Chapter Text
Gomez was walking through the conservatory when he heard Morticia’s voice float in from the living room. She was entertaining some woman that Gomez didn’t know.
“No, no, not at all.” Morticia was saying rather emphatically. Gomez paused to listen, wondering what Morticia was so adamant about.
“Really?” the other woman asked, sounding incredulous. “What about when he kisses you?”
Gomez’s chest puffed up a little. They must be discussing him. After all, who else would be kissing Morticia? He grinned, anticipating the compliments his querida would bestow upon him.
“Oh, it’s revolting!”
Gomez’s gut dropped to the floor, and all his other organs went with it.
Morticia was still going. “And he just doesn’t stop! All over my hand and fingers! Slobbery and disgusting!”
Gomez could hardly believe his ears. Revolting? Slobbery? Disgusting? Was that really how Morticia felt about him when he kissed her? Gomez had half a mind to charge into the room to demand an explanation, but his body was not following his mind’s directions.
“Oh, but what about when he kisses your face?” that woman asked, sounding as though she was trying to cajole Morticia into saying something nice.
“My face?” Morticia sounded legitimately repulsed, and at that moment, any tiny hope that she was playing some kind of trick on him went out the window. He knew her voice, had the inflections and timbre and exultations memorized like a song, and she was completely serious about this. “I don’t want his tongue anywhere near my face! He can’t keep it in his mouth!”
Gomez stuck out his tongue, going cross-eyed to look at the tip of it. He didn’t think he used too much tongue, but if Morticia said so . . . Why, oh why had she never told him this before? He would have changed his technique, done it the way she wanted, done whatever she wanted, if only she’d have told him.
This new knowledge of Morticia’s true feelings had shaken Gomez’s entire world view. Morticia, completely unknowingly, threw one final sucker-punch to his gut.
“Why, I’d rather kiss a frog!”
And with that, Gomez Addams collapsed to the ground.
~o0o~
Morticia didn’t know what that Hanes woman was thinking, bringing such disgusting creatures to her house without permission! Puppies! Can you imagine? Mrs. Hanes spent the morning trying to convince Morticia to buy a puppy for the children, and Morticia finally had to be incredibly frank with the woman about the little monsters. A puppy! When the kids already had such wonderful pets? And Morticia herself had Cleopatra. Why would she need a puppy? Besides, that dog drooled all over her, and Mrs. Hanes thought Morticia would like it? Strange woman.
Thinking of Cleopatra, Morticia made her way to the conservatory, figuring that a nice strangling hug from her dear plant might help her forget that disgusting dog!
She nearly tripped over a body-sized lump in a heap on the floor.
“Gomez, darling. What are you doing?” Morticia asked, leaning over to peer down at her husband. He looked positively ill!
“Oh, I think I’ve got a new perspective on the world,” Gomez said, staring up at her.
“Well, of course, you do! You’re on the floor!” Morticia took Gomez by the arm and helped him stand up. “Are you quite all right, bubbeleh?”
Usually—no, always—the name bubbeleh on her lips threw Gomez into a mad frenzy—he would grab her arm and kiss her from knuckle to shoulder to neck and sometimes—when they weren’t busy or hosting guests—right up to her lips.
This time Gomez got a faraway look in his eyes and, of all things, turned his back on her fully! He faced away from her, towards Cleopatra. “Yes, I’m fine, darling.” His voice sounded normal, but why had he ignored her pet name?
“Are you sure? Bubbeleh?” she said it with intention this time, louder in case he hadn’t heard her before. Had he lost his memory again? No, he seemed to know who she was.
She saw the muscles on his back tighten at her voice, but he leaned forward to examine Cleopatra closer.
“I’m quite sure, querida. Did you know Cleopatra’s lost her baby teeth?” Gomez still wouldn’t turn around and look at her.
“Of course, she has lost them, darling. She’s been an adult for years.” Morticia couldn’t do anything except stare at Gomez’s back, utterly bewildered.
Gomez stood up straight again, finally turning to face her, though he wouldn’t look at her directly, and there was a slight strain behind his eyes, she could see it. “I guess I haven’t looked at her teeth since she was a sprout.” A clearly forced smile overtook his face.
“Gomez—” Morticia started to ask him directly why he hadn’t reacted to her, but he interrupted.
“Cara mia, I’ve got business to attend to in the study. Will you please make sure I’m not disturbed?” Gomez’s eyes finally brushed her face, just for a moment, but he immediately began striding to the door.
“Gomez?” Morticia called, and he did stop, turning to face her questioningly. “I love you, mon cher.” Morticia said as sincerely as she could. Something was clearly wrong, and it was something Gomez apparently didn’t want to share with her. She didn’t know what else to do other than offer her love. “Vraiment.”
Gomez’s face cleared into a loving smile, and for a second Morticia thought he would cross the floor back to her, grab her arm, and do what he did every time she spoke French. He even pushed up on his toes like he was about to leap for her, but he seemed to shake off the urge. Instead, he stayed where he was, feet planting firmly back on the ground.
“As I love you, Tish.” With that, he was out the door!
Morticia felt like the wind had been knocked out of her, like she couldn’t breathe. Something must be seriously wrong. She wanted to run after him—well, run as well as she could in her tight dress—but she stopped herself. He did say he had business to handle. Maybe something with work was stressing him out. He would tell her when he was ready, like always.
Morticia tried to convince herself of that and busied herself making baked iguana for lunch, one of his favorites.
There was a small little worm in the back of her mind, though, whispering that it must be her fault somehow, otherwise, why couldn’t he look at her anymore?
~o0o~
Gomez dragged Uncle Fester into the study with him and locked the door behind him.
“What’s going on?” Fester asked nervously, watching Gomez pace across the floor.
Gomez was always full of energy, but this was different. This was restless, hopeless, powerless energy, the kind of a man who can do nothing but watch a tragedy unfold.
“I can’t believe it, Fester!” Gomez continued his frantic pacing, bumping into Fester as he went past without even noticing he was there. “She lied to me all these years . . .” Gomez suddenly stopped, trailing off, looking on the verge of tears.
“Morticia?” Fester asked, trying to keep up. He knew it must be Morticia because no one else could get Gomez so upset. “You must be mistaken. She wouldn’t lie to you.”
Gomez rounded on Fester, tears turning to anger. “Not even to spare my feelings?”
“Oh,” Fester considered, “Yeah, she might lie to you for that.”
Gomez fell to his knees in front of Fester, grabbing onto Fester’s clothing. “You must help me, Fester, you must!”
“I don’t even know what’s going on, Gomez!” Fester pulled Gomez back to his feet. “What happened?”
Gomez took a steadying breath. “I overheard Morticia talking to a visitor, and she—she—my beautiful querida hates it when I kiss her!” He let out a strangled noise and buried his head in his hands.
Thing came out of his box to offer up a handkerchief.
“Thank you, Thing,” Gomez said through muffled sobs.
“What do you mean?” Fester frowned, cocking his head to the side.
“She told that woman that she hates when I kiss her. She didn’t know I could hear her,” Another sob croaked from Gomez’s throat, “She’s been protecting my feelings this whole time, my poor darling Tish! She’s too good for me!”
“Like I said, you must be mistaken,” Fester said emphatically. “She must have been joking—”
“Oh, no, she was serious, all right.” Gomez wiped his eyes vigorously. “I could tell by her voice. She sounded truly disgusted.”
“Disgusted?” Fester repeated.
“Revolted!” Gomez blew his nose into the handkerchief.
“Really? Are you sure?” Fester frowned at him.
“She said all that! And more!” Gomez finally looked up. “She said she didn’t like it when I kissed her because I was slobbery, and disgusting, and used my tongue too much! She even said—” Gomez hiccupped, “—that she’d rather kiss a frog!”
“A frog . . .” Fester said wonderingly. “She must be a really good actress because I could never tell. You kiss her all the time, and she never lets on.”
“Oh, imagine Fester. All these years and years of kisses, and she didn’t like a single one!” Gomez sagged against his desk, leaning on it for support. “It must have been torturous for her. And not the good kind of torture!”
“Yes . . .” Fester trailed off, too stunned to think of anything to say.
“Uncle Fester, be my witness!” Gomez said suddenly. “I vow I won’t kiss Morticia again until I know how to please her!”
“Not kiss her?” Fester was aghast. “Are you sure you can do it?”
“If it’s for my darling Morticia, I can do anything!”
~o0o~
Morticia was cooking lunch in the kitchen, trying not to think about Gomez’s strange behavior. The problem was, Morticia spent a lot of her time thinking of Gomez. Everything in the house reminded her of him, and once she thought of him . . . the events of the morning all came back to her.
As she was putting the iguana in the oven, Thing popped out of his box, trying to get her attention.
“Yes, Thing?” Morticia closed the oven and walked over to the counter where Thing’s box was resting. “What is it?”
Thing made some exaggerated gestures, but Morticia couldn’t follow. “I’m sorry, Thing, I can’t make out what you’re telling me.”
Thing gave an exasperated roll of his wrist and dropped back down in his box. He began rapping his knuckles against the box, spelling a message out in Morse code.
Morticia gasped, “Gomez has been crying?”
Thing poked back up and nodded.
“My darling bubbeleh!” Morticia exclaimed, throwing her apron on the ground and hurrying to his study.
She hesitated at the door, but she couldn’t hear any sounds of distress through the thick wood, so she knocked tentatively. “Gomez, darling?”
“Yes, what is it?” Gomez sounded almost angry, something Morticia was not at all prepared for.
“Uh, yes, darling,” for some strange reason, Morticia suddenly felt hotly embarrassed, “Thing said you’d been crying, dear. Is everything okay?”
Gomez was quiet for an agonizing minute before his voice came through the door again. “Thing must have been mistaken. I’m perfectly fine, querida. I’m working, and I’d rather not be disturbed.”
Morticia knew a pointed remark when she heard one. “Fine,” she huffed, her ego wounded by Gomez’s disinterest in her concern, “Lunch will be ready in a half an hour. I’m making baked iguana sandwiches. I assume that won’t be too much of a disturbance for you.” With that, she turned on her heel and went back to the kitchen. Her ire only lasted so long, however, before she was right back to worrying. There was something he wasn’t telling her!
~o0o~
Once they were sure Morticia had moved away from the door, Gomez and Fester resumed their search for a solution.
“I’ve hit a snag, Fester,” Gomez said, now puffing on a cigar. His eyes were still red-rimmed, but after the visit from Morticia, he was determined to put on a brave face for her. If she spent their entire marriage lying to him in order to spare his feelings, he mustn’t let her see it was all for naught.
“What’s that?”
“As you may know, practice makes perfect.”
“Yes,” Fester nodded sagely.
“However—” Gomez held up his cigar with the air of a man making a great discovery, “I swore I won’t kiss Tish until I get better at it. That means I can’t practice. And if I can’t practice, how shall I improve?”
Fester gave great attention to the problem. Gomez waited while Fester was thinking. Finally, Fester said, “Well, you know Cousin Cretin? He knows these girls, and—well, if you give them,” Fester rubbed his thumb and two fingers together, “then they’ll let you practice whatever you like. Probably give honest feedback, too.”
“Practice on another woman?” Gomez clutched his chest, appalled. “Who do you think I am, Fester? I refuse to kiss anyone other than my beloved!”
“But if she’s the only one you’ll kiss,” Fester mused, “And you won’t kiss her . . .”
Gomez nodded his agreement.
“Then that means you’ll never kiss her again!” Fester looked surprised at his own proclamation.
The thought of never kissing Morticia again struck Gomez in the chest with something akin to a molten-hot bowling ball. No matter how he looked at it, though, Fester was right. He’d backed himself into a corner.
“Oh, Fester, what am I going to do?” Gomez despaired.
“Maybe you could buy her a frog to kiss?” Fester offered.
Gomez ignored the suggestion. “I guess,” Gomez hesitated, not wanting to say the words. “I guess I really won’t ever kiss her again.”
~o0o~
A morose atmosphere followed Gomez and Fester to lunch, and not the savory, delicious kind of morose that they all enjoyed. Morticia watched as they trudged in and took their usual seats at the table. She steeled herself and served the sandwiches, first to Fester and then to her husband.
Morticia leaned over Gomez, where he sat at the head of the table, not so subtly giving him a view of her cleavage. It certainly couldn’t hurt to try and arouse him a bit. At least then, he might engage with her.
“I made your favorite, darling,” Morticia put his plate in front of him and stroked his cheek, bringing his gaze to her face. “Would you like anything else, mon cher?” She blinked at him through her lashes, affixing a small pout on her lips.
To her relief, Gomez certainly reacted to her little show. His eyes practically bulged out of his head as his gaze flicked from her breasts to her lips, her eyes, and back again. She knew that look, and she knew it came before an explosion of lust. However, to her consternation, he made no move to act on his clear desire, only clearing his throat aggressively and looking away. He didn’t even make a verbal comment about her beauty, the bare minimum of Gomez’s shows of adoration.
Morticia hesitated, unsure what to do. This situation had never occurred, not since they first laid eyes on each other. After an awkward moment, she sighed and left the room without another word.
She went back to the kitchen, oscillating between self-pity and self-loathing. On one hand, she hated herself for caring so much. Before she’d met Gomez, she’d always sworn she would never measure herself by what a man thought of her, but now. . . She couldn’t help it. Gomez’s affection was too much a part of her now. Her husband loved her, and on top of that, he could barely keep his hands off her. That was as much of a fact as the sky being blue and cyanide tasting of almonds. Gomez’s unbridled attraction towards her wasn’t the reason she married him, but she was able to admit to herself that not only did Gomez’s need for her provide her a confidence boost, it also showed her she was still what he wanted—that he was still happy in their marriage.
Little Wednesday interrupted her ruminations, running up behind where her mother stood gripping the kitchen counter. Wednesday tapped her mother’s side.
“Oh, yes, darling?” Morticia quickly brushed her hand across her cheek, wiping away remnants of tears from her face.
Wednesday was too perceptive for that, the little dear. “What’s wrong, Mother?” Wednesday asked, tilting her head to the side and gazing up at Morticia.
“Nothing, darling,” Morticia smiled, but Wednesday saw through it.
“I’m going to go get Father,” Wednesday said decidedly, turning on her heel and starting for the door.
“No!” Morticia all but shouted, surprising Wednesday so much the little girl flinched. Morticia took a deep breath. “Don’t bother your father, Wednesday. He’s busy with work today.”
“But he’ll come if you’re upset,” Wednesday said, her eyebrows scrunching together in an expression that in any other circumstance, Morticia would find too precious for words.
Morticia held back a sob at the confidence in her daughter’s voice. The thought that Gomez would spurn her was so foreign to everyone, even the children.
Wednesday squinted at her. “Are you and Father fighting?”
Morticia leaned down to be at eye-level with Wednesday. “No, we’re not fighting. Don’t worry, darling. Your father is just acting . . . strangely lately, and I’m a little worried.”
Wednesday pondered the problem. “Couldn’t you just kiss him and make him feel better?”
Morticia did sob this time, a short, sharp noise she stifled as quickly as possible. Wednesday didn’t need to see her mother falling apart.
“Yes, darling, I’m sure that would work,” Morticia lied, pulling Wednesday into a tight hug.
~o0o~
Wednesday wanted to go get her father despite her mother’s wishes, but instead, she went searching for Pugsley. Her brother was in the playroom, a bow and arrow in hand, aiming at an apple sitting on top of the sarcophagus.
“Pugsley!” Wednesday ran up to him. He was trying to pull back the string of his bow, but every time he got it pulled back, the arrow drifted to the side.
“What, Wednesday? Can’t you see I’m busy?” Pugsley sighed and lowered the bow.
Wednesday stomped her foot. “We’ve got bigger issues than archery! Something is wrong with Mother!”
Pugsley became earnest in a second. Both children cared deeply for their parents. “Did you tell Father?”
“Mother told me not to tell him!” Wednesday leaned forward to make sure Pugsley caught the significance of that.
“Hmm.” Pugsley stroked his chin in a gesture stolen straight from his father. “Something really is wrong!”
“I told you!” Wednesday rolled her eyes. “What do we do?”
“I’m not sure,” Pugsley frowned. “What about Father, is he acting strange?”
“I didn’t see Father. I came to find you.”
Pugsley nodded. “I’ll go check on Father then.” He hesitated, looking down at his bow.
Wednesday took the bow from him, “Here, you do it like this!” With a practiced move, she pulled back the string in a fluid motion, letting the arrow fly. It struck the apple straight in the center.
Pugsley nodded, memorizing her form to imitate later. “Thanks, Wednesday!”
~o0o~
After lunch—which Morticia never returned to—Gomez took himself back to his study to brood. He sent Fester away. There was nothing more to discuss. No other solutions. He was stuck.
He listlessly considered playing with his trains, or practicing his golf swing, or calling up his broker to make some impulsive financial decisions, but nothing appealed to him. He lit a cigar, took one puff, and threw the thing away.
A knock cut through the density of his depression. He feared it might be her, but when the door swung open, it was Pugsley’s head peering in.
“Father?”
“Come on in, my boy,” Gomez put on a smile for his son. He couldn’t let his own dire straits affect his children. “What can I do for you?”
Pugsley squinted at him. “Is everything okay, Father?”
“Of course,” Gomez said immediately. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Pugsley’s gaze turned shifty. “Wednesday is worried, that’s all.”
“What is she worried about?” Gomez had an inkling that Wednesday wasn’t the only one worried, but he had no clue what the two of them could be worried about. Surely they hadn’t already noticed the tension between him and Morticia?
“She thinks you and Mother are fighting,” Pugsley hurried to add, “I told her she was being silly. She was being silly, right?” Pugsley’s big eyes bore up at Gomez, breaking his heart for the umpteenth time that day.
“Don’t worry, son,” Gomez patted Pugsley’s shoulder, “And tell Wednesday not to worry either. Your mother and I aren’t fighting. We—”
Pugsley interrupted, “Then why did Wednesday say Mother was hiding something from you?” The part of Wednesday’s story that had stuck most with Pugsley was the fact that Morticia had asked Wednesday not to go to Gomez with the problem. That meant something was a secret, and if his mother was keeping a secret from his father, then something was definitely wrong.
“Oh,” Gomez swallowed, trying to figure out how to answer. “That’s not a fight. Your mother just wants me to do some things differently, that’s all.”
“Are you going to?” Pugsley’s eyebrows furrowed. “Do them differently, I mean?”
“I’m going to try my best.”
Pugsley nodded. “Well, all right. I’ll go tell Wednesday not to worry so much.”
Gomez smiled grimly, “You do that, son.”
~o0o~
Morticia was pulling out all the stops. Gomez was either going to pay attention to her tonight, or he would have to verbally tell her he didn’t want her. She didn’t know what she would do if he did the latter, but at least she would know something about what’s been going through his head.
She wore his favorite nightgown, the one he’d given her for their 13th anniversary. She wore it and nothing else. She waited for him at her vanity, brushing through her hair. He loved to find her at her vanity and interrupt her brushing. Usually, he would run his fingers through the strands, maybe kiss them, and sometimes beg to brush it for her. All she’d have to do was speak a little French or call him “bubbeleh,” and they’d end up on the bed.
“Gomez, darling?” Morticia called as soon as she heard him enter the bedroom. “Won’t you come brush my hair? I find your touch so soothing after a long day.” She wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He would either oblige, and maybe she could get something out of him, or he would refuse outright, and at least then she would know how deep this aversion went.
“Of course, querida!” Gomez strode towards her, looking finally be his normal self again, but right as he reached her and bent down to kiss her hair, he stopped himself, looking briefly pained, but he hid it quickly and reached for her brush.
He brushed her hair just as he normally would, and Morticia bloomed under his touch. In the mirror, she could see that he was still looking at her with those same devoted eyes that she feared she could no longer live without.
When he’d finished her hair, she stood gracefully, allowing him a full view of her body through the sheer nightgown. “Thank you, darling.” She leaned forward to kiss him, but he turned at the last second, so her kiss landed on his cheek instead.
She searched his face for a moment, but he was no longer looking at her. What had happened?
“Are you ready for bed, mon cher?” Morticia asked in the sultry voice that usually drove him wild.
Just like with everything else, he was having a reaction to her—his breathing sped up, his eyes widened, his pupils got larger, his mustache started twitching—but he didn’t act on any of it. Morticia began to suspect that he was voluntarily holding himself back from her. They’d played similar sexy games before, but not without letting the other person know what was going on. Besides, he wasn’t trying to tease her until she begged, he was simply doing . . . nothing.
“Bed sounds good, cara mia,” was all Gomez said.
Morticia bit her lip, but she got in bed, no longer trying to be sexy. She lay down, facing away from him. The bed sank under his weight when he crawled in next to her.
“Good night, querida,” Gomez whispered into her hair, and she had one final idea to see if he was deliberately ignoring his attraction, as she suspected. It was a last-ditch effort, but she didn’t know what else to do. . . .
~o0o~
Gomez was on fire. Actually, he’d prefer it if he was literally ablaze and not just burning with lust he couldn’t quench. Just as he was about to roll over and put his back to Morticia, she reached behind her and grabbed his arm, pulling him flush against her back.
Spooning his wife was an activity that Gomez enjoyed immensely. It didn’t matter what kind of spooning it was, foreplay, sweet cuddles, or just how they ended up in the middle of the night. Regardless, he loved feeling her body pulled flat against him, his nose buried in her hair, his arm securely around her middle. He liked how he could feel all of her.
Now, it was torture, and maybe it was his imagination, but she seemed to be subtly grinding against him as she snuggled closer.
Maybe it was his imagination, but now that he thought about it, she had been even more irresistible than usual. He supposed that could also be compounded by the fact that he had no outlet for his desire.
He considered loving her in all the ways that he could without using his mouth, but that was a slippery slope, and he wasn’t sure he could restrain himself. He loved smothering her with kisses—pain hit him anew as he reminded himself that wasn’t what she wanted.
Still, he pulled her closer, pushing his nose in her hair. He would figure this out. He would find some way to please her, and then his bliss could return once more.
~o0o~
Morticia felt Gomez oblige her, wrapping himself around her from behind. She shifted her hips subtly, looking for—
There it was. The familiar press of his hardness against her back. She smiled.
He wanted her. Or, at least, his body did. Morticia was relieved, but it still didn’t explain why he would be choosing to rebuff her. And if the problem wasn’t one of attraction, then it meant he felt, knew, thought something about her that kept him away. A choice to ignore his own desire meant that whatever was holding him back was something about her, as a person, wife, mother. What had she done? How could she fix it if he wouldn’t acknowledge the wedge between them?
Well, one thing she could do was acknowledge the literal wedge between them, that being the half-hard erection nestled against her ass.
No part of each other had ever been off limits, so Morticia felt assured he would find nothing strange about her hand slipping between them to cup his penis.
The worst he could do was turn her down, which had happened before—though she admittedly couldn’t remember when.
She felt him inhale at her touch, her hair ruffled by his sharp gasp, but before she could do more than the barest skim of her fingers, he had pushed her away, scrambling backward away from her so violently that he threw himself off the bed.
Morticia sat up, eyes wide, twisting to gape at her husband in a mess on the floor. “Gomez—” she started, but he jumped to his feet. His face was beet red, and he tried to cover his erection from her as if she didn’t already know it was there. “What—?” she started, searching his face.
“Just remembered!” Gomez blurted, his words strangled and stiff, “Promised Pugsley we’d camp out in the yard tonight!”
“You what?” Morticia blinked at him, so incredibly dumbfounded that her eyes couldn’t even form tears.
“That’s right. I promised Pugsley we could camp out tonight,” Gomez nodded to himself. “In the yard. In his tent.”
Morticia frowned at him. “In that case, I’ll come with you. We can invite Wednesday, make it a family affair.” She started to get up.
“No!” Gomez shouted, holding up his hands to stop her. “This is a father-son bonding activity, Tish,” he said quickly. “No girls allowed.”
“Well, all right,” Morticia gave up. “Have a good time, then.”
Gomez nodded sharply and practically ran from the room.
~o0o~
Neither one of them had a restful night. Morticia because she spent the night in tears and Gomez because the cold ground under the tent was torturing him almost as much as the look on Morticia’s face when he’d rejected her.
He’d hurt her, he could see that. She had been trying to engage with him, and he’d shut her down. That had never happened, not in all their years of marriage. In his own mind, running from the room was the only solution. Even if Tish had wanted him, he would only turn her off again by losing his composure and kissing her.
For her part, the desperation with which he had run from her was etched in her mind. None of the tears—and she spilled many that night—could wash the image from her.
Gomez, her Gomez, had lunged out of bed to avoid her touch. What would make a man—what would make him—do such a thing?
No, neither of them slept that night.