|Sweet Nothings: Fire
Author: applecherry PM
It's not friction nor chemistry. They really just burn together, naturally. 07-Marker: Even the littlest things leave marks.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Ren T. & Pirika/Pirka U. - Chapters: 4 - Words: 4,059 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 08-29-12 - Published: 05-17-12 - id: 8126079
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Even the littlest things leave marks.
It was a typical Sunday afternoon in the Tao household. The peace and quiet that was rarely present during their younger years was more frequent in this epoch. The patriarch was reading in a corner, the matriarch was carving wood, and the little boy was studiously doing his homework.
A perfect picture of a peaceful, ideal family.
Later, the patriarch dozes off and the matriarch is by the little boy, supervising his study. And the perfect picture breaks.
"Mama, can I write on Daddy's face with a marker?"
Pirika gasps, "Certainly not," then pauses.
The Tao heir, with all the regality and seriousness, caught this as a hint and thought further.
"Can we write in Daddy's face with a marker?"
She raises a brow and he thinks again.
"Can we write in Daddy's face with a washable marker?"
She smiles. "That's better." He starts to stand but his mother halts him with a glare. "After your studies." The boy pouts but complied, reminding himself of his mother's wrath.
It seems that this little boy defies everything the world knows him by when he is at home with only his father and either mother around. And without doubt, he would take the wrath of his father any day than that of his mothers.
So the little boy finished up and scurries along, retrieving his weapon of choice for his current mischief, then climbs up his father's lap. His Mama sits on one arm of the chair. He uncaps the washable marker and raises it inches against the face of the oblivious royalty. "What are you thinking?" His mother asks, not out of disbelief, but of curiosity. "Moustache and beard?" The little boy stares intently at the pristine face of the still-sleeping emperor. His mother leaned back. "I though you had better creativity than that." He attempts a glare at his Mama, his ego wounded.
"He's very much like a sleeping lion, isn't he?" The moment the word 'lion' left her lips, they were already grinning at each other. And so the felt tip finally touched skin.
The partners-in-crime worked deliberately with full concentration to keep their laughter at a minimum. You do not want to wake a sleeping lion. Ever.
A few moments later they stood back to study their work of art. Satisfied, he caps the marker.
"I must say, your art skills are improving, Men," his Mama comments. He puffs his chest and grins, bows and replies a thank you.
And the sleeping lion starts to stir. "Men, I think this is the part where you get away and escape."
"But I wanna see his reaction!" The little boy was determined to see the fruits of their work.
"Do you want to get eaten?" At this, the boy's eyes widen and he dashes off. This leaves the matriarch to her own devices.
With a graceful stride, she closed the distance and straddled the emperor, sitting seiza-style on his lap. "Wow, great acting, Ren. No pulsing spike (all three pulsed at this point), no twitching (his brows and lips twitched, a vein popped)." She shrugs, "well, until now anyways." She shifts her legs to the sides of his lap as she presses herself down a little, an elbow propped against his chest, her chin resting against her raised palm in thought. "Still, I think you should consider a change in profession." She inched closer, tracing the marks she and her boy left earlier.
Just like a solemn rabbit having an up-close, casual conversation with an enraged lion.
He exhales a large, shaky breath. "Happy?"
"Very." And the rabbit takes the lion's mouth.
They'd do anything to make their boy's childhood be branded with nothing like theirs.
Review if you would. Constructive criticisms appreciated. Reasonable flames accepted.
Posted: 082912 . 2029h
Thank you for all the reviews, follows and faves!
Sweet Nothings: Fire © applecherry™ May 2012