Post by mercifulheavens on Sept 24, 2009 0:56:33 GMT -5
My very first Murder by Death story... =) I wrote this several months ago and found it while trying to find a character note... please enjoy! I did not really edit this...so if you find any errors feel free to point them out.
PG-13 or T as in read with discretion...
"Daft" Dora...
Dora Charleston was anything but daft. But deep down, Dick Charleston knew that. He adored the way she let him be "best" at everything and loved her all the more for it. Of course he was intelligent; it was simply tedious to have a wife who matched him for wit.
They had left the other detectives and their associates to do as they wished after a rather horrific night of dodging falling gargoyles, being startled by screaming doorbells, nearly being decapitated, and seeing two people dead. Dick was not expecting a pleasant night after all that had happened, but he was hoping for a least some small semblance of rest.
Dick slowly slid his suit coat off and tossed it rather slovenly over an armchair. Thankfully, though he had no idea how, Jamesir Bensonmum had indeed cleaned the room and that made the day just a bit better.
"Where those webs really sugar, Dicky?" Dora asked, folding his coat. She disliked how un-orderly he was, but after several years of marriage had learned to make the most of it.
"They were, darling." he assured her, his bow tie and shirt now made a little puddle on the carpet.
"I think I know who the murderer is." Dora said rather indifferently, kneeling to pick up the discarded shirt and tie. Dick nodded absently and dropped his pants to the floor as well.
"I am sure you do, dear." he sighed. Now standing in nothing but his boxers, Dick looked about for his night clothes. "Where have I put my bedclothes, Dora?"
"I did not unpack them yet, Dicky." Dora answered, pulling the mentioned items from beneath a stack of clothes in a suitcase. "Here they are."
"Thank you, darling." He smiled, reaching for the pyjamas. But she pulled them back just as he reached and glared at him.
"Who was she, Dicky?"
"Who was who, dear?" he asked, suavely trying to get out of answering the question. Dora's glare intensified.
"The blonde woman who somehow managed to leave her hair on your coat." Truth be told she had a point, Dick thought sorrily.
"Maid perhaps?" He tried. And to his utter amazement Dora didn't swallow the statement as she usually did.
"We do not have a blonde maid. Sarah is a brunette and Claire has grey hair." Well there went that, he mused.
"Please give my my pyjamas, Dora." It was hard to be taken seriously when he was standing in his underwear and nothing else save what God had given him.
"Answer me first, Dicky." So it was a game. Well, he thought rather wickedly, two can play that.
"Give me my clothes or I'll..." he let the threat hang, confident she would bow to his wishes. The pyjamas moved not an inch.
"You can do better than that, love." Dora smirked. Moving over to the suitcase, she began to undress.
Dick swallowed as he watched her seductively remove her gossamer shawl from her shoulders and drape it over the same armchair he had tossed his suit coat at earlier. His mouth went dry as a perfectly shaped pale shoulder was bared as Dora slipped one of the straps down her arm. The dress had always been one of his favourites. The low neckline left little to the imagination, and yet was subtle enough to be worn by a true lady.
His lungs decided to stop pumping as the white material slid down her lithe body and for a moment in time, Dick was almost overwhelmed by the beauty that emitted from his wife. And obviously she knew it, for a cunning smile graced her face as she turned around to face him. She was still wearing her white lacy bra and underwear.
"Who was she?" Dora asked, pulling her nightgown from the open suitcase. Dick wasn't sure he remembered any longer...
"Um..." dry mouth, bulging eyes and painfully constricted chest hardly equal good conversations...
"Um what?" the nightgown slid down over her head and she peeked out of its silky material.
"Who is the murderer?" Dick asked, no longer thinking it was silly that she would know. Dora smirked at him, now fully dressed in her nightgown.
"I am sure you know, darling..."
He had her! Check, the game was almost over.
"Same with the hairs, love." he beamed, holding out his hand for his pyjamas. Dora cocked her head to the side, pulling her hair brush out.
"Oh...well in that case." Dora trailed off, running the brush over and through her lovely red locks. "You can sleep in the hall." And like a trained puppy, Dick was pushed from the room by a brush firmly set into his back and found himself standing in the hallway in his underwear with a possible murderer nearby.
"Check-mate." Dora smiled.
Dick groaned. "She wins."
PG-13 or T as in read with discretion...
"Daft" Dora...
Dora Charleston was anything but daft. But deep down, Dick Charleston knew that. He adored the way she let him be "best" at everything and loved her all the more for it. Of course he was intelligent; it was simply tedious to have a wife who matched him for wit.
They had left the other detectives and their associates to do as they wished after a rather horrific night of dodging falling gargoyles, being startled by screaming doorbells, nearly being decapitated, and seeing two people dead. Dick was not expecting a pleasant night after all that had happened, but he was hoping for a least some small semblance of rest.
Dick slowly slid his suit coat off and tossed it rather slovenly over an armchair. Thankfully, though he had no idea how, Jamesir Bensonmum had indeed cleaned the room and that made the day just a bit better.
"Where those webs really sugar, Dicky?" Dora asked, folding his coat. She disliked how un-orderly he was, but after several years of marriage had learned to make the most of it.
"They were, darling." he assured her, his bow tie and shirt now made a little puddle on the carpet.
"I think I know who the murderer is." Dora said rather indifferently, kneeling to pick up the discarded shirt and tie. Dick nodded absently and dropped his pants to the floor as well.
"I am sure you do, dear." he sighed. Now standing in nothing but his boxers, Dick looked about for his night clothes. "Where have I put my bedclothes, Dora?"
"I did not unpack them yet, Dicky." Dora answered, pulling the mentioned items from beneath a stack of clothes in a suitcase. "Here they are."
"Thank you, darling." He smiled, reaching for the pyjamas. But she pulled them back just as he reached and glared at him.
"Who was she, Dicky?"
"Who was who, dear?" he asked, suavely trying to get out of answering the question. Dora's glare intensified.
"The blonde woman who somehow managed to leave her hair on your coat." Truth be told she had a point, Dick thought sorrily.
"Maid perhaps?" He tried. And to his utter amazement Dora didn't swallow the statement as she usually did.
"We do not have a blonde maid. Sarah is a brunette and Claire has grey hair." Well there went that, he mused.
"Please give my my pyjamas, Dora." It was hard to be taken seriously when he was standing in his underwear and nothing else save what God had given him.
"Answer me first, Dicky." So it was a game. Well, he thought rather wickedly, two can play that.
"Give me my clothes or I'll..." he let the threat hang, confident she would bow to his wishes. The pyjamas moved not an inch.
"You can do better than that, love." Dora smirked. Moving over to the suitcase, she began to undress.
Dick swallowed as he watched her seductively remove her gossamer shawl from her shoulders and drape it over the same armchair he had tossed his suit coat at earlier. His mouth went dry as a perfectly shaped pale shoulder was bared as Dora slipped one of the straps down her arm. The dress had always been one of his favourites. The low neckline left little to the imagination, and yet was subtle enough to be worn by a true lady.
His lungs decided to stop pumping as the white material slid down her lithe body and for a moment in time, Dick was almost overwhelmed by the beauty that emitted from his wife. And obviously she knew it, for a cunning smile graced her face as she turned around to face him. She was still wearing her white lacy bra and underwear.
"Who was she?" Dora asked, pulling her nightgown from the open suitcase. Dick wasn't sure he remembered any longer...
"Um..." dry mouth, bulging eyes and painfully constricted chest hardly equal good conversations...
"Um what?" the nightgown slid down over her head and she peeked out of its silky material.
"Who is the murderer?" Dick asked, no longer thinking it was silly that she would know. Dora smirked at him, now fully dressed in her nightgown.
"I am sure you know, darling..."
He had her! Check, the game was almost over.
"Same with the hairs, love." he beamed, holding out his hand for his pyjamas. Dora cocked her head to the side, pulling her hair brush out.
"Oh...well in that case." Dora trailed off, running the brush over and through her lovely red locks. "You can sleep in the hall." And like a trained puppy, Dick was pushed from the room by a brush firmly set into his back and found himself standing in the hallway in his underwear with a possible murderer nearby.
"Check-mate." Dora smiled.
Dick groaned. "She wins."
)
