilts her head back up, staring back down into her glassy eyes. "If playing this way is upsetting you, we can stop." His thumb runs over his lower lip. "I don't want you to be hurt, baby, it's only a game."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

"No," she breathes out and shakes her head slightly. "I don't want to stop, I don't." And she doesn't because she isn't so much hurt for herself but hurt for him as well. She doesn't want little him to ache like that, in a way that she is familiar with, not with the same depth and for the same reason but there is hurt there none the less. Then, now, no time for him to hurt, no matter how little or great the amount. It is hard for her as well, very hard. But not enough to get her to stop. Because maybe if they keep going then his hurt from the past will stop, that this could somehow make it all up to him in some weird way.

Pushing up to him she wraps her arms around him, holding him close and stroking the back of his head gently. "It breaks my heart to deny you anything, you know that, don't you? I would give you anything, anything in the whole world. I don't think I can give you what you want. Why would you want it anyway? My handsome, brave boy, you have the whole world in front of you and why would you want something old, used up?" Her fingers curl in the hair at the nape of his neck, stroking and caressing him as her other hand trails down the valley of his back to the small of it.

"You used to be so small, I could hold you in my arms for hours and hours and now you're so big. You're bigger then me, so much bigger." She kisses his shoulder and hides her face against his throat before breathing him in.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

He's mostly let it go by now--say what one will about Susan, but she helped him get over a lot of shit, and made him realize that his mother was a stupid whore too restrained by pointless morals to know what was good for her. Once upon a time, though, it was a sore spot for him. Sometimes, once in awhile, it still is. And the tenderness he manages to perceive does move him. The sweetness of his girl strikes him with serious awe. He doesn't understand it, but that just makes it all the more alluring.

Richard leans his head into the arms that wrap around him, so warm and sweet, and he lowers his head into her touch. He does find himself oddly moved, his mind flooded with renewed disappointment, anger, sadness. He lifts his head to gaze upon her, his lips pressed thin. "You're not old and used up, you're glorious. I've wanted you for as long as I could remember. I could make you feel good, mommy."

Eyes blazing, he slides his fingertips over her back, her hip, his expression dark as his veiled play-threats. "You're right, I'm so much bigger. If I were weaker I would just take what I wanted. But I love you too much for that. Respect you too much for that. You can give it to me, I know you can. With a body like that...you give me everything else in the world, all I ask is this one little thing. I want to know you better. I want to make love to you, I want you to teach me how to make you feel good. The other men in your life, none of them could hope to please you the way I do."

He bends his head to plant kisses up the curve of her throat, his lips pressing against her again and again, and less chaste with each contact. "Please, mom. You can give me this, just let me have a chance and you'll see I'm worthy of you. I don't want to be your boyfriend, your husband, anything like that. I just want to show you how you make me feel. Let me share this with you."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

A shiver down the length of her spine. Her eyes close and she holds him tighter, her resolve crumbling. She has no idea how his mother held out the way that she did, ignorance runs deeper then emotion sometimes, or with it making it a hard wall to break down. There is something when he calls her mommy, it sends a cool burning shiver all over her brain, coating it and making it dance in a certain way that she has never felt before. Never before has she thought about children or being maternal. Perhaps there was a little of that instilled in her when he was stoned and passed out on the couch and she would tend to him and play pretend nurse and mom but that had all faded. Until now.

Which would probably be an unsettling time to feel that.

She knows, from personal experience what he says to be true, there is no other man that can please her like he can. He can give her every good thing and in return she can give him what he wants. She is a good mother. Better then that person who gave birth to him. Her eyelids flutter closed and she gasps softly, her head tilting to his kiss, offering more of her skin up to him.

"My little boy," her voice is a dry whisper, her lips barely moving as she presses the palm of her hand to his hip, over the waistband of his boxers. She can't deny him anything and she has already withheld so much from him. Breathing him in she lets her hand move over the lean of his side as she starts to pull back to look up at him. "I can't deny you, I love you too much to do so." A tilt of her head and she presses her lips to his in a little chaste kiss.

"I'll show you how to make me feel good, my precious little boy."

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

It could be because, despite her prostitution, Elaine's worst crime was being significantly more adjusted--or at least less pathological--than her son. But it was still a crime, particularly in Richard's eyes. All he wanted was to be sweet with her, and the bitch wouldn't let him.

The only thing he regrets about her death was that it was in the heat of the moment, and that he couldn't enjoy it.

How well he understands Salome's pleasure at being called 'mommy', he understands the tenderness it instills in her just as 'daddy' instills much the same in him. He, too, thinks of all those times when she was little, coddling him, caring for him. And the sweetness with which she speaks now makes it all so easy to believe. Yes, she's a good mother. A marvelous mother. One that makes his blood run hot.

Richard's breath hitches as her hand creeps down over the waist of his boxers. His eyes brighten, his body pressing to hers. "Will you? Oh, mama." He lifts his head to take her mouth in his, his hands framing her face. With each passing second he presses harder, the kiss becoming hungrier, more aggressive, as much as it is tender. "I promise I'll make you feel wonderful, mommy. You won't regret it, we'll have such a good time. I already know a little."

He grins wickedly and tilts his head to kiss her ear, his tongue darting out against the ridge while he murmurs low. "And I already know how beautiful your body is, I've seen it plenty of times." His hand strokes over the silk skin of her inner thigh. "Seeing you dress or get out of the bath. I want to make you feel as beautiful as you are."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

For some reason, even given what has gone on between them, this feels more deep and intimate then they have ever gone before. Maybe because in their situation she is the child, she is the one begging and becoming vulnerable, and in this situation, he is the child, he is the one begging for love and aching for it. It feels so much more fragile then how they are really. As if she could break him in the palms of her hands with a few words or a few cruel touches. He wants so badly to please her and there is no way that she can turn that down. Because he is her son and this is what he wants, to push him away would be a crime.

He kisses her and kisses her and she is slow to respond back, pushing up against him finally as one of her hands finds his cheek, holding him into those brutal kisses that he gives her. It's time to think ahead to take on the role of a teacher for him when, she is probably actually the student, but she knows a little, she has had a very thorough teacher. But enough experience for a prostitute? Probably not, though she could certainly try. A mother wouldn't teach her son everything the first night together. Or maybe she would.

Another shiver, the heat of his breath, the heat of his words and she finds her grip on his cheek tightening a little. Him watching her. His mother. Peeking through cracks in doors, watching her dress, get ready to go out, the image makes her moan softly under her breath. Carefully she pulls back from his kisses and his whispers and tries to look up into his eyes, but she shy, uncertain, it isn't like when Salome and her father play, where there is no shame, no hesitation.

"Why don't I help you get undressed and we can see what a big boy you've become." Pun intended. "And you can tell me what you already know." Her hands at the waistband of his boxers, working to inch them down.

[soursanguine.livejournal.com]

This is a side of himself nobody sees. Ever. Not even Susan. This is a big chunk of himself he keeps completely sealed up, so tight it's like it doesn't even exist. It is strange, that he should be the helpless one, and he feels that oddness in the air between them, but it's far from unwelcome. He doesn't expect her to try to be the dead whore, nor does she want her to be. She's her own charming pseudo-mother character, a combination of herself and an ideal.

That doesn't stop his words from being true, though. He always had a terrible roving eye as a boy, and still does, especially now that he and Salome have a sexual relationship and she's more than just an object of innocence to him. Although she almost seems it now, playing shy and sweet. It's mouth-watering.

He grins and arches his hips, one hand helping hers to slide his boxers free. He jerks them from his legs and lets them stay abandoned upon the foot of the bed, limbs lying akimbo and hardening cock against his thigh. "See, mom? Look what you do to me, just being around you, it's already getting excited."

His arms sweep around her and he kisses her collarbone, nuzzling against her breast for a moment. "Well, I know how to kiss a girl, and I know how to use my fingers, just kind of fool around with them a little. But I'd really like to know how to use my mouth." He grins up at her, his eyes like that of an excited puppy, all sweet pleas and utter delight. "You know, that's the one part of you I haven't gotten a chance to see. Can't I see your cunt, mommy? I'll bet it's beautiful."

[sweetsalome.livejournal.com]

She likes the eager and innocent side. She likes being the leading one, telling him what to do, gently leading him and letting him follow. It is a heady experience, leaving her near faint, like she is holding her breath more then breathing out and breathing in. She wonders how long it will last, him playing the eager young student and her leading him through all the lessons of how to please her. Her fingers pull the fabric of his boxers down with his help and as soon as they are free she lets them drop on the floor next to the bed. There is a pause and she lets herself gaze at him, naked, pointedly at his cock and then gazes away, looking but not looking. Not looking because she shouldn't look, but looking because she wants to, because there is a fascination with how he's 'grown.'

"Y-y-yes, my love, I see that," and she doesn't totally blush but her cheeks turn a little pink. As if a whore would blush at the sight of a cock. Except she is not really his mother but a mother this own creation that she is sort of stumbling along with, a role she is learning to love a great deal. He is so fucking eager in a way she has never really seen or heard in him, she can practically hear the school boy eagerness in his voice as he shows her how hard he is getting and tells her what he knows how to do.

Oh yes, he wants to learn how to use his mouth. Her teeth bite down into her bottom lip and she looks up at him slightly, "well that is a very private place. . ." A glance at him and her resolve weakens, scooting up to the head of the bed she leans back and spreads her legs slowly for him. To say she was excited and aroused by this little play would be an understatement. A deep breath in and she licks her lips as she looks over at him once again. "Where did you learn all those things, my sweet prince? You must have been very busy."