#affectionate names

“Where is my crown!?” Bubba Loo Gumball cries crossly. He storms into the room and slams his hands down onto his own desktop as soon as he is able to. He grips the hard candy surface tightly and forces himself to not strangle the impertinent being before him.

“Why are you asking me?” is all he gets out of Marshall Lee.

Enraged (I’ve already told him not to do this!), the pink-themed prince finally reaches across the tabletop to grab hold of Marshall’s flannel lapel. He yanks none too gently on the thick fabric (Used to block the sun rather than keep anyone warm...) and pulls the older male closer.

Their noses brush as he speaks, menacing and deep, “Because you’re the only person it could be.”

Marshall snorts, “Well, that’s awfully mean.” He tilts his head, keeping their noses in contact, and leers almost lovingly into his partner’s rage bright eyes, “What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“This isn’t America.”

The demonic-vampire huffs and nods begrudgingly, “Fair enough.” But he recovers quickly, “Even still: what proof do you have that I took your precious crown? I mean, look around;” he spreads his arms wide to gesture at the room, “Do you see it anywhere here?”

Gumball’s left eye twitches.

He releases the night terror and glances around, sharp blue eyes alighting on everything that it can, searching for the splash of turquoise and gold he would expect from his crown. He does not find it, however, and ends up turning his still twitching gaze back to Marshall Lee with his hands still empty.

There must be something heart-wrenching to his expression because, the next thing he knows, the demon-vampire is sighing softly through his nose and amending, “I do know where it is—although I didn’t steal it.”

Realizing the older male isn’t joking, Gumball sighs, too, and closes his eyes. He slowly counts to ten and regulates his breathing before a blush blooms across his cheeks and he deflates. “...” He glances shyly at the other and fidgets, obviously thinking he’d gone overboard with his yelling and manhandling—err: demonhandling. Vampirehandling?

Whatever.

He rounds the width of his office desk and leans over Marshall Lee, whom is still seated, trying to find the words he needs to say he’s sorry. His partner, however, just gazes up at him rather lovingly with a soft grin on his face. (For some beefed up reason, he’s actually amused by this; what the muck?) When the words don’t come, he sighs heavily and shakes his head.

Marshall opens his mouth to speak—what, Gumball doesn’t know—and Bubba Loo takes that opportunity to lean down farther and capture his other half’s lips.

Marshall Lee purrs. The young prince gently continues the kiss, pale pink fingers reaching up to apologetically caress the elder’s neck and cheeks. He carefully avoids the Vampire King’s bitemarks, not wanting to stimulate this into escalating, and tries to infuse the kiss with all of his unspoken apologies.

Marshall giggles before pulling away, “Let’s get your crown, yea?”

Gumball blushes and nods, letting his King lead him to—and he’s not sure if he should be surprised or not—Cinnamon Bun whom had, apparently, been trying to use the turquoise adorned gold as a megaphone (Do not ask why.).

Epilogue:

“Why didn’t you take it from her the moment you saw she had it?”

Marshall glances back at Gumball. At first, he remains silent—almost contemplative—as he settles into a blood red chair next to Gumball’s office one; eventually, however, he smiles. His eyes glide back to the crown once again sitting on the younger male’s head before he grins, “I wanted to see you angry.”

Gumball stares in shock.