As her (h/c) fell over her (e/c) eyes, she huffed a mighty sigh and continued to surf through boring television broadcasts. You absentmindedly flipped through countless commercial ridden stations, eyes wandering, yet your thumb clicked on. You were a completely nervous wreck tonight. Why? Well, it was your very first wedding anniversary with your dear Canadian husband, of course. You honestly did go all out for the special occasion, as well. Special red nails with French white tips and matching toes, your hair (curled/straightened) to perfection, a little teasing here and there. Also, your splurged and put on just a hint of powder. Blush staining your cheeks, saying, "I have a healthy, radiant glow," rather than the contrary,"I'm experiencing heat stroke." Yes, you indeed looked a picture this evening. You smoothed out your lovely (color that compliments your skin) long sleeved dress. It reached just past your collarbone, giving you an elegant sexy feel, and fluttered around your knees, accentuating your (s/c) legs.
You had the right to feel like a bombshell tonight, because tonight Matthew was taking you out to an expensive dinner at a local French influenced restaurant. You wanted to look the part not only to impress and please your husband, but to remind him what he married and why he married you. You wanted to feel proud that you were the one who caught his attention. You were the one who he fell for. You were the one he shimmied out of his airtight shell for. You were the one he chose to spend the rest of his life with. And, dammit, you were going to let him know how thankful you were tonight one way or another.
You took one last glance at yourself in the full length mirror, sitting at you two's bedside. You fixed the strap of your (shoe color) high heel, fluffed your hair, and smiled to the best of your capability at your reflection. You honestly felt good about yourself tonight. You giggled giddily as you pranced down the hallway leading to the stairway to the living room. You sat on the tan leather couch sitting nearest to the front door. You made sure to swing your legs up and cross them. You fixed your awkwardly placed arms and tried your best to look nonchalant. You picked up a sports magazine (hockey, of course) and busied yourself with reading the statistics. Your eyes darted to the clock multiple times, yet no dice. He was supposed to be here at eight o'clock sharp. It was now eight fifteen. Traffic? Non, it was late, mostly everyone was home at this time. Maybe he got caught up at work? That was understandable, he was after all the personification of Canada, he also had Mountie duty today. Ah, how he looked in that outfit...mmm.
Your train of thought was then rudely (well, you thought it was rude) interrupted by a loud slam, followed by some quietly spoken choice cursing in an adorable Canadian accent.
"Good evening, Mattie. I see you made it home alright?" You beamed at your tall, lumbering Canadian. He may be sturdily built, but he sure is harmless. He then turned to you and smiled a soft, heart wrenching endearing smile that spoke louder than any of his words ever could. You could see the love in his bright lavender blue eyes, sparkling lively behind his wire framed glasses resting precariously on the tip of his rosy nose. He lifted off his Mountie hat, placed it on your head, and gave you a nice, long kiss.
He sure is bold today! You thought as you leaned into the heartfelt kiss. You started to wrap your arms around his thick neck when you suddenly remembered in what condition your hair was in. You quickly yanked off the hat, placing it on the coat rack standing beside the door. You then turned on your heel to look into the mirror that hung on the wall in the hallway. Your hair was nearly as nice as you left it, only a few strands gone askew. You smoothed them down and waltzed back to where your husband was.
He was now taking off his thick boots and lying them near the door. Next, he shimmied out of his Red Serge and hung it on the coat rack, revealing a nice, simple white wife beater neatly tucked into his pants. His pale skin danced with the muscles beneath it, causing you to sway on your feet. Lucky for you, Matthew didn't notice, for he had his well built back to you. Working out five times a week really must have it's advantages. You thought as you struggled to keep your eyes from roving over his toned physique.
Tearing your mind from the gutter it was now floating aimlessly in, you spoke up.
"Sweetheart, not that I don't love a good striptease from my hubby every now and again, don't you think that our eight thirty reservations are slipping away?" You chided, slowly turning your attention to the clock residing over the mantle of your lovely cozy little fireplace. The hands telling you it was now eight twenty.
"Oh, geez. Sorry, (Name) it's just that I've been so distracted today, and I feel like I just can't do anything right today. Just give me a second, eh?..." He silently trailed off, hanging his head while ushering himself towards your bedroom where he would change into his dashing suit he would pull out for special occasions.
You now felt guilty. Your beautifully tinted lips pulled into a frown and you slowly strolled back to where your husband wandered off to. You smirked quietly to yourself when you came upon your handsomely dressed Canadian. He had smoothed his wavy dirty blonde hair out, that stubborn little curl bouncing in his eyes. He then ran a hand down his seemingly exhausted face, sighing when he felt the stubble that has risen upon his chin and jaw. Just as he reached for the shaving cream; however, you made your presence known.
"Matt, please don't. I think the rugged, sexy look is a winner. Besides, 5 o'clock shadow is cute on you~" You practically sung. You loved seeing him a little less cleanly shaven and a little more rugged and dirty. It made him look even more masculine, and that is what drove you absolutely insane.
He slowly faced you. Light, barely noticeable bags marred his otherwise flawless complexion. His lips were pursed, one hand resting on the top of the doorway, the other on his hip. He was dressed in his suit, sharp as a tack. And the way he was poised just finished it off. You had the strong urge to just jump him there, but you pushed it to the back of your mind for now.
"Listen, doll. It's already-" He stopped to look at his watch, "eight twenty nine. Damn..." He rested his head on his hanging arm. He looked so distraught and so full of fatigue, it broke your heart. He's been working himself to death lately. With these world meetings back to back, and going on patrol every other day, he's been stretching himself beyond his limit.
"You know what, Mattie, it's fine. I don't need a fancy dinner with you to celebrate a year of marriage. We just need each other, am I right? Or am I right?" You smiled brightly up at your weary husband, hoisted yourself on your tiptoes, and wrapped your arms around his neck. Soon enough his arms found themselves around your waist and you both melted into each other without a care in the world. Just as long as you two could share the warmth and the love you are feeling right now, it will all work itself out.
"Well, to really celebrate our marriage properly, we need you, me, and a bed, Mrs.(Name) Williams." (shut up, cheesy line is cheesy.)
"Is that so? Well, there's one right behind us. Have at it, Mr. Matthew Williams." You chuckled at the lighthearted banter you and your mate were having, meanwhile, his hands have gone wandering down your back to the zipper of your dress.
"May I?" He said, looking deeply into your (e/c) eyes with his indigo ones. This is just his nature and you absolutely adored it. He always made sure to run everything by you in the relationship, whether it be big or small, he never snuck anything by you. You had to admit, sometimes you wish that he'd be a little more spontaneous, but you honestly wouldn't change a thing about him or his ways. You just loved him too much.
"Please do..." You breathed. He smiled against the skin of your neck and traced a line up and down your spine and the zipper. He finally stopped teasing you and pulled it down slowly, trailing his knuckles against your bare skin as he revealed it. Once it was fully unzipped, he trailed his fingertips up the fragile, warm skin of your back and slowly slipped the sleeves off your arms.
You stepped out of your heels and let the lovely gown pool around your ankles. Now only clad in your (matching) undergarments, you huff at how deliciously overdressed your Matt is. You then lead his hand away from your bra strap and back to hang at his side.
"From now on tonight, you don't lift a finger, mon amour. permettez-moi de te faire l'amour Matthieu..." You had been practicing speaking French with Francis. Luckily, him, Arthur, and Alfred decided to all pay their long forgotten friend a visit.
"S'il vous plaît ne, ma charmante épouse..." Matthew huskily whispered, eyeing you as you loosened his tie. You then ran you ran your hand over his shoulders taking his tux jacket with you. Once that was taken care of, you tossed it carelessly onto the floor, hastily moving to unbutton his dress shirt. His chuckle rumbled deeply in his chest, making your fingertips tingle as the flew from button to annoying button. Once you had cleanly ripped his shirt off his body, you moved to his pants. Oh, how you now hated all clothing. It was out to make your life a living hell. You were positive of that. As you finally managed to clear him of all of his clothing except his boxer briefs, you trailed your hands up his exposed chest, grabbing and pulling on the few hairs on the alabaster skin of his chest, making him hiss in pain and pleasure.
"Se détendre, mon amour..."You eased him onto his back. You then mounted the Canadian mountie, swinging your legs over each side of his wondrously thick body. He arched into your hips, making you gasp at the sudden sensation, heat pooling in your juncture of your thighs. You smirked as you leaned forward, making the man blush hotly, tipping his head back as you went in for his sweet spot on his neck you found five months into the marriage.
"É-Érable..." The Canadian man growled into your ear as you nibbled a little harshly on his jugular. You absolutely adored when he would rasp out French in the middle of a steamy encounter. It turned you on like nothing else could.
"Tell me what you want Mattie...dites-moi ce que vous voulez." You moan into his ear, licking the shell slightly, biting it afterward, quickly grabbing onto his curl and tugging gently. He groaned, gripping your shoulders. He pulled you up to meet his distressed eyes. They bounced from one (e/c) eye to the other, his indigo gems finally landing on your pretty agape mouth.
"Suce-moi, s'il vous plaît, ma chérie..." Matthew growled huskily, so low you barely heard him.
You gulped.
Happy anniversary indeed.