Emil yawned and dropped down on the bench in the mall. He looked annoyed, but he had a good reason. You dragged him out of his bed at eight in the morning and drove an hour to the mall. Then to add insult to injury, it was going on five hours of being in said establishment. Five hours of walking in and out of shops and not buying one thing.
“Beer. Just get the idiot beer and he’ll be happier than a pig in sh…”
“I don’t want to just get him beer,” you sighed and dug into your purse. “I want to get him something that he’ll just love. It’s our first anniversary, Emil.” Pulling out your cell phone, you checked if Lukas, Berwald, or Tino had called or texted you back.
All the messages were the same, beer.
“Err… I would have thought that Mr. Christmas would have come up with a better idea than just beer.” You tossed your phone back into the bottomless pit of your purse. Sitting down on the bench next to the crossed looking Icelander, you laid your head back.
“There are only three things that Dane likes; beer, sex, and fighting. So unless you’re planning on dressing up like a Viking queen, carrying in beer, and pummeling him to a pulp, I’m out of ideas.”
“We already did that.” You muttered and raised your head, tucking your (h/c) hair behind your ear. Either Emil didn’t hear you or didn’t want to entertain your statement. “You four know Mathias better than anyone else.”
“And you married him,” Emil groaned and shifted his weight.
“Maybe I could get his axe polished.” You tapped the side of your face, deep in thought. Biting your bottom lip you wondered if there was anything that crazy Danish man would like.
Emil blushed and cringed. “I hope that isn’t a euphemism for anything.”
“What?” you giggled and lightly punched Emil in the arm. He winced and rubbed the side of his arm that you so kindly assaulted. “No! We call it Thor’s hammer.” You deadpanned.
“Jeez! You two are the most perverted people I’ve ever met!” Emil's voice shrilled as his face grew overly red from the simple pink dusting he had earlier.
“Come on!” You said, and pulled at his arm. “Let’s look around a little more.”
Your shoulders drooped in defeat. Tossing yourself on the couch you clicked on the TV. Maybe something on the telly would give you an idea on what to get your Danish husband.
Mindless info commercials were on every channel. Not one overly helpful to your current situation.
Bras for the flat-chested. Bras for the not so flat-chested. Weed whackers. Onion choppers. The greatest hits of the Fifties.
“Why are you so damn hard to buy for Mathias?” You asked the dead air around you. Turning over you rested your face into the throw pillows on the end of the couch, still with a tight grip on the remote. If you ended up smothering yourself, then at least you wouldn’t need to buy a gift for Mathias.
“I’m not,” the cocky voice barked into the living room. “You just over think things, (f/n).”
“I do not.” You muttered into the pillows, furrowing your brow, all whilst hoping the blond with gravity defying hair would leave you be.
But he didn’t. He tossed himself down on to the end of the couch, pushing your legs off to give himself a better seat. The couch squeaked as he found a comfortable position, almost knocking you off.
“I was here first!” You bellowed and hooked your hands onto the back of the couch. “Go on and leave me alone so I can think!”
“No.” he snickered and oddly wedged himself closer to you, unhooking your hands.
You turned yourself over and faced the television again, wondering if he would get the hint. Any other time you would have thought it cute, but at the moment you found him popping your personal bubble annoying as hell.
“Mathias…” you rolled your eyes as you felt the Dane wiggle himself between the back of the couch and you. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer from slipping off the couch. Propping his head on the pillows, he snatched the remote from your hand and started clicking away at the channels. “What do you want?”
“For what?” He asked, his blue eyes fixated on the TV and some action war movie. “I would like a sandwich.”
You groaned and elbowed him best you could, but found yourself pinned. “For our anniversary, Mathias. What kind of gift would you like?”
“You. You in a big red and white bow waiting for me…and to make me a sandwich.” He laughed, and snuggled closer to you. “Maybe a roast beef sandwich with…”
“Can you please be serious, Mathias. Just this once.”
“I don’t know.” He muttered and clicked the channels. “What do you want?”
You hadn’t thought this far and if that question would arise. You puffed out your cheeks and sighed. “This isn’t about me! This is about you and…”
“Ha! You don’t even know what you want!”
You hated when he was right and he was right at this moment. You pulled yourself from his grasp, fixing your shirt, you rolled your (e/c) eyes and walked into the kitchen.
“Are you making me my sandwich, woman?” He called from the couch, he wasn’t about to move from or so you thought.
“I’ll make you something,” you growled and grabbed the bread off the counter, slamming it into the wooden counter top.
“(f/n),” Mathias said and leaned on the doorframe to the kitchen. “We shouldn’t worry about the first year gift; it’s the fifth year that’s really important.” He smirked and crossed his arms over his chest.
“What?” You asked, dropping the things you gathered from the fridge on the counter. “What’s so special about the fifth year?” You grabbed the jar of mayonnaise and butter knife, starting to make the self-proclaimed King of Northern Europe his request.
“I could make you wait for the perfect gift.” he playfully mocked and sauntered over to you. Wrapping his arms around your waist he leaned his chin on your shoulder, warming the shell of your ear. “But, it’s wood.”
“Wood?” you questioned and raised an eyebrow. “What do ya…” you dropped the knife and blushed once you felt what ‘wood’ he was referring to pressing into your backside. “I don’t think you can wait until the fifth year.”
“I think you’re right,” he cooed and turned you around. “Maybe we could celebrate early, huh?”
“It does sound like the perfect gift,” you giggled. Stealing a kiss, you pulled away from your husband and winked. “I was going to get your axe polished, but this sounds like a better idea.”
“Great! I’ll grab the helmets and chainmail, meet me in the bedroom in five minute.” He loosened his grip and took off up the stairs. "Bring your fighting spirit, (f/n)! It's going to be an epic battle!"
You sighed and knew you needed to take the easiest approach, “I’ll just get him beer…”