The Sunday mass was always a big occasion at Springfield Church. This Sunday, the Simpsons family, sans hungover Homer, occupied their usual spot at the back, a modest distance from Ned's front-row bench. Lisa and Bart were in their Sunday best, squabbling quietly over a comic book, while Marge kept a watchful eye on them, her fingers fidgeting with a rosary.
Reverend Lovejoy took the pulpit, his voice reverberating through the hushed room. He began his homily with a scripture from Exodus, focusing on the commandment "Thou shall not covet."
"The heart is a curious creature," he said, adjusting his glasses. "It covets what it should not. We must strive to resist these temptations, to not covet our neighbor's spouse, possessions, or anything that belongs to them."
Ned shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his mind wandering back to his encounters with Marge. He thought about her soft smile, her laughter… strands of azure splayed over her shoulder. He couldn't deny the connection he felt, the kindling of something he didn't fully understand. What was this feeling?
At the same time, Marge felt a heat creeping up her neck. She stole a glance at Ned, sitting diagonally from him. He seemed deep in thought. Reverend Lovejoy's words hit closer to home than she would have liked. Was her growing fondness for Ned encroaching on the spirit of the command? She thought about Homer, his absence, their disconnect.
Ned's head jerked, as if he could sense Marge's gaze on him. He scratched his neck and stealthily turned his head to the direction he knew Marge was sitting. He had earlier noticed that Homer hadn't come with her. Once again.
Their eyes met, and both questioned the other.
'Is this coveting?'
The sermon continued, but their minds were elsewhere.
It was a day filled with the quintessential vibrancy and fervor of small-town America – the Springfield Town Fair. The grand event turned the usually quiet town into a bustling hive of activity. Families thronged the colorful stalls lining the main square. Laughter echoed in the summer air as children darted around, their faces painted and sticky with cotton candy. Infectious energy buzzed all around, a sense of community in every shared smile and neighborly nod.
The Simpsons were part of the lively tableau. Homer was happily indulging in the gastronomical delights offered by the various food stalls, with a comically oversized turkey leg in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. Marge was trying to keep an eye on Bart and Maggie. The former was excitedly dragging her towards the Ferris wheel.
Lisa was there too, a little more withdrawn from the festivities than the rest of her family, her trusty saxophone resting by her side as she took a break from her performance at the town bandstand.
In the midst of the crowd, Marge's eyes found Ned, who was manning the Church's charity booth, while keeping an eye on his two boys, Rod and Todd, scampering around nearby. As they locked eyes, there was a moment of pause, a drawn breath held in too long.
"Ah, Marge!" Ned greeted her, attempting to inject some semblance of normalcy into their strained exchange. His normally friendly eyes were shadowed with an emotion Marge couldn't quite place.
"Hello, Ned," she returned the greeting, an awkward smile playing on her lips.
Just as they were about to delve into further conversation, Homer lumbered over, his jovial demeanor creating a stark contrast to the pair's aura. Without a care, he wrapped an arm around Marge's waist and gave her a squeeze, causing her to jump. The action, possessive and lacking any hint of subtlety, didn't sit well with Ned. A hot surge of jealousy knifed through him, his amiable demeanor cracking momentarily at the blatant display.
"Hey there, neighborino!" Homer boomed, his turkey leg waving dangerously close to Ned's face. Ned's response was curt, a single syllable, "Homer." It was uncharacteristically harsh, a clear departure from his usual good-natured banter.
Homer seemed oblivious to the tension, simply laughing off Ned's frostiness. Lisa, however, was more observant. She had been watching the subtle interplay between her mother and Ned, her brows furrowing in thought. The charge was unmistakable, an electrifying puzzle she needed to decipher.
As the afternoon turned into evening, the fair began to wind down. The lights of the stalls started to flicker on, casting long, dancing shadows on the ground. Seizing the opportunity, Ned quietly gestured for Marge to follow him, leading her towards a quieter, secluded corner away from prying eyes.
"Ned, what's going on?" Marge asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked at him, a silhouette in the soft glow of the setting sun.
"I..." he began, but the rest of the words hung in the air, unfinished. His eyes bore into hers, trying to convey something that was too sinful to utter out loud.
"Ned..." Marge trailed off, her voice echoing the uncertainty that clouded her expressive eyes. She was well aware that they were treading on dangerous territory, but the magnetic pull was too potent to resist.
"Yes, Marge?" Ned responded, his own voice barely above a whisper. There was an uncharacteristic boldness in his gaze, a fiery intensity that took Marge by surprise.
Then, without any further words, Ned reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against her cheek. It was a simple touch, yet it sent electric jolts through them. His thumb traced her cheekbone gently, and for a moment, their eyes locked, trepidation stilling him from advancing the caress.
Marge found herself leaning into his touch, heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the heat radiating off him, the smell of his cologne. Her fingers found their way to his hand that rested on her cheek, entwining her fingers with his – not rejecting his touch.
With a suddenness that stole her breath, Ned pulled her closer, his hand finding the small of her back. The distance between them melted in a kiss, a confession that had been waiting to break free. It was tentative and shy, a little bit shaky and breathless.
Marge reciprocated, her own hands finding their way into his hair, pulling him closer. She could feel Ned's hand on her waist, firm and yet gentle, guiding her closer into the fold of his arms. It was a sensation that was intoxicatingly addictive.
Their breaths mingled, the kiss deepening as they explored the new terrain. It was a dance they both had performed with other partners, yet each move felt new, previously unstepped.
As they pulled away, panting and slightly disheveled, guilt washed over them. Yet, it was overridden by the inebriating high of what had just transpired. Ned looked at Marge, his eyes reflecting the same cocktail of emotions she was feeling - surprise, guilt, but most importantly, desire for more.
A/N: Lisa's observational skills will not bode well for this affair. Krmh. As to a reader question: would I consider doing another Simpsons fic? Very unlikely. I haven't watched Simpsons since 2010's. This story has been bubbling in the back of my mind for years because the series has on multiple occasions teased about the sexual chemistry between Marge and Ned. Someone had to do fanfiction on them. But this will be one-off.
