Oedipus - Spitfire

This is a story is totally not AiE related.  Its a story about a pegasus pony perpetually pining for Spitfire.  Who happens to be his mother.  Fair warning.



1.

>"Oh, um, hey champ, how was flight camp?"
>"Really? An offer to join the Speedsters at your age? Heh, and everyone was worried you'd take after your dad."
>"Hmm? This old thing? It's my Wonderbolts uniform, from before you were born."
>"I-I was just curious if it still fit, is all."
>"What do you mean it makes my flank look big?"
>"Well, yeah, that's what happens when you have a foal, some of the weight sticks around."
>"It, doesn't look bad though, right?"
>"..."
>"You're as bad as your father, you know that?"


2.

>Flying with Mom is the greatest feeling in the world.
>Wind rushing through your coat and mane
>feathers cutting through the air with each flap of your wings
>the soreness that spurs you on
>and then there's her.
>Every time she pulls ahead, you're stunned for a few seconds.
>The way her mane whips in the wind, billowing out behind her like bonfire flames licking the sky.
>The forced scowl of a mare who knows exactly how dangerous her next trick is, and struggles to hold her exhilaration in check.
>Don’t forget about the uniform.
>It really isn't fair how it conforms to every line and curve of her body.
>An athlete at heart, she never let your birth drag her down.
>Sure, she was a little more, abundant now,
>the seams on either side of her flank are showing some serious wear and tear
>But mom was always a stickler for staying in performance shape, and it shows.
>As you turn your head away from her hindquarters, you catch a sparkle in those sunrise-colored eyes.
>Your heart goes cold.
>She knows.
>"Hey, champ."
>You gulp, even as she smirks.
>"You're going to have to perform a lot better than that if you want to impress me."
>With that, she rockets off, leaving a thin blazing trail in her wake.
>You sputter, only for a moment, then steel your resolve and take off after her, a grin on your face.
>One day, you'll beat her.
>One day, you'll have her.


3.

>"Hoo, that was a workout."
>Mom twists her body left, then right, eliciting several dull pops as she shudders and lets out a heavy sigh.
>"Mmm."
>Landing behind her, you huff in frustration at getting beat again.
>The consolation prize isn't that bad though, you get a nice eyeful of your Mom’s flank.
>She squirms a little, grumbling to herself about a deep ache.
>Without a second thought, she lifts her backside into the air, stiffens her hind legs and drops into a deep stretch.
>The athletic lines of mom's body run almost perfectly straight down the barrel of her body.
>The occasional curves in the lines are magnified further by the skintight uniform she insists on wearing.
>Her forelegs splay out in front of her on the ground, making her elevated rump seem even higher.
>With a look of almost erotic concentration of her face, mom places her head between her hooves, grits her teeth and pops her back.
>The quiet sound echoes in the sky, and whatever pressure it placed on her is gone.
>Mom's tongue lolls to the side of her mouth as she gazes forward, her eyes still unfocused.
>The jiggling of her flank as a result of the sudden movement stays with you, long after the moment has passed.
>Collecting herself, Mom stretches herself to her feet, looking back and smirking.
>"Not bad for an old mare, huh?"
>When you're at a loss for words, she laughs and tilts her head back towards Cloudsdale.
>"Come on, I'll get you something to eat. My little flyer needs to keep his strength up."


4.

>Stars above it hurts.
>Your wings ache as they descend again, groaning in protest as you push up against the ground.
>Sweat dribbles down your face as the shadow crosses over you again.
>You don't need to look up, you can feel her stern gaze on you from behind those aviator sunglasses, the subtle sneer on her lips.
>"I'm going to ask you again, do you want this?"
>You've been at this all day.
>Regardless of if she's Mom or not, you're still young, you don't have the stamina to do this for hours on end.
>Not yet at least.
>You give an affirmative grunt, which turns into a wheeze as you feel her forehooves press down on your shoulders.
>"Then dig, boy, dig!  These are the worst wing-ups I've ever seen."
>You groan and adjust your wings, pushing your body down almost to the ground before going back up.
>You can feel Mom smile.
>"Well, looks like you can be taught.  Get it through your head, kiddo, those halfhearted tries might fly in the Speedsters, but they'll get you laughed straight out of the Academy.  Now, deeper!"
>Another grunt and you go down.
>She grinds her hooves into your back as you push against her.
>The process repeats itself several times, and despite your best intentions, you do sneak a peek on one of your descents.
>She's gorgeous, not that you would think any different even if you are underneath her.
>There is a slight musky scent present since she began pressing down on you, though you can't find the source.
>The raw unfiltered odor is heady, tickling at your nose, but you power through it regardless.
>When she can't hold you back any more, Mom drops until she's eye level with you.



>Despite the sunglasses, you can see an infectious fire burning in her eyes.
>"You want it, don't you?"
>Her voice is conspiratorially low, with a hint of motherly sweetness.
>You nod, but don't break your rising and falling pattern.
>"Of course you do, you're MY son.  You've got that burning desire in your gut to come out on top, just like me."
>You wheeze and nod.
>It's true, but mixed in that is the distinct desire to impress her.
>To show Mom you’re an adult.
>That you want her.
>"You work hard and you earn everything that is given to you.  But here's the thing, champ, hard work isn't going to cut it."
>That gives you pause.
>Dread buries itself in your stomach while you glare at the ground.
>Your body heaves with each exhale as you meet her eyes and watch her lips turn up in a grin.
>"It's not enough to be the best.  Sure, you get opportunities, but even the best get over looked if they're not hungry enough."
>A hoof goes to your back, pushing you down.
>If you're not hungry, someone will swoop in and take what's yours.
>You rise and meet her eyes again.
>"You have to want it, champ, you have to want it more than anyone else.  You have to fight for what you want like you're never going to get another chance at it."
>Your throat seems to knot itself as you gulp, the sensation akin to a twisting turning water slide as it travels down into your belly.



>"If you want something, you have to make it clear.  You have to claim it as your own.  You have to dominate it so that everyone else knows that it’s yours and yours alone."
>Mom's tongue darts out as she wets her lips, never breaking eye contact.
>"You copy?"
>You stare at your mother for a long moment.
>You place your hooves on the ground.
>Mom's lip curls up in a sneer, but before she can launch into a tirade, you lunge forward.
>There is an audible clack from the collision of your teeth, but you don't care.
>Your lips are pressed against hers and it feels so right, the subtle taste of cinnamon on the tender flesh of your lips setting your entire face ablaze
>Head spinning from a lack of oxygen, you finally pull away and smile at the most beautiful mare in the world.
>Only, she's not smiling back.
>Her lips almost appear to hang from her mouth as she gapes.
>Slowly, her brow furrows and those still moist lips curl into a scowl.
>"What do you think you're doing, cadet?"
>Fear races through you as she fumes before turning to you.
>"Get out of here.  Training's over."
>You can’t escape fast enough, shame still burning in your cheeks.
>You blew it.


5.

>What have you done?
>You repeat the question over and over, out loud and in your head as you curl into a fetal position on your bed.
>Your wings are still sore from training, but your chest feels worse.
>Like hundreds of tiny shards of glass are pricking at your heart every time it beats.
>Your breathing comes in shallow, strangled breaths punctuated by harsh coughs as you wheeze for air.
>You just did what she told you, you made it clear what you wanted.
>And now she hates you.
>Mom hates you.
>That revelation spurs of a new fit of hacking as you blink your eyes again and again, forcing the tears back where they belong.
>Even if mom doesn’t think you’re growing up, you’re not going to cry.
>You’re too old for that.
>Running your hoof across your muzzle, you finally begin to calm down, though your chest still is lacking the fluttery, rapid-fire beats, instead feeling dull and heavy.
>Though you snort and hack to clear your nose, you grow quiet as the door creaks open.
>Mom.
>You give a brief, strangled snort and a heavy swallow as she looks you over.
>She’s still mad, you can tell from the way her lip twitches.
>You know that Mom can be irritable sometimes.
>It’s part of who she is.
>But you have never, ever, felt the amorphous fear that is currently tying your stomach in knots.
>She approaches the bed.
>You flinch, curling yourself into a quivering ball of shame and terror readying yourself for the flank beating of a lifetime
>She has every right to, you’re disgusting, you deserve everything that she’s about to unleash on you.
>Her hoof falls on your back.



>Then she begins sliding it back and forth along your spine.
>You shy away but she pursues you in the way that only Mom can.
>Her touch comes again, light and feathery as her wings on the breeze.
>Your body aches for more and you find yourself leaning into her affections.
>The moment lasts for a lifetime, she stroking your back, while your fearful tremors subside until you lie still.
>So very still.
>But even an eternity would not enough for you and all things must come to an end.
>This does when she begins to speak, in her soft, low voice.
>“I’m sorry.”
>Sometime during her gentle rub down, you unclenched from your ball of shame.
>You’re still too embarrassed to meet her eyes, however, so you settle for watching Mom breathe.
>The steady rhythm is easy to match, something to focus on while she speaks.
>“It, it’s something lots of boys have to deal with when they’re growing up.”
>When you remain quiet, you feel her slide her hoof down along the back of your neck.
>It should be simple to lose yourself in the sensation, but she keeps speaking, so you keep listening.
>“I know I haven’t helped matters, pulling out my old suit, the rough and tumble personal training.  I just want the best for you.  I want you to aspire to be as great as I know you can be.”
>She sighs and scratches you behind the ear, letting out a warm chuckle as your leg begins to kick.
>The quiet settles in again and you feel yourself drawn in closer to Mom.
>With your head against her chest, you can feel hear heartbeat against your cheek.
>That familiar scent slides its way back into your nose, the smell that can only be Mom.
>Peaches and cinnamon.
>She ruins the moment again by speaking.
>“But what happened today, you know that’s wrong, right?”
>So that’s the game.
>She pulls you in close and then brings the hammer down.
>You don’t dare to even breathe.
>That doesn’t stop her though.



“Champ, you can’t do that, do you understand?  It’s not right.”
>You sit up and begin to protest.
>Amazingly, Mom lets you speak your case.
>You tell her how much you love her, from the passion in her eyes down to that self-assured tail flick she does whenever she pulls off a landing, even the simple ones.
>How she makes your heart swell and the very thought of her makes the most impossible trick seem like child’s play.
>That you’re ready to be an adult, that you’re ready to love her as an adult.
>She listens and nods.
>You’re getting through to her, it’s clear from the tears brimming in her eyes.
>You’ve won her over.
>At last.
>Your confidence falters as you stop speaking and she doesn’t rush to embrace you.
>The seconds tick by as you both sit on the bed, staring at one another.
>Your open heart grows heavy with the coldness of time.
>Mom blinks, and the waterworks start.
>She leans forward and pulls herself against you, quivering and shaking.
>It takes an age for your forelegs to wrap around her, but you revel in her warmth as you do.
>She buries her face in your neck.
>You can feel the wetness seeping into your coat, but you don’t care.
>Mom doesn’t hate you.
>More than that, she understands.
>She loves
>Your train of thought is derailed as she leans her mouth to your ear.
>With barely contained anticipation, you hear her whisper
>“But you shouldn’t have to.”
>For an instant, the words hang in the air, their meaning uncertain.
>And suddenly you’re struggling to remember how to breathe as your mother continues to hammer away at your unguarded heart.
>“You’re just a boy and you don’t understand everything that love entails.”
>Reeling, you try to argue that you can learn, that she can teach you, like she’s taught you everything else.
>Mom shakes her head and pulls you closer to her.



>“Love isn’t something you can teach, champ.  Love is learned, and you’ve got a lot of painful dead ends to navigate before you begin to understand it.”
 >Your entire body is scalding hot and you can feel your own tears trying to force their way out.
>In frustration, you try to pull away from your mother and wipe at your eyes again but she squeezes you all the tighter, forcing your head back to her chest.
>“I love you I do, just not like that.  I, I can’t love you like that.  I’m your mother, and you will always, always, be my beautiful little boy.”
>You choke as she strokes the back of your head again, shushing you with a whispering whistle from the bottom of her throat.
>“Shh, that’s enough of being tough.  Much as you might like to think it, you’re not grown yet.  Just let it all out.”
>The wetness on your cheeks burns even hotter than your body, your eyes ache as you sob into her.
>In the back of your mind you’re chiding yourself for breaking so easily.
>But you can’t pull yourself away from her.
>Not now.
>Mom stays in your bed the whole night, holding you against her.
>Things are never really the same afterwards.
>Mom takes a step back and lets the Speedsters handle your training, though she does complain about how inefficient they are.
>She stops racing with you and puts the old Wonderbolts uniform back in storage.
>She still comes to all your performances and is talking about using some of her clout to bring a Wonderbolt scout to one of your showcases.
>As for you, life goes on, though you do begin to take an interest in some girls your own age, much to Mom’s delight.
>You’ll be graduating soon, likely near the top of your class.
>You’re on the fast track to success, anything you want is in your grasp
>Except another chance to wake up beside your mother.
>Watching as the first light of day catches against her sleeping face while her mane is still down.
>And the intoxicating aroma of peaches and cinnamon.