Previously posted on tumblr ~ A quick lightening prompt drabble from Orange shipper based on "flowers, ribbon, tickle."
"Matthew, have you seen —" Mary's voice trailed off as she stepped into the doorway of the sitting room and was greeted with scene of chaos in front of her.
A rather guilty looking Matthew was sitting on the floor, scattered petals and torn leaves surrounding him and trailing in various directions around the room.
He had time for a quick forgive me look before a bundle of energy bounced into her leg and clung on. "Mama!"
George was giggling up at her, bright blue eyes shining out from an excited face that held an all-too-familiar expression of unbridled joy she recognized from his father. As he held onto her hem with one dirt-smudged hand, the other stretched up to offer her a rather bedraggled bouquet of wildflowers (and possibly some weeds) tied with a wilting pink ribbon.
"Well, George, thank you!" she laughed and took the bouquet, a quick glance in Matthew's direction.
"What were we going to say to Mama, George?" Matthew prompted, shifting to get his legs under him.
"Mama mama mama mama mama," George babbled happily, careening around the room before launching himself at Matthew, "Tickle!" he commanded as he grabbed at Matthew's waistcoat, trying to mimic an underarm tickle.
Matthew let out an, "Oof!" as George toppled him over, still crying out for a tickle.
Mary fought not to dissolve completely into laughter as she watched the two tumble on the carpet before Matthew sat them both back up. His hands on George's sides resulted in an immediate shrieking giggle from George as he wriggled free, running and laughing hysterically as he circled the room on his sturdy toddler legs.
Matthew looked up at Mary, his hand pushing his hair back, a rain of petals dislodging themselves from his blonde locks as he did. "Remind me again who taught him the tickle game?"
Mary chuckled lowly, and stepped forward to offer Matthew a hand up. "Oh, that was all you, I believe."
"I thought so." They leaned into each other, watching George's antics as he galloped around the room, singing a song of his own making. "Of course I think it was taught to me by a certain someone with dark hair and dark eyes." He grinned at her.
She looked away coyly. "Perhaps. But I think it was a very different version. And certainly not for children."
"Mmm, but good for making them," he murmured against her, slipping his arm around her waist, his fingers tickling up her side so she squirmed into his embrace more. He tilted her face up to his, hesitating just a breath above her lips. "Happy mother's day, my darling," he whispered against her as George threw tiny fistfuls of wilted petals around them.