ten_of_swords | (no subject)

(no subject)

They'd been out on the strip most of the evening.

Dinner (so much food!), dancing, walking and talking, even a show at the MGM Grand.

Now, with his hand resting on her lower back, Ruin escorts Mary Anne into the lobby of Caesar's Palace. The casino was in full swing as midnight approached, and he kisses her shoulder.

"Ready to test our luck, Legs?" he asks, breath hot against her skin.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Her jaw drops.

"The hell! I c'n drink way more'n you."

She grabs the next shot as soon as the bartender finishes pouring, then tosses it back. She sets the empty glass down with a firm clink.

"C'mon. Put yer booze where yer mouth is."

Ruin does the same, only this time the shot takes just a little bit longer to go down.

He swears that the room is spinning.

"Maybe yer right," he admits sullenly. "Been t' long since I've done this." He blinks, trying to focus on her. "Gods of th' uni'erse, yer beau'ful, Legs."

She looks smug.

Just don't ask her to walk a straight line.

"So'kay. Ya got time to practice."

She grins, blushing a little. "You jus' saying that cuz 'm close enough for you t' see."

He trails his finger from the hollow of her throat to her cleavage.

"If I though' you would take me sersly, I'd make an 'onest wo...wo...woman of ya..." he mumbles to that cleavage.

She blinks, which is more of an effort than it sounds.

"But 'm pleny 'onest. Don' lie. Much. Oft'n."

It takes his booze-muddled mind a minute to figure out what she's talking about, then he laughs.

Loudly.

"No! I mean, marry you!" he says, still chuckling as their tenth round is placed on the bar.

"You wanna what?"

Because she's pretty sure she heard the worry 'marry' under all that booze.

"Why not?" he pouts, kicking back his shot. "Is not like we don' make a good match." There is blinking as he tries to clear his vision. "Ma'be rings... kids... white pick' fence?"

He has no idea what he's actually talking about.

He'd done the marriage thing once and failed miserably, after all, and he never was much of a father.

She frowns a little, trying to puzzle out what he's getting at.

"But you said ya din't wan' any o' that. Kids anna fence an stuff."

She pokes him in the chest in a large combination of luck and decent aim. "You jus' drunk."

"No!" he replies, swaying in his chair from her poke. "I wan' you. Love you."

He grins.

"Wha'? Don' wanna be m' wife?"

"Love you, too," she answers.

"But...s'all...weird when you married. S'different. I dunno."

She tosses back another shot while thinking.

"B'sides...you gotta wife."

More booze is required for this conversation.

He tells the bartender to line up ten shots.

"No, I don'. Coira isn' m' wife. Ex-wife."

Ruin takes the first shot.

"Ya just had t' say no, Legs. Won' take no offense."

"No, no, s'not not saying no."

She runs a hand through her hair, trying to figure out how to explain this one. Tequila helps.

"'M just...'m scared, is all."

Tequila always helps.

"Why?"

"B'cause..."

She frowns, then gets down off her barstool. This takes some effort, but she wants to be closer. She wraps her arms around him from behind and hides her face in his shoulder.

"Don' want things to change. An' they'll change. Don' wanna get hurt. Don' wanna get left. Want you to stay, an' if we do something says you have to...'m scared."

He turns to her, managing -- somehow -- to cup her face between his hands.

"Not leavin'. Ring or no ring, not leavin'."

Hell, he hadn't left Coira. She'd left him.

Ruin didn't leave what he loved, which would explain why he knows how his son's life turned out, knows all his descendants, and why Reue has stayed by his side despite his statements that he didn't love or want her.

"Good," she says, nodding once.

"S'alright, then. So long as you don't leave."

It's not that she couldn't--wouldn't--chase him; she can and would. It's that knowledge that somebody else she loved had picked the door over her. She's not sure how well she'd handle that and doesn't want to find out.

He grins.

"So..."

If he were sober, this conversation would not be occuring.

"Wan' get married?"

The 'if they were sober' clause goes without saying.

There's one more moment of hesitation before she smiles back and kisses him.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

He slides off the stool and, holding her hand tight, pulls her toward the front door of the hotel. He asks the doorman to call for a limo and while they wait, he kisses her repeatedly.

She slips her free arm around his waist.

"So's this mean I gotta start bein' all mon...mono...monono...jus' sleeping with you now?"

He drunkenly nuzzles her neck.

"Do ya thin' either o' us coul' do that?"

She lets her head loll to the side, giving the matter due thought.

"S'pose we coul' try. If'n ya want to."

She does not make any predictions about their success rate, though.

The limo arrives and Ruin informs their driver they want to get married.

Now.

Then helps his drunked bride-to-be into the back of the limo.

"Wha' about bus'ness?"

Once he gets in, she curls up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Wha' bou' it? You mean like...fuckin in th'line of duty?"