A fly lands on Mira's tiny nose, drawn to the putrid smell of baby-formula coming from the infant's mouth. His eyes crossing slowly to look at the fly, the baby kicks his legs in turn, ruffling the thin bedsheets into an ugly, wrinkled pile at the end of the crib. He lets out a soft grunt, his mouth hanging open.
The fly's tiny sponge-mouth dabs away at the bridge of the nose, it's rear-legs brushing off it's backside as it awkwardly crawls from side to side.
A warm, white liquid gurgles out of Mira's throat with a sudden, but mild, force, and he pushes it out with his tongue; the spit-up runs down his chin and slides down his neck, disapearing under his onesie. The infant makes another sound, more loudly, then lashes out with his arms and legs purposelessly. The fly, disturbed, flings itself into the air and hovers over to the bedroom window and proceeds to beat itself into the invisable barrier.
The fly gone, Mira focuses his eyes at the thing looming above him; a long shower cutrain rod rests high over the crib with dozens of colorful ringlets and toys hanging from the center. There's even a mirror; seeing himself as nothing but a bright, blurry face, Mira spreads open his gumless mouth and lets out a high-pitched cry of amusement. He throws his legs around happily and reaches a fist up to the ringlets, but he can't touch them. Taking a long pause, the baby's expression goes blank, and he drools out with quiet moans of confusion. Then he laughs, his eyes squinting, his voice shrill.
A deep, but tender voice enters the room before the speaker: "Ah, Papa was wondering when his Sleeping Beauty would awaken from his slumber." The man steps into the bedroom and walks over to the crib, a small, half-full baby-bottle in one hand. He bends down over the crib and wiggles his fingers at the three-month baby's stomach. "You slept much longer than your last nap; Papa thanks you. I was able to finish filing in my paperwork for school."
At the sight of him, little Mira grins widely, his lips spread apart in a perfect smile. His eyes squint up as he lets out a long, happy note of nothingness. Kicking wildly, the infant starts blowing out bubbles of spit from his mouth. He squeals twice more before settling down enough so that Kyousuke can pick him up without being in danger of dropping him.
Kyousuke bends over and quickly scoops him up against his chest with one hand, careful to have his head resting in the pit on his elbow. He steps over to the rocking chair and sits down, laying the baby on his back. "There now," says the man adoringly. He un-caps the baby-bottle with his thumb, sending the clear plastic lid bouncing on the carpet floor. It rolls into a corner. "You must be thristy right about now. Ne?"
Seeing the familiar shape of the bottle, little Mira starts to whimper and struggle eagerly for milk, his face turning red, his eyes narrowing with sudden anger.
Smiling, the man presses the side of his right index finger at the baby's mouth. Mira opens and begins to suck gingerly on it, his tongue constantly pressing up against it with a soft, wet, warm pressure. Mira makes very quiet, gutteral sounds as he swallows air in attempt of receiving milk from the finger, kicking his legs lightly in voiceless frusteration.
Kyousuke laughs and begins rocking the chair with one foot. "Show me how hungry you are, my dear." he tells the boy. The man removes his finger, then shoves the whole thing into the infant's mouth. Immediately, Mira clamps his mouth down over it entirely and begins gumming at it, his tongue rubbing firmly along the bottom of the index finger.
"Oh, really hungry, are you?" says the man with a smirk. Regardless, the man keeps his finger in, and even begins to touch himself, putting one hand down into his underwear. He continues tracing his loins even as his breathing turns to lustful panting. He puts two fingers in the baby's mouth, and Mira gags lightly, but sucks all the harder, grunting every now and then, his hands turning to fists, jerking.
Kyousuke rocks himself and Mira, shaking his dick like a frappuccino, until the baby gives up trying to drink and shoves them(the fingers) out with his tongue. Mira starts to wail in starvation.
With a few comforting words, his Papa calms him down and shoves the long, irregular bottle-nipple into Mira's mouth, the still-warm formula sloshing unappealingly inside.
The infant drinks noisily and quits moving.
Removing his hand from his pants, Kyousuke discovers it is coated in pre-cum. Without a second thought, he rubs his fingers together until all of it gathers on a single digit. He removes the battle bottle from Mira's mouth and lowers his creamy finger to the baby and traces Mira's lips with it, wiping his pre-cum all over the baby's mouth, even putting the finger into Mira's mouth and"brushing" his gums with it.
Mira's small, strawberry tongue flaps up and down, tasting the familiar- yet always different- liquid of his Papa's "milk." But it's not enough. He opens his mouth real wide and starts to scream.
Kyousuke pops the rubber nipple back into the baby's mouth, and the scream is cut off. A long period of silence comes between them, and that is when the fly makes it's final move.
The winged insect flies over to the lid in the corner, tasting the formula in the air. It lands on the lid and begins to sponge.
Yawning, the man rocks the chair. He looks at Mira and watches him drink. "Mira..." he says. The baby's eyes meet his, and they both smile at one-another. "I could just eat you up!" he tells the boy.
He gently gets both of Mira's feet in one hand and raises them slightly, feeling them, checking them. The tiny feet as very, very soft: Having never yet touched the earth, they have countable wrinkles on the soles- the most being five. They are softer than a freshly shaved leg. Kyousuke runs the back of his hand slowly across them, enjoying the texture of flawless baby flesh.
Mira burps while sucking limply on the nipple, smelly formula oozing out from the sides of his mouth. The man un-snaps the bottom of the onesie and pulls it over the baby's face, mopping up the drool. The baby wiggles, making loud, blunt noises of an on-coming tummy ache.
Frowning, Mira wails, his toothless mouth open in a gap of madness.
At this time, Mira's Papa decides that Mira is finished drinking. "All right, Mira, burping time." He stands up, supporting the baby by having one arm between the infant's legs, curling him to his chest.
Kyousuke turns on his heels, waltzing over to the lid sitting on the carpet.
The fly doesn't sense any threat heading it's way.
But Kyousuke sees the fly as a threat to Mira's health- and it must be dealt with.
He stomps onto it with an alarming thud, breaking the plastic lid- leaving a black-and-red smear on the floor. A minute later, the man sits backdown, simply dropping the empty baby bottle to the floor while he pats Mira's back repeatedly with the palm of his hand.
Kyousuke's other hand returns to the depts of his manhood, the arm linked around the infant.
Listlessly, little Mira hangs like a doll over his Papa's arm, drooling into his filthy onesie, blinking unexpectedly when the pats are too hard.
"Uuueerp." The upsetting smell of formula bursts into the air.
"Good boy, Mira," Kyousuke licks his lips, both hands doing specific tasks. "Good boy."