"Sasha," she whined, not quite happy with her newly found confinements. Sasha chuckled at her, his attention still remaining on the small pile of vegetables he was slicing.
"I said no love; I don't think the microwave can stand another explosion," he teased, finding it hard to hide his smile at her childish expression. She jutted out her bottom lip and crossed her arms in front of her small frame. "Besides," he added, to her chagrin, "I think we ran out of our yearly calls to the fire department last month."
Payson Keeler was, quite frankly, one of the most extraordinary women he had ever met. She was the most decorated athlete in the history of gymnastics. She was the most dedicated coach he'd ever seen - next to himself of course - and an expert when dealing with their Rock Rebels. She was a very loving wife to her clearly unreasonable and cocky husband. She was not, however, the smartest or most coordinated person to be with in a kitchen.
Okay, so she made the microwave explode that one time while microwaving her chocolate chip cookie. And there was that time she tried to microwave jellybeans because she thought they'd get bigger - Becca's hilarious idea of a perfect prank. And there were a few other incidents that meant she and Sasha were so accustomed to seeing the fire department that they invited the good men at Station 7 to Thanksgiving last year . . . but that was hardly reason for him to forbid her from ever entering the kitchen.
"You know what, I don't think you're worried about the microwave," she said in a supercilious tone, "I think you're just jealous that I still have six gold medals and you only have four.
"Well guess what, they're mine," she claimed childishly, sticking her tongue out to express her discontent. "And you're mean."
Sasha barked out a laugh as he pushed the carrots to one side and started on some onions. Nothing was more adorable than Payson when she displayed both rage and childish petulance. It almost made Sasha feel young again. They had engaged in several outrageously childish arguments during the newlywed stage in their marriage, and there were few things in the world which could top the foolishness of a childish Payson when it came to lifting his spirits.
Tired of dawdling around in the hall, Payson flounced into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Sasha from behind him, burying her head into his shirt. She took a deep breath and sighed. Some things just never change.
"You smell like chalk and flowers. Was somebody looking through my perfume again?" she asked, cocking her head. Sasha spun around and threw her over his shoulder in one swift move. He carefully carried her to the counter top as she squealed at the sudden attack. He gently set her down and frowned, his eyes reading of disapproval. She offered him a cheeky smile and pressed a kiss to his nose.
"I thought I banned you from coming here, dragă," he tsked. "And I smell like flowers because someone insists on using the Flower Burst Tide Detergent to wash my clothes, something about them having a fresh and spring-y scent?" he said dubiously, wagging his eyebrows. Payson shrugged and slumped her shoulders.
"The winter smells like snow and cold air. I like the smell of flowers. Spring reminds me of new beginnings." Sasha smiled at her thoughtful reasoning. At least it was better than her usual response: Because it smells pretty.
"That would explain why you put off our wedding for six months just so it could be in the spring." She smiled and nuzzled her head into the crook of his neck.
"A new beginning was exactly what we needed," she murmured. He pulled her tight into his chest. "I'm guessing that means this is you officially being okay with smelling like Flower Burst Tide Detergent?" she wheedled playfully.
"Too bad I'm not your coach. I would have definitely made you do some hard core conditioning for making me smell like various seasons," he murmured, but Payson was already too busy kissing down the column of his neck to listen to his words.
"Look who's being mean now. Do you want dinner or not, dragă?" he asked, though his mind was on anything but dinner. She pulled away and jutted her bottom lip out once again, running a hand through his cropped hair. Though it was shorter than it had been when they started dating, it was still long enough for her to grasp her fingers into, which she knew drove him crazy. He let out a throaty groan, just as she had anticipated, leaning into her touch. He pulled her forward to press a kiss to her pouted lips.
"I'm assuming that means no dinner?" he asked, a cocky grin printed across his face. She sighed and gently gave his chest a shove.
"Fine, finish dinner," she said, her tone reading more irritated than upset. She kept her gaze on the pile of diced vegetables on the counter top as Sasha brushed a strand of hair away from her face. He traced a finger around her cheekbone, underneath her jaw, and below her chin, gently using his index finger to nudge her attention back to him. She met his loving gaze and offered him a wane smile. He gently took her face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together.
"I love you so much, frumoasa mea iubită," he whispered, as he saw the tear spark in her left eye.
"Have my words made up for my despicable actions, iubită?" he asked playfully, as the tear flowed down her cheek. She blinked the next away and shook her head.
"As much as you would love that, Sasha," she said slightly amused, "hasn't anybody told you to wash your hands after you cut onions? Its one thing to try to ban your wife from the kitchen, but trying to blind her with your onion covered fingers?
"And here I thought it was just a figure of speech - love really can kill," she added mischievously, wagging her eyebrows. Sasha immediately pried his hands away from her face and offered her a cheeky smile before making a move for the sink.
"How about a compromise?" he suggested, trying to make him way into her good graces after the near blinding. "You can slice the tomatoes and I'll take care of anything flammable. You think you can handle that?" he asked, almost as though he were offering some sort of life changing ultimatum. Payson rolled her eyes and snorted.
"Of course I can handle it," she groused, slightly annoyed at her husband's lack of confidence in her. "If I can handle a half on half off round off with two and a half twists, I'm sure can handle cutting through a vegetable."
She snatched the knife from the cutting board and continued cutting through the ripe tomato. Sasha chuckled at his loving - but unbearably clumsy - wife who was ecstatically hovering over a tomato. Somehow it didn't surprise him that the girl who had managed to run a clean sweep for all six medals at London was also determined enough to discover more than ten different ways to make a microwave explode. How could you expect any less from America's Sweetheart?
"Ouch! Sasha! It's bleeding!" Payson's cry cut through his thoughts. Again, was it even possible to expect any less from the world's most coordinated and poised gymnast?
"I'll get the band-aids."
A/N First of all, I want to thank Virgo Writer for beta-ing this story. It wouldn't be half as good if she didn't! I'm not quite sure if I'm going to continue this or not. I might make it a drabble series, but the decision is still pending. Reviews would help in the decision making process :)
Well, you know what I'm going to say now, so I'll leave you to it!