Title: Mama's Boy

Author: buildmeapyramid

Rating: M (kind of obvious, if you know the author lol) for slashy feelings and an extreme number of horrendously awkward situations

Prompt: #12, "I have no idea how my mom is going to react, but today is the day. I'm going to tell her that I'm gay."

Disclaimer: Let's just say SM owns the boys. She also owns the horrified expression she would have on her face if she ever found out what I've made them do. D

A/N: I don't know what it is with me and these Twimamas, but I'm totally loving the mother/son vibe. Maybe it's because if my son/daughter ever came out to me, I'd do pretty much the same thing as my fic mamas would (aka confess that I've been a proud member of PFLAG since he/she first started crawling). But anyway, this is what happens when I'm given beer on the day of the deadline (I'm pretty sure the muse also got a bit tipsy…js js js). Also, I'm pretty proud that I got this in like half an hour before midnight. *victory dance*



I have no idea how my mom is going to react, but today is the day.

I'm going to tell her that I'm gay.

Of course, I'm pretty sure she was smart enough to figure it out on her own once she found the porn magazine I accidentally left on my bed this morning. (And there's really no way she could've missed it.) I've been giving myself mental facepalms ever since I walked into my first lecture this morning, realizing right in the middle of class what I'd done and letting out a very badly-timed "OH SHIT!"

Professor Banner was slightly less than understanding.

Now, it is exactly 3:23 in the afternoon, and I've been sitting in my beat-up Volvo for the past fifteen minutes trying to work up the nerve to walk into my mother's house and face her. I don't think I've ever been more terrified.

It takes me a while to gather the courage to step out of my car. It takes me a while longer to make my legs move towards the door. And it takes serious balls to walk inside.

I take a deep breath and smell something cooking, so with my stomach somewhere around my ears, I slowly head towards the kitchen.

See, it's not that I'm afraid she'll kick me out or anything. I know my mom wouldn't go that far. But she . . . ya know . . .

Fuck it. I'm a mama's boy, alright?

So when I say I'm scared shitless, it's because I'd rather cut off an arm than hurt my mom. I don't want to disappoint her.

I find her elbow-deep in chocolate, cooking up some slightly insane-looking brownies. She's humming a Lady Gaga song and there's brownie mix in her hair, but even though I would normally burst out laughing at my ridiculous mom, I'm too busy shaking in my socks.

I think my knees knock together a bit too loudly and she looks up. "Oh, hi, honey!" She beams at me.

My lips feel big and clumsy as I stutter something back to her.

She frowns. "What's wrong, sugar? I'm making my deluxe brownies for you."

What the hell? Is this the if-I-ignore-it-maybe-it'll-go-away attitude? Did she really not notice the treasure chest of sexy naked men smack dab in the middle of my bed?

My confusion must show on my face, 'cause my mom gives me this smug look and turns back to her brownies. "There's something on the table for you," she practically sings.

My stomach goes from my ears to my feet in less than a second when I turn and see what she's talking about. My magazine. And . . .

I step a little closer. Is that . . . ?

"You know Mrs. Whitlock down the street?" Mom pipes up behind me.

Oh God. This isn't happening.

I can hear the smile in Mom's voice as she continues, "Her son Jasper is about your age."

I can see those ten digits scrawled on the Post-It even with my eyes closed. "He's quite the package," Mom adds.

Holy. Fuck. "Oh my God," I say.

"What's wrong, baby doll?"

"Mom, I'm going to my room."

I don't wait for her reply.

I grab my magazine, my sexy-as-hell neighbor's phone number, and I run like the devil's behind me.


Alice doesn't bother to knock. That's not really her style. She barges right on in, and I hear her bouncing footsteps come to a stop as she sees me. I haven't bothered to clear off the pile of "Safe Gay Sex" pamphlets Mom left on my bed—though I did manage to throw the "Gay Love for Dummies" book over in a corner—and I'm now lying in the heap with my magazine in my left hand and Jasper Whitlock's phone number in my right.

"What the hell happened?" Alice exclaims.

I groan in response.

I hear the shuffle of paper as Alice clears a spot for herself, and then I'm being poked. "Dammit, Alice, get your bony little fingers away from me," I yelp.

"Not until you explain exactly what you did that could verify Mom buying every gay sex pamphlet on the shelves," Alice retorts.

A well-aimed jab in the ribs has me rolling straight off the bed, and when I crack open one bleary eye from my position on the floor, I see Alice's face propped up on her hands as she leans over me, an alarmingly wicked grin on her face.

"Tell me everything," she says.


Emmett and Rose are in the middle of a wrestling match in the living room when Alice and I finally make our way downstairs after the entire tale of my coming out gone awry has been told at least a dozen times. "Mommy, Em bit me!" Rose yells when she sees us, abandoning her twin brother to toddle towards Alice with butter-blonde pigtails bouncing behind her.

"Did not!" Emmett protests, chubby round fists on his hips.

"Where's Peter?" I ask.

Alice shrugs as she leans forward to lift her pouting 4-year-old into her arms. "He's helping Charlotte move in. I promised I'd keep the kids out of the house for a few hours."

"Seeing as how you've only been in your room for less than an hour, I take it you didn't read the book." Mom's disapproving voice makes me jump, and I turn to see my mom standing in the doorway licking brownie mix off her fingers.

Alice rolls her eyes, setting Rose down so she can get back to wrestling with her brother. "Jesus, Mom, you nearly gave him a heart attack. The traditional way to support your newly-out gay son does not involve buying out the gay section at Border's."

"Well, pardon me for wanting to make sure my baby knows I'll march with him in all the gay pride parades."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Mom," I practically squeak, raising my hands defensively. "Let's not talk about parades just yet. I'm not sure if I'm ready to see you on a rainbow float." I gulp at the thought. I always knew my mom was crazy, but today has completely transformed my image of her.

"Oh honey," Mom sighs, tucking her spatula into one of around a dozen pockets on her Ever heard of naked barbeque? apron. "You know I love you and I just want to keep you safe." She crosses the room and gives me a hug, probably smearing brownie all over me. "You're my baby boy, and I just want to make sure you know I'll always support you no matter what you do." She takes a step back and winks at me. "Plus, I'm hoping you'll find some fashion-conscious gay friends to help straighten out that shipwreck you call a wardrobe."

I gape at her. "Mom!"

Alice sniggers behind me. Traitor.

"Oh, by the way," Mom calls out as she practically skips back to the kitchen," I knew you wouldn't call him, so I asked Mrs. Whitlock and Jasper over for dinner tonight."

"I'll dress him!" Alice promises, and before I have the chance to glare at her, I'm being dragged up the stairs.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Al?" I protest.

I can practically hear the smirk in her voice as she replies, "Making you into a stud."


I never realized how much time and sweat and blood (okay, not blood, but a really sharp pair of scissors did come pretty close to the goods) goes into looking "hot as hell", as Alice calls it. Most of the two hours we spent upstairs in my room were spent taming my hair, which even I have to admit doesn't exactly do what it's told.

Now, I'm standing in front of the bathroom mirror with Alice beaming at her work beside me. My wrinkled T-shirt has been exchanged for a dark blue button-down that I didn't even know I owned, and I'm wearing khakis, God help me. But what flabbergasts me the most is my hair.

Alice sees my baffled look and pipes up defensively, "Before, it just looked like you'd rolled out of bed and couldn't be bothered to use a comb. Now, it looks . . . artfully disarrayed."

I give up. Whatever the fuck is wrong with my life and my family, it's too late to stop fate now. I'm just gonna close my eyes and go with it.

Alice gathers up her now exhausted monsters and leaves, winking at Mom and smacking my ass, calling out just before she shuts the door, "Go get 'em, tiger!"

Fuck my life.

Mom comes up behind me, holding shish kabobs in one hand and what looks like a pamphlet in the other. "God, Mom, another one?" I whine.

"Hey, this one's a real page-turner!" she says defensively, handing it to me along with a shish kabob.

I read the title: How to Seduce Your Man Over Dinner. There's a cartoon on the cover with a naked man in an apron and another man sprawled across a kitchen table.

Holy shit, my mother is a fucking maniac.

I clear my throat. "Well, that looks, um, helpful," I say.

"I have a spare apron, if you like," Mom offers.

I stare, horrified.

Mom bursts out laughing. "For God's sakes, Edward, I'm joking!" she chuckles, smacking my arm. "Just because that young Whitlock boy has a positively sinful body, doesn't mean I need to see it, let alone when my son is the one—"

"Okay, Mom, that's enough!" I shout, putting my hands to my ears.


If I thought he looked hot when he was outside mowing his mama's lawn without a shirt on, then damn, he's something to behold when he's sitting at my kitchen table, pretty blue eyes heating me from the inside even when I'm not looking at them. He's officially buttered up my mother to the point that she's treated him to not one, but two of her deluxe brownies, and now he's biting into a piece of chicken like it's a slice of heaven.

I never realized just how weird it could feel to be turned on while sitting between my mother and my walking wet dream who just said something to me in that low, delicious, honeyed Texan voice.

Wait, he's talking to me. Shit!

"What?" I mumble stupidly.

I can feel my mom glaring at me as I look up at Jasper. Fucking hell, his eyes are blue.

He chuckles, the sound making me shiver. "I asked you what your major is." It takes every bit of focus I have to focus on what he's saying instead of the way his words growl and rumble, like silk over sandpaper.

"Um, m-music c-composition," I stutter. My cheeks are flaming, I know it.

"What about you, Jasper, dear? What do you do?" My mom saves me.

"Carpentry," he replies, smiling that delicious, sexy smile that makes me want to attack him. "I make handmade furniture."

"Really?" My mom nudges my foot under the table. "That's wonderful, dear."

She kicks me. Hard.

"Ow!" I gasp. I feel three pairs of eyes on me, and I fumble. "Um, yeah, great," I choke out. There's an awkward silence for a minute or two, and I clear my throat, desperate to get away from meddling mothers and the hot-as-hell neighbor I'm being set up with who's driving me absolutely insane. "I need to use the bathroom," I mutter.

I hightail it out of there, and by the time I get to the bathroom I'm about ready to pull my hair out.

My insane mom is going to be the death of me, I swear to God. Why is my family so fucking backwards? I'm pretty sure Alice is already cooking up some scheme for my "gay marriage of the century", and God only knows what's going on in Mom's head.

I lean forwards with my hands on either side of the sink to support me. Deep breaths. In. Out. In.


Holy fuck.

I look up, and sure enough, Jasper Whitlock is standing beside the open door. I jolt, smacking my head against the towel hanger as I snap up. "Shit!" I yelp.

Great job, Edward. Great job.

I hear his deep—oh God—laugh from behind me, and I turn to see him standing in front of my, head cocked and those fucking gorgeous eyes studying me thoughtfully.

"Something tells me that tonight is a first for you," he says, obviously amused.

"You could say that," I reply weakly.

He steps closer. I can smell him, musk and spice and man and Jesus Christ, I want to lick him. His scent is making me dizzy. "I haven't done this before either," he tells me. "I'm twenty-four years old, what the fuck am I doing, letting my mom set me up?" Another step closer. God, if I had the balls, I could reach out and touch him. "But she was setting me up with you, the sexy, quiet guy with this fucked-up, perfect hair and these lips—" I'm so beyond confused right now. What the fuck is he talking about? Am I dreaming? What is going on?

Another step. I whimper when he lifts his hands, placing them on either side of my head. "God, Edward," he breathes—his lips tickle mine and I'm panting, wanting, fighting so fucking hard to stay still and not tackle him—"you don't even know how sexy you are."

And then he kisses me.

Oh my God.


I think I make a noise. I think he does too, but my ears are all kinds of fucked up right now, because Jasper fucking Whitlock is kissing me.

His lips are warm and dry, dragging across mine. It's a lazy kiss, exploring. But then it's not. Suddenly I'm pressed up against the wall, and there's roaming hands and teasing tongues and fuck, I can feel every hard inch of him. I think I'm in heaven.

It takes me a minute to realize he's not kissing me anymore. His mouth is pressed against my ear and I can feel his hot breaths huffing against my neck. "I don't think it's the best idea to fuck you when our moms are downstairs discussing home decorating."

Fuck me. God. Please.

I think I say it out loud, because he chuckles and kisses my neck before stepping away. "I'll just be downstairs then," he says, and then I'm alone.

Holy fuck.

I look at myself in the mirror, at my swollen lips and now completely destroyed hair, and I can't help but grin like an idiot.

God, I love my mom.


A/N: So that's that. Most of this last bit was drunken insanity, so please excuse the typos, etc. Whenever I tried to reread what I'd written, my brain did swirlies. :/ Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!