Helping Hand | NC17 | The Manchurian Candidate
Title: Helping Hand
Prompt: Raymond is tense before an important speech.
Fandom: Eleanor/Raymond, The Manchurian Candidate
Requested by: pin_drop
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 1666
Warning: This story contains a consensual sex act between a mother and her son. If incest creeps you out, turn away now.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: Right. So. If the nun!sex story wasn’t going to send me straight to hell, I’m pretty sure this will (I mean, look at the word count!). I’m okay with that (as long as the person who requested the story actually enjoys it). I can’t help it if the 2004 version of the movie is crawling with incestuous subtext…Anyway. All mistakes are mine. Let me know what you think!
-
“Mother, I don’t have time for this now,” Raymond says, his eyes focusing hard on her. To anyone else, this warning look would be unsettling. Anyone else would balk under this stare.
Anyone but Eleanor.
She shuts the door to his suite and waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. There’s always time for your mother.” He looks away, presumably to hide a roll of his eyes, but she knows him too well. “Don’t roll your eyes at a mother’s concern.”
For a brief moment, she can see the flicker of boyhood amazement at her seemingly telepathic ability to discern what he just did. In a moment it’s gone and he adds, “I apologize.”
She smiles then, advancing on him to press her customary kisses to each of his cheeks. His aftershave is strong and masculine and the heady scent of it settles low in her abdomen. She bought him this aftershave for his twenty-fourth birthday. She sets her hand upon his shoulder and can feel the tension strung taut beneath her fingertips.
“Raymond! Feel how tense you are!” She squeezes his shoulder and he irritably shakes her off.
“It’s an important night. Wouldn’t you be tense?”
“Not anymore,” Eleanor says, smiling sweetly. “You’ll grow accustomed to the public eye, darling. These speeches will come as a second nature to you in no time.”
He snorts a little in laughter as he takes a seat at the edge of the sofa, his knee rattling ceaselessly. “Unless they decide they hate me. Then I won’t be elected.”
Eleanor laughs again and sits beside him, snaking her arm around his shoulder. She squeezes him to her, signifying that she is not yet ready to let him go. “Don’t be absurd. You will master your little fear of public humiliation and you will be elected. You are a Prentiss; there is no room for failure.”
“I’m also a Shaw.”
She shrugs. “So there’s a little room for failure then,” she concedes. He gives her a withering stare and she merely laughs breathlessly. “So fail at chess, my darling. Fail at things that don’t matter. You will not fail at this. You will go very, very far. I’m certain you will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
His lack of confidence is disconcerting to her. Certainly being born of her blood is enough to have instilled in him self-assurance? She’s paid a great price to ensure his future successes to know without question that he will prevail. She just wishes that he would share her faith in him.
“Call it a mother’s intuition. Do you want to go over your speech?”
“I can’t do it with you here,” he says, standing. He paces a little and his eyes grow vacant, as if he is reading off the index cards of his mind.
Eleanor gets a secret thrill at knowing that she makes him nervous. “You know I’ll be watching as you give the speech, correct?”
“Yes,” he says, agitated.
“If you can’t do it with me, how will you be able to do it at all?” A heat spreads through her belly.
He glares at her and catches the gleam in her eyes. ”No.”
She lifts her arms in mock confusion. “What, darling? I’m only trying to be helpful.”
“That is not helpful.” He stiffly crosses his arms in front of his chest, a mark of his attempt at defiance.
She leans back against the sofa, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs slowly. His eyes follow the movement and she grins. “Oh but I think it is, Raymond.”
He clears his throat. “I thought we agreed to stop that nonsense? It’s…” He struggles briefly to find a word and shifts restlessly before quietly adding, “Wrong.”
Eleanor gets to her feet and slowly, carefully, smoothes her skirt, taking great care to make a show of her hands running over her hips. He watches helplessly before placing more distance between them.
“I can’t have this distraction right now, Mother.”
Her eyes slowly flick to his crotch, where his erection strains against the material of his trousers. “You’re already distracted, dear,” she says with a smirk. “Let me give you a helping hand.”
Raymond looks at the clock, mentally ticking off the remaining time before he’s due on stage in front of a vast audience. He loosens his tie and frowns. “No,” he replies weakly.
Eleanor tucks her tongue into her cheek. She lowers her voice to a low purr. “You need to relax, Raymond.” She steps closer and notes that a thin sheen of sweat has developed above his brow. “Let me,” she whispers close to his ear.
He stifles a groan. His frown deepens.
Eleanor waits for his permission. She will not touch him there without his permission; she never has. It’s the only reason she allows herself to believe that they aren’t doing anything wrong. She finds herself holding her breath, wondering if she wants this more than he does. She probably does; she feels less residual guilt after each occurrence. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she attempts to justify that she is only taking care of him as a mother should.
She does not think about the moral or legal wrongness in what they do. It is private. It is theirs alone. It has nothing to do with the technology embedded within his mind, nothing to do with Manchurian Global, nothing to do with their relationship as mother and son. It is simply an act between a woman and a man.
He nods. She exhales and drops to her knees.
Raymond closes his eyes before her knees touch the ground. He will not look at her during this process. His shoulders are hunched and drawn nearly to his ears. Eleanor knows this is entirely necessary for the good of his speech. She reasons that his political career depends on this blowjob.
She unbuttons and unzips him slowly, taking care to draw his trousers and boxers down his legs to avoid any possibility of staining. His hardness springs loose and is already oozing pre-cum. She licks her lips and rakes her nails along the little hairs on his thighs. He shudders.
“We don’t have time for that,” he grunts. His eyes are still firmly closed.
He’s right. Time is of the essence. The door isn’t locked - she hadn’t planned this; these encounters are never premeditated. She decides to forego the pleasure of teasing him and instead takes him into her mouth.
Raymond lets out a low groan as she slowly closes her mouth around the tip of his erection, sucking gently and gathering the drop of milky liquid onto her tongue. She swirls her tongue around his thickness and slowly takes him as deep as she can without gagging. He sighs as he sinks deeper into the velvety wetness of her mouth.
Eleanor can feel herself growing slick between her legs. She longs to squirm her hips but cannot afford to tear her stockings. Instead she locks in her arousal and turns away from it, focusing solely on pleasing her son.
His hand brushes her hair but is quickly snatched back. She’s thankful for his moment of thoughtfulness; much as she enjoys the way he pulls her hair when she sucks him off, this is not an appropriate venue to support mussed hair. He clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides.
Eleanor clutches at his backside, holding him close to her as she slowly bobs her head on his erection, taking him in completely before slowly drawing him out. She goes as slowly as she dares, knowing how much he enjoys to be held at the brink of release. She casts her eyes upwards, watching as his Adam’s apple bobs under the strain of a thick gulp. She grins around the mouthful of his hardness. She moans softly, allowing the hum of her voice to vibrate against his tender, swollen flesh. He exhales sharply.
”Please,” he rasps.
She cannot stand to hear him beg. She has made it her mission in life never to leave him wanting of anything and so she sucks and licks him in earnest. She closes her eyes and savors the remaining few moments before he climaxes. His moan is choked back in his throat as he shoots several thick ropes of cum down her throat. She has perfected the practice and takes it all, swallowing his seed and licking the remaining offending liquid from his softening shaft.
Regretfully for Eleanor, the entire process takes little more than six minutes. As quickly as it’s begun, Raymond is stepping backwards and pulling up his pants. His face is awash in a bright, rosy hue and he cannot meet her eye. He does, however, hold out a hand to help her to her feet.
“Thank you, darling.”
He clears his throat and turns away, running his hand through his short hair. “Uh…Yes. Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure, Raymond.” She comes behind him and squeezes his shoulders. He’s much more relaxed and this time he does not tense under her touch. “Do you feel better?”
“Yes,” he replies quietly.
Eleanor smiles and any lingering guilt or concern over the blowjob she has just given him is absolved. She is able to dismiss her unconventional “help” by now knowing that she can be credited for relieving his tension.
There is a knock at the door and for once, Eleanor is relieved that Raymond is a quick shooter. She feels him jump at the sound and he quickly moves away from her grip.
“Here I go,” he admits, his eyes clouded a little with apprehension.
“Here we go,” she corrects as she takes his hand. “You’re not doing anything without me.”
He nods. Sometimes he resists her constant participation in his life, but not tonight. He smiles at her and squeezes her hand. His guilt and discomfort is forgotten. He stands a little taller and holds his head high like the true Prentiss he is. “Shall we?”
Eleanor preens. “We shall.”
---
Prompt: Raymond is tense before an important speech.
Fandom: Eleanor/Raymond, The Manchurian Candidate
Requested by: pin_drop
Rating: NC17
Word Count: 1666
Warning: This story contains a consensual sex act between a mother and her son. If incest creeps you out, turn away now.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: Right. So. If the nun!sex story wasn’t going to send me straight to hell, I’m pretty sure this will (I mean, look at the word count!). I’m okay with that (as long as the person who requested the story actually enjoys it). I can’t help it if the 2004 version of the movie is crawling with incestuous subtext…Anyway. All mistakes are mine. Let me know what you think!
-
“Mother, I don’t have time for this now,” Raymond says, his eyes focusing hard on her. To anyone else, this warning look would be unsettling. Anyone else would balk under this stare.
Anyone but Eleanor.
She shuts the door to his suite and waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. There’s always time for your mother.” He looks away, presumably to hide a roll of his eyes, but she knows him too well. “Don’t roll your eyes at a mother’s concern.”
For a brief moment, she can see the flicker of boyhood amazement at her seemingly telepathic ability to discern what he just did. In a moment it’s gone and he adds, “I apologize.”
She smiles then, advancing on him to press her customary kisses to each of his cheeks. His aftershave is strong and masculine and the heady scent of it settles low in her abdomen. She bought him this aftershave for his twenty-fourth birthday. She sets her hand upon his shoulder and can feel the tension strung taut beneath her fingertips.
“Raymond! Feel how tense you are!” She squeezes his shoulder and he irritably shakes her off.
“It’s an important night. Wouldn’t you be tense?”
“Not anymore,” Eleanor says, smiling sweetly. “You’ll grow accustomed to the public eye, darling. These speeches will come as a second nature to you in no time.”
He snorts a little in laughter as he takes a seat at the edge of the sofa, his knee rattling ceaselessly. “Unless they decide they hate me. Then I won’t be elected.”
Eleanor laughs again and sits beside him, snaking her arm around his shoulder. She squeezes him to her, signifying that she is not yet ready to let him go. “Don’t be absurd. You will master your little fear of public humiliation and you will be elected. You are a Prentiss; there is no room for failure.”
“I’m also a Shaw.”
She shrugs. “So there’s a little room for failure then,” she concedes. He gives her a withering stare and she merely laughs breathlessly. “So fail at chess, my darling. Fail at things that don’t matter. You will not fail at this. You will go very, very far. I’m certain you will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
His lack of confidence is disconcerting to her. Certainly being born of her blood is enough to have instilled in him self-assurance? She’s paid a great price to ensure his future successes to know without question that he will prevail. She just wishes that he would share her faith in him.
“Call it a mother’s intuition. Do you want to go over your speech?”
“I can’t do it with you here,” he says, standing. He paces a little and his eyes grow vacant, as if he is reading off the index cards of his mind.
Eleanor gets a secret thrill at knowing that she makes him nervous. “You know I’ll be watching as you give the speech, correct?”
“Yes,” he says, agitated.
“If you can’t do it with me, how will you be able to do it at all?” A heat spreads through her belly.
He glares at her and catches the gleam in her eyes. ”No.”
She lifts her arms in mock confusion. “What, darling? I’m only trying to be helpful.”
“That is not helpful.” He stiffly crosses his arms in front of his chest, a mark of his attempt at defiance.
She leans back against the sofa, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs slowly. His eyes follow the movement and she grins. “Oh but I think it is, Raymond.”
He clears his throat. “I thought we agreed to stop that nonsense? It’s…” He struggles briefly to find a word and shifts restlessly before quietly adding, “Wrong.”
Eleanor gets to her feet and slowly, carefully, smoothes her skirt, taking great care to make a show of her hands running over her hips. He watches helplessly before placing more distance between them.
“I can’t have this distraction right now, Mother.”
Her eyes slowly flick to his crotch, where his erection strains against the material of his trousers. “You’re already distracted, dear,” she says with a smirk. “Let me give you a helping hand.”
Raymond looks at the clock, mentally ticking off the remaining time before he’s due on stage in front of a vast audience. He loosens his tie and frowns. “No,” he replies weakly.
Eleanor tucks her tongue into her cheek. She lowers her voice to a low purr. “You need to relax, Raymond.” She steps closer and notes that a thin sheen of sweat has developed above his brow. “Let me,” she whispers close to his ear.
He stifles a groan. His frown deepens.
Eleanor waits for his permission. She will not touch him there without his permission; she never has. It’s the only reason she allows herself to believe that they aren’t doing anything wrong. She finds herself holding her breath, wondering if she wants this more than he does. She probably does; she feels less residual guilt after each occurrence. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she attempts to justify that she is only taking care of him as a mother should.
She does not think about the moral or legal wrongness in what they do. It is private. It is theirs alone. It has nothing to do with the technology embedded within his mind, nothing to do with Manchurian Global, nothing to do with their relationship as mother and son. It is simply an act between a woman and a man.
He nods. She exhales and drops to her knees.
Raymond closes his eyes before her knees touch the ground. He will not look at her during this process. His shoulders are hunched and drawn nearly to his ears. Eleanor knows this is entirely necessary for the good of his speech. She reasons that his political career depends on this blowjob.
She unbuttons and unzips him slowly, taking care to draw his trousers and boxers down his legs to avoid any possibility of staining. His hardness springs loose and is already oozing pre-cum. She licks her lips and rakes her nails along the little hairs on his thighs. He shudders.
“We don’t have time for that,” he grunts. His eyes are still firmly closed.
He’s right. Time is of the essence. The door isn’t locked - she hadn’t planned this; these encounters are never premeditated. She decides to forego the pleasure of teasing him and instead takes him into her mouth.
Raymond lets out a low groan as she slowly closes her mouth around the tip of his erection, sucking gently and gathering the drop of milky liquid onto her tongue. She swirls her tongue around his thickness and slowly takes him as deep as she can without gagging. He sighs as he sinks deeper into the velvety wetness of her mouth.
Eleanor can feel herself growing slick between her legs. She longs to squirm her hips but cannot afford to tear her stockings. Instead she locks in her arousal and turns away from it, focusing solely on pleasing her son.
His hand brushes her hair but is quickly snatched back. She’s thankful for his moment of thoughtfulness; much as she enjoys the way he pulls her hair when she sucks him off, this is not an appropriate venue to support mussed hair. He clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides.
Eleanor clutches at his backside, holding him close to her as she slowly bobs her head on his erection, taking him in completely before slowly drawing him out. She goes as slowly as she dares, knowing how much he enjoys to be held at the brink of release. She casts her eyes upwards, watching as his Adam’s apple bobs under the strain of a thick gulp. She grins around the mouthful of his hardness. She moans softly, allowing the hum of her voice to vibrate against his tender, swollen flesh. He exhales sharply.
”Please,” he rasps.
She cannot stand to hear him beg. She has made it her mission in life never to leave him wanting of anything and so she sucks and licks him in earnest. She closes her eyes and savors the remaining few moments before he climaxes. His moan is choked back in his throat as he shoots several thick ropes of cum down her throat. She has perfected the practice and takes it all, swallowing his seed and licking the remaining offending liquid from his softening shaft.
Regretfully for Eleanor, the entire process takes little more than six minutes. As quickly as it’s begun, Raymond is stepping backwards and pulling up his pants. His face is awash in a bright, rosy hue and he cannot meet her eye. He does, however, hold out a hand to help her to her feet.
“Thank you, darling.”
He clears his throat and turns away, running his hand through his short hair. “Uh…Yes. Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure, Raymond.” She comes behind him and squeezes his shoulders. He’s much more relaxed and this time he does not tense under her touch. “Do you feel better?”
“Yes,” he replies quietly.
Eleanor smiles and any lingering guilt or concern over the blowjob she has just given him is absolved. She is able to dismiss her unconventional “help” by now knowing that she can be credited for relieving his tension.
There is a knock at the door and for once, Eleanor is relieved that Raymond is a quick shooter. She feels him jump at the sound and he quickly moves away from her grip.
“Here I go,” he admits, his eyes clouded a little with apprehension.
“Here we go,” she corrects as she takes his hand. “You’re not doing anything without me.”
He nods. Sometimes he resists her constant participation in his life, but not tonight. He smiles at her and squeezes her hand. His guilt and discomfort is forgotten. He stands a little taller and holds his head high like the true Prentiss he is. “Shall we?”
Eleanor preens. “We shall.”
---