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Honeymoon in Transylvania

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Gomez stepped into the bedroom, where Morticia was still lying asleep, pale and lovely, her hair spread out across the pillows, black and glossy like a vulture’s wing in the narrow stripes of morning light from the blinds. Overcome at the sight, he put the tray containing breakfast gently on the floor and knelt beside her, kissing her wrist.

Morticia’s eyes fluttered open, and a sly smile curved her lips. “Mon cher,” she murmured.

“Tish! that’s French!” He kissed his way up her arm, to her perfect shoulder, up her lovely pale neck. Oh, to be a vampire and drink from that neck! As if she knew what he was thinking, she arched under his touch.

“Mon sauvage,” she breathed, reaching up to pull him closer.

“I brought you breakfast in bed,” Gomez whispered, “but you know I can’t control myself when you speak French.”

“Let it get cold. Like the grave.”

“Oh, Tish,” he said, and kissed her blood-red lips.


Afterwards, they lay together, naked, tangled in Morticia’s hair, and Gomez said, “Come away with me, Cara Mia. Mama can take care of the children. After all, it’s our anniversary.”

“You remembered,” Morticia said. “The day we met!”

“Of course I remember,” Gomez said. “You haunt me. You bewitch me. You consume me.” He pulled her closer, and she nibbled his shoulder, sending shocks of pleasure down his back. “Let’s go to Transylvania.”

“Our third honeymoon!” Morticia said. “Darling, I wonder if that lovely little castle still has that delightful dungeon!”

“We’ll have Lurch make the arrangements!” Gomez said. “Lurch is so suave and articulate, I’m sure he’ll get us a wonderful deal!”

“Capital idea.” Morticia glanced over the edge of the bed. “As much as I love being trapped in your embrace, I do find myself a bit peckish.”

Gomez hopped out of bed and rushed to get the tray. “Scrambled kraken eggs,” he said.

“Oh, they’re even better cold,” Morticia said. She daintily took a fork and speared up a bite, which Gomez watched pass between her lips with sudden envy. Oh, to be that fork! Or to be speared on that fork! Morticia smirked and gave the fork a playful bite.

“Querida,” Gomez groaned.

Morticia batted her eyelashes. “At this rate, I’m not going to get any breakfast.”


The ride to the airport was delightful, with Lurch playfully honking and slamming on his brakes and weaving around the other drivers.

At a stoplight, someone got out of his car to talk to Lurch.“Hey, buddy, what’s the...”

Lurch rolled down the window and groaned. The man put up both his hands and got back into his own car.

“He probably just wanted to compliment you on your driving,” Gomez said.

“As well he should!” Morticia said. “Lovely driving, Lurch. As usual.”

Lurch rolled up the window and groaned again, then slammed on the gas when the light changed. Both Gomez and Morticia were tossed back into their seats, which made Morticia smirk deliciously.

When they arrived at the airport, they got someone to take their luggage—Gomez tipped the man with a gold doubloon—and made their way towards the gate.

They walked through the security line, and the nice man in the TSA uniform pulled them aside. He was short, with a round, earnest face. “Sir, you can’t take cast iron shackles in your carry-on.”

“But it’s our fourth honeymoon!” Morticia said.

The man didn’t respond to this, but instead kept looking inside the bag and pulled out Gomez’ travel rapier. “You can’t take this, either.”

“Keep it!” Gomez said. “It’s not like it’s my favorite.”

The man looked at the rapier with a skeptical expression. Perhaps the poor man didn’t expect Gomez to be so generous?

Morticia’s hand touched Gomez’ shoulder. “Oh, but darling, I so wanted to fence with you in Transylvania under the full moon! Just think of it! The bats could be our audience.”

“We can pick something up there,” Gomez said. “An antique, perhaps?”

“I’d love having one that belonged to Vlad the Impaler.” Morticia said. She smiled at the nice man in the TSA uniform, who was still looking at the sword, and said, “Of course, our children will be so jealous. Wednesday adores Vlad.”

“It’s settled, then,” Gomez said, kissing her hand.

“Oh, Gomez,” Morticia said. “My dearest darling!”

The nice man in the TSA uniform turned back to their luggage and pulled out a bullwhip and a cat of nine tails. “Sir?”

Morticia smirked and gave Gomez an intoxicating sidelong glance, which set his blood aflame. He began to kiss his way up her arm, then kissed up her neck.

There was the sound of the bullwhip and cat of nine tails hitting the floor. Gomez glanced up to see the man in the TSA uniform pulling the bear trap out of the suitcase. “Um, sir...”

Morticia threw her arms around Gomez and kissed him passionately. “Oh, Gomez, my ecstasy! You think of everything.”

“Sir, ma’am,” the man said, folding his arms. “I’m going to have to ask that the two of you control yourselves while we deal with your carry-on.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Gomez said, and handed the man a stack of bills. “Why don’t you check the bag and we’ll pick up the honeymoon items when we reach our destination?”

The man stared at him for a moment, then counted the bills, then stared at him again. He looked towards the woman running the x-ray machine, then said, “Sure.” He shouted, “I’m taking a break,” and wheeled the luggage back towards the ticket counter.

“Such a nice young man,” Morticia said.

“Nothing can get in the way of our special trip,” Gomez said, and kissed her, dipping her backwards.


The clattering of swords and the look of intense concentration on Morticia’s face were an aphrodisiac under the full moon on top of a castle tower. Gomez leapt, did backflips, danced along the edge of the gray stone tower wall.

“Oh, Gomez!” Morticia said. “Your fighting spirit, it’s divine. En garde!”

Gomez tossed his sword to the stone floor and knelt at Morticia’s feet. “Your beauty has defeated me, Querida. You’re the champion of my heart. Say the word and I’ll tear it out of my chest and give it to you!”

“Oh, Gomez!” Morticia said, dropping her own sword. It clattered on the stone floor. “My love, my ecstacy, my everything!”

“Cara mia,” Gomez groaned, and started to kiss his way up Morticia’s black-clad thigh.

“Do you remember our honeymoon, darling? The bed of nails? The shackles? Do you still desire me like that, darling?”

“Always,” Gomez said, kissing his way across her black-clad belly. “Forever!”

“Show me,” she breathed.

The bed was suddenly too far away, so he began to work her dress up over her hips.


The stone tower was deliciously cold, and Morticia was so beautiful in the moonlight that he felt like his heart would stop in his chest. She was all pale skin and raven-black hair and blood-red lips in the silver light. They lay naked on the cold stone together under the full moon, Morticia murmuring sweet nothings in French.

This, Gomez thought, was a perfect moment. “If only we could stop time, and be here forever.”

“That will come, some day,” Morticia said. “Can you imagine? Some people fear it.”

“They must not love like we do,” Gomez said. “Cara mia.”

“Mon cher.”


The trip home was uneventful, aside from a shared moment in the airplane lavatory—amusingly cramped!--and all too soon they were home again. It was their home, and Gomez loved it and loved the children, but part of him wanted Morticia all to himself again. Morticia glanced at him sidelong, snipping the bloom off a rose, and he could tell from the look in her eyes that she felt the same way.

Pugsley raced past, giggling, and Wednesday followed more slowly with an axe. Morticia smiled indulgently at them, then headed towards the kitchen with Cleopatra’s empty food dish. As Morticia brushed past Gomez, she breathed “Forever!” into his ear.

He grabbed her hand and kissed it, then kissed his way up her arm. “Forever!”