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The wedding, when it happens, is on a beautiful summer Friday, clouds dotting the endlessly blue sky, the air warm and heavy with the smell of honeysuckle and lavender. It’s two weddings, to be more accurate, and to be the most accurate it’s two weddings followed by a party. Father Hernandez performs the first one in the House of the Lord, where Lucían and Glory, in their matching wedding garments, flowers braided into their hair, promise to love and honor each other in front of their closest friends and family. The Hammer, Evelyn, Abigail and Mother Geraldine all made the trek from Granite Falls, the nuns’ formal habits crisply pressed, the warrior in a charcoal tunic cut to fit her broad shoulders, all of them grinning at him from the pews. His mother and father are there, and his oldest sister Juanita and youngest sister Rosario and her husband, but the others had to stay behind to keep an eye on things at home, which only pains him a little because he never expected to be here, with family to watch him take his marriage vows in front of the Lord and everyone. Kia, the Black Bear and his husband Apollo, the Wall, the Kestrel, and the Badger all managed to make it back from their various missions in time, all of them dressed in their finest non-armored tunics and dresses. Kia made good on her promise to commission a fancy outfit, wearing a cropped waistcoat and trousers in deep black shot through with silver embroidery. She joyfully sobs her way through the ceremony and smacks the hands of anyone who tries to give her a handkerchief until Lady Helena finally shoves one at her and tells her to stop being silly. Shannon rolls their eyes and smiles, and is one of the first to cheer when the Father pronounces them married.
Glory’s family came as well, her mother Dryas and her four sisters, all ridiculously tall, broad, and varyingly blonde. They come to the forefront for the second wedding, across the plaza at the temple of Freya, and her sisters shower them in flowers during the unfamiliar ceremony, her mother bringing them a goblet of mead to share to seal the marriage. He grins at Glory over the rim of it as he drinks, the white blossoms in her hair, the embroidered green linen gown falling to her ankles, his necklace at her throat, and he loves her so much it hurts. She takes the goblet from him and drains the rest of the mead, and then practically tosses it back to her mother as she grabs him by the shirt collar and drags him in for a kiss he loses himself in. When they finally part it’s to cheering and more happy crying, and Lucían rocks up onto his toes to drop one more kiss on her lips before they turn, giddy, to their friends and family.
Kia is, indeed, great at decorations, he finds when they return to the Guild Headquarters. She’s opened up all the doors between one of the training halls and the courtyard and filled it with tables and chairs, vases overflowing with flowers everywhere he looks and beautiful lengths of sheer fabric in every color draped from the rafters or hanging between the walls outside to shade the courtyard. She’s found an old arbor from somewhere and dragged it to the head table, woven over the whole thing with flowers and greenery and fabric, and practically shoves them into place under it, beaming the whole time.
“Do you like it?” she asks, perching on the edge of their table while the band she apparently hired plays something with a lot of hornpipe and fiddle.
Lucían grins at her and takes her hands in his, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “It’s beautiful, Kia,” he says, and his face already hurts from smiling but he can’t stop. “Thank you so much, you did a wonderful job.”
“You were worth it,” she says, patting him on the cheek. “Don’t tell anyone I said so.” She leans over to kiss Glory’s forehead and jumps down off the table to wander off somewhere, Lucían never quite finds out where because that’s when the food and the rest of the Guildmembers all start to arrive. Lucían spots a tray going past loaded down with fresh, ripe garden tomatoes, and before he fully understands his plan he chases down the server and snatches one off, mottled red and purple and firm under his fingertips. Glory watches him come back to their table with a bemused smile, and he bites his lip and holds the tomato out to her, the floral arbor over them almost a garden and the air smelling like summer. Her grin widens.
“For me?” she asks, and at his nod she takes it from him, their fingers just brushing. He watches, transfixed, as her white teeth snap through the red flesh, and this time when a little droplet of tomato juice runs down her chin, he leans in, catches it with the pad of his thumb, and licks it off neatly. “What a difference a year makes,” she observes, her eyes hungry on his mouth, and Lucían laughs at her and leans in to take a bite out of the tomato in her grasp.
“We should always grow tomatoes,” he tells her seriously, “in remembrance.”
The party all becomes a bit of a blur after that, feasting and toasting and dancing blending together into one happy, chaotic memory. He dances with his mother, and then Glory, and then Evelyn, and then Glory, and then Shannon, and then Glory, and then even Mother Geraldine and Glory’s mother Dryas at the same time, and he’s really not sure afterward how that last one happened. People keep trying to pour him drinks, and after the first couple he starts abandoning them on the nearest table because he can already feel the effects of the wine and the mead and doesn’t care to get more drunk than he already is. He stumbles back into their decorated arbor and Glory catches him with a laugh, which sets him off laughing, and when he finally stops he can’t explain what was so funny in the first place, so he kisses her, eats some more cheese and fruit, and drinks a glass of fruit tisane.
“They all want to toast me,” he half-complains to her as they watch one of Glory’s sisters pick up Kia into a very impressive lift as part of their dance. “It’s like just because I got married today they all forgot I have nowhere in my tiny body to put all the wine!”
“A lot of them are already in their cups, my love,” she says, running her finger down his nose and tapping it on the tip. “They’ve probably forgotten everyone else is also trying to toast you, and they think their toast is the most important. What a trial it is to be so loved.”
Lucían blushes, ducking his head and biting his lower lip, because yes, he is so loved, has friends and family and a wife beyond his wildest dreams, and he leans up to kiss her again, sweet and just a little hungry. “How much longer do weddings usually take?” he asks, pretending and probably failing at being casual, and Glory laughs at him because she knows exactly what he means.
“We have to stay through dessert,” she says, and he’d be disappointed about that except that he wants dessert, too, so he tugs her up by the hand and pulls her back out to dance in the courtyard, under the trailing fabric and the sunset sky.
Dessert is actually many desserts, pavlovas and cakes and little cheese tarts, and Lucían does his best to sample all of them but has to admit defeat before he gets to the pudding with the caramel sauce. “I’ll ask the Knife where she ordered from,” Glory assures him. “If there’s none left over tomorrow we’ll order more and have it all to ourselves.”
“I’d like to have you all to myself,” Lucían tells her, quite boldly he thinks, and Glory laughs, cheeks flushing a bit pink, and says, “I can arrange that.” She pulls him out for one last dance, a raucous jig that has nearly the whole party joining them, and when the song comes to a stop she claps her hands once to get everyone’s attention.
“Thank you so much,” she says, green eyes sparkling in the fading light, “for coming to celebrate our marriage. We love you all but we have to bid you goodnight, now.”
“They’re gonna go fuuuuuuck!” Kia yells from somewhere in the back. She sounds very drunk, and Lucían blushes furiously, half-turning his face into Glory’s shoulder because there should be such a thing as plausible deniability. Glory laughs, so everyone else laughs, and then she sweeps Lucían off his feet into her arms, like delicate royalty in a story, and strides away across the courtyard into the darkening evening. The partygoers cheer after them, loud and happy and definitely having had a bit too much wine, the sound eventually fading as she ducks into a hallway and carries him up to their room.
“You don’t have to carry me, you know,” he says, tracing her collar with his fingertips, and she smiles down at him as she climbs the stairs.
“I know I don’t have to,” she says, “but we both like it and it’s our wedding night, so why not?” Lucían doesn’t have an answer for that so he leans up and kisses her throat instead, working his lips up along her soft skin to under her ear, and flicks out his tongue to taste her there. She shivers, her steps faltering for a moment, and throws open their doors with one hand, kicking it shut behind her as she carries him to their bed.
“Lord, I love you,” he tells her, sliding his hands into her hair and wrapping one leg around her hip to urge her down on top of him. He demands her mouth, hot and urgent, rolling his cock up against her through their clothes so she can feel the effect she has on him. “I’m yours,” he swears, biting his way along her jaw, sliding one hand down so he can squeeze the curve of her ass through her dress, soft and hard under his fingers at the same time. “Forever and always, I belong to you.”
“Mine,” she says, green eyes glazing over a bit, looping one finger into his collar so she can tug at it. “You are my Lucían,” she tells him, fierce and beautiful, before she kisses him again, deep and hard, practically fucking his mouth with her tongue. She pulls back with a gasp, leaving Lucían lightheaded with it, and pushes herself off of him abruptly. “Clothes,” she orders without further clarification, and they undress without ceremony, Glory undoing just enough of his buttons to get his tunic off and Lucían definitely popping a few stitches on her underlinens in his rush to get her naked. Glory sprawls in their bed, pale skin and tattoos against the sheets, flowers still braided into her white-blonde hair, and Lucían buries his face between her thighs and doesn’t come up for air again until she’s come twice under his mouth, his fingers deep inside her and his tongue on her clit and her hand fisted in his hair as she shatters. She shakes flowers out of her fist, petals scattered across the bed, because they hadn’t bothered taking the blossoms out of his hair and she’s ruined them a bit now but neither of them really cares as he kisses his way up her body, along her ribs, over her breasts and collarbone, and up her throat to her mouth.
Glory works a hand between them, curling it around his cock, and Lucían exhales in a rush, whispers, “Let me,” against her lips, and climbs out of bed to dig in the wardrobe. He comes back with the harness and the crystal toy, buckles it around Glory’s hips with great ceremony, and coats it with the salve he made before he wipes his hand on a cloth and straddles her carefully.
He hasn’t warmed up at all, and so he reaches under him, finding the right angle to lower himself down, and then very, very slowly works the crystal cock into his ass. He can feel Glory’s gaze on him, her hands stroking his thighs as he braces himself on his arms, panting, letting his body adjust before he slides further down. The stretch is too much and it’s perfect and it’s overwhelming and he never wants it to end, and he finally sits all the way down, flush with Glory’s hips, and opens his eyes to look at her properly.
Her eyes are green and half-lidded and dark with enjoyment, her face flushed, and as he watches she licks her lips and drags her gaze over him, up and down and then back up to his face. Lucían smiles at her, arches his back just so, and slowly runs one hand from his chest down to his cock, taking hold of it at the base and giving it a squeeze. “Like what you see?” he teases, stroking himself once with a shiver, and Glory grins at him, sharp and hungry, and says, “Always.” His body begs him to move, to do something, so he releases his dick and braces his hand on the bed again, rolling his hips experimentally, and fuck, it’s amazing, fucking himself on her cock while she watches him with that heated, heavy gaze is amazing, every part of this is amazing. It takes him a moment to find a rhythm that works, once he’s found it he’s gasping and moaning and leaking on her stomach in short order, his thighs shaking and his cock hot and painfully hard.
“Glory,” he whines, driving himself back on the crystal again and again, desperate and dazed, “please—oh Lord—I need—” She doesn’t make him ask for it, maybe as a wedding present, just wraps her hand around his dick, her hand moving in time with his hips, and it takes maybe three more strokes before he cries out raggedly and comes over her hand and around her cock, breathing hard, his whole body shaking with it. He loses the rhythm and she takes over for him, driving her hips up into his as he drops onto his elbows, curling over her, his mind going wonderfully, blissfully blank as she draws out his orgasm with her hand and the crystal in his ass, leaving him drunk and dizzy with it when he finally resurfaces. He pushes himself up onto one elbow so he can make shaky eye contact, and Glory smiles at him, sweet and secret, and gives him a gentle, almost chaste kiss.
“I love you,” she says, running the fingers of her clean hand through his hair at the nape of his neck. “My sweet, kind, beautiful Lucían. Mine, forever and always.”
“I love you,” he says, shivering under her fingers and her gaze. “I’m yours, forever and always.”
“Good boy,” Glory says, dropping another kiss onto his lips, and Lucían cannot fucking believe his luck, that he has this wonderful, beautiful woman in his life, so he kisses her again, and again, is never going to stop kissing her, he thinks, because he’s hers.
Always.