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Like he does so often after sex, Gabe breaks down crying. Heavy, intense crying that leaves his shoulders shaking as the sobs are ripped from his body. Something about seeing her sweet boy like that, so vulnerable and exposed, tugs on Willow's heartstrings.
“Oh, baby,” she coos as she climbs off of Gabe's thighs. Instead, Willow takes a seat near his head and pats her lap. “Come here.”
Still crying, Gabe turns over and pushes himself up onto his elbows before hugging Willow's waist tightly. He buries his face into her lower stomach, partly on Willow's lap and partly curled up at her side.
Automatically, Willow brings a hand down to card through Gabe's thick dark curls, savouring the soft feeling of his hair underneath her fingers. “Shhh, baby, I've got you,” she says, rubbing Gabe's back soothingly with her other hand. “Mommy's got you.”
The invocation of that word seems to send a shudder through Gabe's body and he tightens his hold on Willow's waist.
“You did so good for me,” Willow continues, spurred on by his reaction. She gently ruffles Gabe's hair, wishing they were positioned in a way where she could kiss him. “So good for Mommy. My good boy.”
Gabe's breath hitches at that and Willow hums contentedly. “Such a good job, baby,” she says in her absolute sweetest tone. “Shhhh, you're okay. You're okay, I've got you.”
Eventually, after a good deal of sweet talking and affection and gentle touch, Gabe finally runs out of tears. Sniffling, he sits up and wipes at his eyes before taking a slow, shuddering breath.
“Are you okay now, baby?” Willow asks gently, thumbing away a tear that Gabe missed.
“Yeah, I'm good,” he says softly, voice just a tiny bit scratchy. “Just—” Gabe cuts himself off with a yawn and rubs at his eyes. “Just really tired now. You wore me out.”
“I do my best,” Willow says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the corner of Gabe's lips. Then she kisses him again, because her darling boy is just so cute and sweet and perfect that she can't help it. “Let's get you cleaned up now, hm?”
“Too tired,” Gabe says, leaning into Willow's hand against his cheek.
"Oh no, you're not getting into these nice clean sheets all sticky and sweaty,” Willow says firmly but not unkindly.
She knows that wringing two orgasms out of Gabe no doubt drained him, literally and metaphorically, but still. As much as Willow might like getting Gabe to the point that he's a gorgeous, well-fucked, teary, sweaty, cum-stained mess, she doesn't want said mess on her nice sheets. There's a reason she always lays out a less nice blanket over her gorgeous duvet before getting her hands on her boy.
“You're going to have a shower,” Willow continues, running one hand through Gabe's thick dark hair. “You're going to brush your teeth and hair and you're going to get into your pajamas before coming to bed, okay?”
Gabe's nose scrunches adorably but he sighs. “Fine,” he relents, then runs his teeth over his bottom lip. “If you shower with me.”
The corner of Willow's lips twitch up. “Alright,” she says in a faux resigned tone. “If you insist.”
As Gabe gets off the bed, his legs wobble and Willow catches him by the elbow. He recovers quickly, as nineteen year olds tend to do, but Willow still keeps a protective hand on Gabe's arm as she leads him to the ensuite. Even though he's fully capable of doing it himself, Willow turns on the shower and checks the water temperature. Gabe might be a half-way competent and legal adult but that doesn't mean that those cheeks still soft with puppy fat and big brown eyes don't activate Willow's maternal instincts. He might be all grown up to the state of New Jersey but Gabe’s still her sweet baby boy.
As soon as they’re both under the spray, Willow immediately starts washing Gabe’s hair, working her fancy lavender shampoo into his curls and scalp. Whenever they shower together, this is how it goes. If Gabe is too tired or otherwise not up to making things sexy, Willow will wash his hair for him and really make a meal out of it since she knows how lacking the Rutgers dorm showers are. She’ll use her nicest shampoo and really take her time massaging it in before rinsing it out and using the conditioner she bought specifically for Gabe’s hair type. It took several magazines worth of research and an awkward conversation with the only naturally curly haired employee at the salon but Willow finally found the perfect conditioner for him. A delicious jasmine scented product that doesn’t weigh down Gabe’s curls, instead leaving them shiny, glossy and buttery smooth.
A few rinses, a scalp massage and some scrubbing later, Willow is satisfied that Gabe's hair is perfect and she's no longer sticky from sex. Pushing her own wet hair out of her face, she presses a slow kiss to the back of Gabe's neck. “You finish washing up and brush your teeth, okay?” Willow says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I'll be in the bedroom.”
“Okay,” Gabe says softly, the sleepiness tangible in his voice.
Willow's hands lingers on Gabe's soapy shoulder for a second longer, love warming her heart, before she finally leaves the shower. Humming softly to herself, Willow dries off, brushes her own teeth and quickly runs through her nighttime skincare routine. She pauses at the sight of her greying roots visible at the edges of her dyed brown hair but brushes it off. That'll be a problem for her to deal with tomorrow, after she gets her beauty sleep.
Upon returning to the bedroom, Willow slips on her baby blue nightgown and begins tidying up for bed. The blanket that acts as sex drop cloth gets stripped off and thrown in the hamper— laundry is a job for tomorrow. So does the devastation that is the clothes they left scattered across the bedroom floor. By the time she's done, Gabe is still clearly appreciating her fully-private, mildew-free and non-dormitory style shower so Willow feels like she's got time to indulge in a vice, lecture-free. Slipping on her silk robe and slippers, she grabs the pack of cigarettes and lighter from the nightstand and steps out onto the balcony.
It's pleasantly cool outside with the tiniest breeze as Willow sparks up her cigarette. From her balcony, she can see the city spread out below her. Still bright from the lamp posts, headlights and other flashes of light and colour that illuminate the New York streets, marked by long, dark shadows. Willow takes a long drag on her cigarette, watching a couple get out of a taxi on the street below her. The girl appears to be laughing, clutching her boyfriend's arm as he cradles a bouquet of roses to his chest. Unable to help herself, Willow smiles as she taps the ash off her cigarette, then exhales slowly.
She's just about finished her cigarette when a long shadow cuts through the light from the bedroom. “You know those are terrible for you, right?”
Willow looks around to see Gabe, standing in the open door in his towel with a hip cocked and a hand resting on the frame. A little defiantly, she takes on final drag on her cigarette before butting it out in the cat-shaped ashtray. “You know I've been smoking since before you were a thought in your parents' heads, right?”
Without a shirt on, Willow can see how Gabe's chest flutters as he inhales sharply. “You're—” Gabe exhales with a light chuckle and rubs the back of his neck. “Fuck, you don't know what you do to me, Willow.”
“I think I do,” Willow says sweetly, crossing the small balcony towards Gabe and cups his cheek. Leaning in and stretching up on her toes, Willow presses a kiss to Gabe's earlobe and whispers, “You're blushing, baby.”
“It's the lighting,” Gabe says but Willow can feel him shiver the tiniest bit under her touch.
”Whatever you say,” Willow teases lightly, running one hand through Gabe's slightly damp curls. “Now then,” she continues, adopting a slightly more authoritative tone, “I think it's high time you changed into your jammies, young man.”
A less sleepy, less blissed out Gabe would probably roll his eyes good naturedly and shake his head at the word “jammies” being used in his direction. But a nice dinner, two orgasms and a hot shower have a way of turning Gabe into agreeable putty in Willow's hands. Instead he nods, rubbing at one eye. “Bedtime?”
“Bedtime,” she agrees, putting a hand on Gabe's lower back and guiding him back into the bedroom.
Once they're both inside, Willow closes and locks the balcony door behind them. She then shrugs off her robe and drapes it over the back of her vanity chair before stepping out of her slippers and climbing into bed. Her beautiful, soft, cozy pink bed that she only has to share with a man when she feels like it. God, she loves her bed.
Gabe's towel quickly gets swapped for his well-worn plaid pajama pants and then he's turning off the lights and climbing into bed next to Willow. As per usual, he snuggles up against her side, buries his face in the back of her hair and throws an arm around her waist. His hand ends up resting over her lower stomach, thumb rubbing over the silk that hides Willow's Joy Division esque stretch marks. For some reason, Gabe enjoys running his fingers over Willow's stretch marks, her slight cellulite, all the little dimples and imperfections in her body. Twenty years ago, it would've turned Willow's stomach horribly to have any of her flaws noticed, especially the ones around her stomach, hips and thighs. But twenty years ago, Willow was still married to her bastard ex-husband and Gabe hadn't even been born yet. Now she's free. Free to be her own person with her own life and the gorgeous nineteen year old boy she knows is her Mr. Right.
With a sleepy smile on her face, Willow brings a hand down to rest over top of Gabe's own hand on her stomach. “I love you, you know that?” Willow asks, rubbing her thumb over the backs of Gabe's knuckles. “So much, baby.”
“Mmm,” Gabe mumbles sleepily, his hair rustling against the pillowcase. He snuggles just the smallest bit closer to Willow then sighs contentedly. “I love you too, Mommy.”