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"Ugh, it hurts—!" As if the complaint weren't clear enough, Asuka let out a long whine from further down the bed. Lying flat on her back with legs dangling off the bed, she'd splayed her arms out over the blankets as far as seemed physically possible; that one awkwardly draped over Ayako's legs was the sole concession. There was plenty of room if she hadn't parked herself dead-center, but Asuka always seemed to prefer looking helpless. It was cute, if occasionally inconvenient; above all, it was nice some things hadn't changed. "Why's she so brutal, anyway?!" She craned her head back to look at Ayako. "Can't we, like, take turns?"
As properly tucked into bed as could be managed with her daughter flailing on the blankets, Ayako set her reading glasses back in place with a fingertip and returned her focus to her book. By itself, the warm lamp on her nightstand was a bit dim. Asuka's had been exiled to a far corner of the room for more space; the king size bed had turned from luxury to liability with a bedside bassinet. "I told you to expect this," Ayako whispered. "You weren't any more forgiving."
"That doesn't make my boobs feel any better!" The blankets rustled as Asuka swept her arms back and forth, occasionally bumping Ayako's knee. They—well, Ayako—typically kept quiet, but more out of nightly habit; kept fed, Akane slept through everything short of a running vacuum. Asuka's pouting had never quite risen to that volume. "Come on, Mom, help me."
"I hope you're joking, miss graduate student. That's not how it works." Oh, that would have been heaven, though: getting Asuka to take a bottle had been torturous. She looked back at Asuka over her reading glasses. "If it did, I'd have had Akira nurse you."
Asuka stopped flailing and huffed.
Amused, Ayako reached down and stroked her fingers through her daughter's hair. Newly a sensible angled bob, it hadn't been this short since she was little, but it suited her so much differently alongside the sharper Morii features that had surfaced in her teens. Evidence of Ayako's dalliance with a girlier short cut, full of layers and curls, thankfully existed only in a few embarrassing high school photos. "On the other hand, Akira drinks so much coffee it probably would have killed you."
"Ugh, stop!" Asuka let out an annoyed groan. "I don't want to think about anybody's breasts but yours!"
Ayako shrugged and set her eyes back on her book, lifting the remaining pages from the back cover and holding the thin stack between thumb and forefinger in amazement. Though she'd been a bookworm all her life, she still marveled at how there never seemed enough pages left to bring the plot threads to a close—then it happened anyway. One of the joys of paper. "Well, it's interesting you brought it up, at least." A thought struck her as she idly thumbed through the sliver of pages. Unsure if she should share it, she paused. "Medically, it's possible, with domperidone and—"
"We already have that!" There was more rustling; Ayako again peeked over the book to find Asuka rolled onto her belly, eyes shining with renewed hope. "Like when I got the stomach flu that one time!"
"Shh. Let me finish." Ayako nudged her with a foot from beneath the blankets. "The far more important part is …" More heat at her cheeks. "Regular … nipple stimulation." Unable to concentrate, she set the book down on her chest. Defeat. "I suppose I could start using the pu—"
"No!" Asuka's palms struck the bed. "Please. Give me this one thing."
"Alright." She'd had enough of the pump for a lifetime. "But you'll have to be diligent, okay? Or you're getting replaced." Finally, a firm ultimatum, Ayako thought, then realized she had both agreed to the plan and committed even if Asuka gave up. How did this always happen?
"I promise." Asuka clasped her hands together, only to be met with a wail from the bedside.
"Ara~" Ayako ruffled Asuka's hair. "Off you go."
"Aaagh." Asuka crawled up the bed toward the bassinet.
Chuckling to herself, Ayako glanced briefly at the nightstand, ensuring the rest on her reading list were still stacked neatly there before lifting the book from her chest. Seven pages to go; another too-brief ending on another long night, with many more to come.