Gomez grinned, biting his lip. Only she could make him do so.

He had to chuckle; even when intoxicated, his querida was enchanting. Well, and adorable. That was added to the endless list of glorious things about his Tish, when she was drunk.

"What did I do humourous now?" Morticia's grip on her words was slipping, and her husband could sense it.

Gomez sighed, shaking his head. "I believe you've had a bit too much to drink, my dearest." He replied.

Morticia rolled her eyes, making herself comfortable in her husband's strong embrace, amongst the grey, silk and satin bedsheets on the luxury mattress.

As she spoke, she tried, desperate and in vain, not to slur her sentence. "I have had a fine amount of red wine."

Gomez nodded. "Of course, my darling. And I would believe you."

"You don't?" Morticia questioned.

"No." Gomez told her, honestly.

"Why?" Morticia looked completely confused.

Gomez pointed at the glass of Dom Pérignon champagne in her hand. "We're drinking champagne, cara mia. Dom Pérignon champagne."

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "I don't care if Mr. Pérignon is dom or submissive, he's still just champagne."

Gomez's eyes grew wide and he supressed a laugh, nearly spilling his own drink in doing so. If sober Morticia could see her drunk counterpart... one of these nights, he would have to prove half of the things she said to her when she was nontoxicated.

"My dearest, I... Dom Pérignon is..." He didn't know where to begin. "You're right." Gomez decided. "But just a minute ago, you called him red wine." He could hardly believe he was addressing the glass in her hand as gender-specific after a mere three drinks.

Damn. Mrs. Addams really couldn't hold her alcohol.

"Play me an audio recording and I'll believe it." Morticia finished half of her third glass.

Gomez finished most of his own and set it on the dark wooden nightstand next to their large, gothic bed. "Intoxicated Morticia doesn't take my word for it, I see."

Morticia seemed to be in thought for a moment. Hell knows, what about. "Intoxicated?" She shook her head, holding up a shaking but intendedly reassuring hand. "Please, mon cher, I'm not..." Her black eyes shifted. "I'm not even drink. I'm not even drink."

Well, that confirmed it.

Gomez gently lifted the bottle from Morticia's delicate hand, at an odd angle, hoping that perhaps, at her drunken state, she wouldn't notice.

And in a way, she didn't.

Morticia looked up. Her eyes were focused, souly on the glass and the swishing champagne contained there in. To her inebriated eyes, it appeared as though Mr. Pérignon were floating away, attatched to nothing.

Dazed, she reached out, but reached it, not. "Where are you going?" She asked the inanimate glass. "Come back!" Her soft, drunk, tired voice called to it.

After he had set the glass down, next to his own, Gomez eyed her, both confused and a bit concerned of expression.

Morticia simply -although there really wasn't anything simple about it- stared at her husband, in awe. Eyes wide, she asked, "Did you see that?"

Gomez now could not hold back his laughter. It was too much to resist! He didn't see her like this often but the way even drunk her turned a... well, something of a phrase. He could no longer supress the wave of laughter from inside of him.

Morticia raised an eyebrow. "I think you're laughing at me."

Gomez took a deep breath, controlling himself as he was on the verge of tearing up.

He drew her close to his chest, and looked deep into those beautiful, dark eyes of hers. "No, cara mia." Gomez responded and pushed a bit of midnight-coloured hair from her face, then gently caressing her cheek. "Not at you." He smiled. "Just your words."

Morticia seemed exhausted, but remained lucid enough to carry on the conversation and snuggle up against her amour. "Are my words not a part of myself?"

Gomez didn't even care if she had said that right anymore. All that mattered was that she was here, in his arms, and he could keep her safe, and warm; worship her and make her feel adored, loved, cherished because she was. She always would be, his corazón, his querida, his Tish... forever.

"Usually, yes." Gomez admitted. "But those words..." He thought. "I doubt if you were sober, you would have said half of them."

Morticia smiled up at him. "Well, I would say this, drunk... as much as would I, sober," She tried so, very hard not to trip over her words. "I love you."

Gomez kissed her. "I love you too, cara mia. You mean more to me than anyone or anything else in this world."

Morticia closed her eyes, fatigue taking over her. "And so do I."

Gomez knew what she meant to say was, you, but it was the thought that counted. "Thank you, mi encantadora." He let his lips linger on her neck for a while before deciding he wasn't done spoiling her with compliments, expensive champagne and countless kisses.

He began their somewhat nightly routine, and sang one of her recent favourite songs to her, Gloomy Sunday.

"You remembered Sunday." Morticia remarked, sleepily.

Gomez chuckled. "You're adorable when you're drunk." He shook his head. "Yes, querida, I remembered Sunday. Unfortunately, the other days of the week, I haven't quite gotten yet." His charm was pouring out of him, like the wine from the bottle on the nightstand a mere hour and some minutes ago.

"If you're going to mock me, at least make me comfortable." Morticia said, nuzzling into him.

Gomez raised an eyebrow. "Mmm, this isn't comfortable enough for you?" He asked and began rubbing her back, sometimes moving upwards and massaging her neck.

Morticia smiled. "Now it is." She ran her long, crimson nails over his muscled chest as she spoke her next phrase. "Now, you may mock me."

Gomez rolled his eyes. "Never, Tish." Then, jokingly, he said, "Not while you're right here."

"Gomez." Morticia half-playfully scolded.

"My apologies, madame." Gomez kissed her forehead. "Not at all."

"Better." Morticia decided, opening her eyes. "You'll start calling me that again once Mr. Pérignon wears... off." She stated, in reference to her impromptu nickname of Madame.

"I take it you're eager to get back into your dungeon, my black angel?" Gomez asked.

Morticia nodded in reply. "Aren't you?"

Gomez growled, lowly. "Of course, my dearest. Now, get some sleep. You've had an... interesting night."

Morticia closed her eyes once more, and began to try and drift off. But... something was missing.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Gomez?" Morticia's voice was little more than a whisper at this point.

"Yes, mi hermosa diosa?" Gomez asked.

"Sing to me."

"Demanding, are we?" Gomez joked.

"Please?" Morticia asked, and paired that vulnerable and now tired tone that she knew how to use like a charm with pleading eyes.

Please? Gomez shook his head. "You are drunk."

"If I admit that, will you... allow me to get some sleep and sing to me?" Morticia asked.

Gomez kissed her, unable to keep his lips or hands off of her for long, or at all. "Cara mia, I'll sing to you all of the time, if it makes you happy."

"It does." Morticia responded. "I love your voice."

Gomez couldn't keep his eyes off of her, and he smiled at the compliment. "Thank you, my darling."

Morticia's eyes closed again; and as they did, her lover began to sing her favourite song to her.

That night, that beautiful, black night, gave way to an equally beautiful, rain-filled morning. And Gomez couldn't wait to wake his querida up by showering her in affectionate kisses and caresses, until those enchanting eyes of hers fluttered open... and her bewitching gaze fell directly upon him.