Author: Little Obsessions PM
Mr Addams needs Glasses. Just a little fluffy drabble. None of this belongs to me, it belongs to Paramount and The Tee and Charles Addams foundation. The Addams Family.Rated: Fiction K - English - Romance/Humor - Words: 789 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 18 - Follows: 1 - Published: 10-20-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4606628
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She watches him with amusement, a smile curling unwillingly at the edges of her red mouth as she peers discreetly over her book. He is moving the tome he is attempting to read back and forth, trying to focus his eyes. But it isn't helping - he huffs with irritation and makes an attempt to read it again. This is becoming more and more frequent and though she finds it endearing, it is not as if a trip to the attic wouldn't produce a decent pair of spectacles for him to be able to read better. There is no doubt hundreds of ancient relatives spectacles lingering in their attic.
"You need glasses, old man," she places her own book in her lap and laughs gently.
"Old man?" He snorts, placing his own down and taking out a cigar. He takes a long draw, like a drink of much needed arsenic.
"Yes, old man," she teases kindly, "7 years my senior makes you an old man."
He places his hand dramatically over his heart and cries, "You wound me, cara!"
"I am sorry," she laughs and cocks an eye brow, "But I have told you for too long now, you need glasses." She lifts the wine glass to her mouth, a mix of arsenic and the finest wine and takes a sip. He smiles.
"And I have repeatedly told you-"
"That your pride is horrendous," she teases mercilessly but softens her tone, "I think you'd be rather suave with glasses."
He laughs gloriously and runs his hand slightly over his pomaded hair, which is peppered with grey at the sides, "You think I am not suave enough already?"
"Oh no," she is deliciously coquettish, "I adore you as sophisticated as you are now, but you are getting on, vieil homme."
"You think because it is in French, I shall not be insulted?"
"No," she shakes her head, "It merely sounds better."
"Ah, always the practicalities." He rests back and draws his hands over his eyes, then lifts his eyes to hers again and smiles caddishly.
"Gomez," she sighs, "I really mean it, please get glasses."
"Morticia," his tone is unusually stern, "Why are you so insistent?"
"I just want you to," she raises her brow, "Don't be stubborn."
He smiles softly, "I couldn't be stubborn with my young bride."
"Ha," she snorts, while still retaining a lady-like mannerism, "You make me sound 25."
"Don't you feel 25?"
She stands up, placing her book down on the cracked, dusty surface of the table and settles herself in his lap - as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And to her, it is. Her legs hanging over the old queen Anne which he so loves to frequent, her head against the wing of the head rest. He always says that this chair was built for them.
"No," she smiles, "26..."
"I suppose, compared to me you are a young thing," he squeezes her thigh cheekily, "You certainly feel like one."
"I am surprised you remember what a young girl feels like, old man. I certainly have." She kisses his lips and wraps her arms round her own unhealthily small waist, and measures it with her hands. She sighs ruefully.
"I feel it every night," he smirks, his hand squeezing her thigh again, "Lying in bed."
"Gomez, please get glasses."
He sighes slightly, "Alright."
"Thank you," she touches her forehead to his, "After all, how are you supposed to see your young bride without them?"
"I would be quite happy just to touch her," he laughs, running his hand along her cheek, "But I am getting old. You know before you were awake this morning, I tried to show Pubert how to do a hand spring into a flip, it took me a good few seconds to get myself of the ground. Old bones. I am losing my physical prowess."
"Oh," she smiles and trails her fingers down the buttons of his shirt, "I wouldn't say that. There are still some things you are very good at…quite fantastic, in fact."
"Good to know," he kisses her lips forcefully this time, with no vale of manners or propriety.
"I can still carry you to bed."
He slips his arm under her legs, encouraging her to place her arms round his neck as he stands.
"What else can you do?" She kisses the side of his neck, her teeth nipping the skin there. He tastes of cologne and cigars. A heady mixture.
"Just wait to see," he smiles caddishly and raises his eyes to the heavens in mock annoyance, "Young women are far too impatient."
Well, I hope you enjoyed it.