FP came back home with a wide smile and his arms open his hands full with grocery bags. waiting for his son to jump right into his arms. "Daddy's home!" He exclaimed, shutting the door and kicking his shoes off. He smiled, even more, when he heard his wife's voice. "In the kitchen, baby!"
He walked over to her and slipped his jacket off, letting it rest on the dining table same with the bags and he walked over to his wife, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and kissing her neck softly. "Hey, beautiful." He tried to get her lips onto his.
"Hello, handsome." Alice giggled at him and pecked his lips before turning back to the stove. He looked at the dinner then back at her, turning his smile into a frown. "Pasta? Again?" She shrugged and looked at her. "It's your fault you won't get the groceries."
He laughed and shook his head, pointing to the dining table. "Oh, but I did get the groceries!" Alice turned her head to the dining table and smiled more. "Oh. Okay. But we're still having pasta because I already made it." She turned the stove off and turned herself around, facing her husband.
"Where's Charles?" He asked, moving his lips back to her neck and sucking her pulse point. She hummed and shut her eyes, running her hands in his dark locks. "He's playing soccer in the backyard." She answered, squealing when he placed her on the counter. "So that means Mommy and Daddy have some alone time," he whispered in her ear, nibbling on her lobe.
She looked at him and caressed his back, spreading her legs so he can stand between them. "Yes, they do." She smiled and rolled her head back when he sucked her neck again, leaving even more hickeys.
"Mhm..." He slipped his hands underneath her blouse and moved them to her back, unclasping her bra. He took it out and put it beside her, hiding his head inside of her shirt. She giggled when she realized what he was about to do, moaning softly when he did.
His mouth was around her nipple and his hand was cupped to her breast, squeezing it roughly. She looked at his head and arched, letting her hands rest on his jeans. She unzipped his jeans and held his member through his boxers, feeling that he was hard. She squeezed it gently and wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist.
"Bedroom, now."
**
Charles came back inside and walked into the bathroom to wash his hands, but he was interrupted by loud yelling, specifically his father's name. He listened for a few more seconds and realized that it was his mother's voice. "Mommy!" He gasped and ran up the stairs, not caring about the rules.
He was scared that his dad was hurting her, or even worse. He started to sob and he ran as fast as he could to their bedroom "Daddy don't hurt Mommy!" He yanked the bedroom door open and frowned when he saw FP on top of Alice, no blanket covering them. He covered his eyes and turned around, not liking what he saw. "Why are you not wearing clothes, Daddy?"
"Wha- Charles! Why didn't you knock?" FP's eyes widened and he quickly pulled the blanket over them and got off of Alice. They both sat up and quickly put their clothes on, telling Charles he could look now. "Don't hurt Mommy!" He yelled at FP, stomping his foot onto the floor, making it look like a demand.
"I'm not hurting Momm-"
"Yes, you are! She was yelling and doing some kind of praying!" He jumped onto his father and started to hit him. Alice looked at their son and quickly grabbed him, stroking his hair to calm him down. "Mommy-- Daddy was hurting you!"
"No, he wasn't Charles!"
"Then why are these here?" He pointed to the hickeys on her neck that were visible to her, glaring at FP. "You hurt her!" He yelled again, but this time louder. He started to cry again and hit him again. FP frowned and slithered away from Charles, falling onto the floor. He hid under the bed before Charles could come and hit him again.
"Charles! Don't hit your father!" Alice grabbed him and pulled him into her arms. He hugged her tightly and never wanted to let go. "Don't worry, Mommy. I'll protect you from Daddy." Alice laughed and shook her head. "Charles, baby," she stroked his blonde curly hair. "You're father isn't hurting me. He was just tickling me."
"Then what are these?" He poked the hickeys again and gawked. "And why are they wet?" He cleaned his finger on the sheets.
"Uhhhhh," she quickly thought of an excuse. "Because... he said he was sorry for tickling me and kissed me. But he kissed me a little too much and he left these marks."
"What are they called?"
"...Sorry marks?"
"Oh, okay."
"Now go say sorry to Daddy for hitting him."
"Can I give him sorry marks too?"
"No!"
