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.

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He hefts her up, though she ends up mostly in his lap, not in the seat beside him. Ruin doesn't mind all that much, running his hands along her back while suckling at her neck.

"'So... lovely..." he whispers against her skin.

"Mhm?"

She tries to lift her head--momentarily unsure if 'lovely' was meant to be an adjective or a nickname--then gives up because his mouth on her neck feels rather nice. She leans against him instead.

"Mhm. An' yours."

The mun isn't certain Ruin himself knows which he meant.

The limo stops suddenly and the drive peeks his head in, telling them they're at the courthouse.

Ruin groans, helping Mary Anne off his lap.

"'m lookin' forward t' the weddin' night, Legs," he growls, pinching her backside as she exits the car.

She yelps and staggers a little in high heels, still giggling.

"How's it gonna be diff'rnt than every other night, hm?"

He laughs, getting them into the building.

"Cause we'll be MARRIED!"

Duh.

The paperwork is thankfully not too complicated and they're the only couple in the place at this particular hour of the night. This means they are soon headed back out to the limo, certificate in hand.

"Just one more thing t'do!" Mary Anne calls over her shoulder as she gets back into the limo.

"Onward, James!" Ruin announces, flopping sideways into the limo so his head lands in Mary Anne's lap. "Mrs. Mary Anne Perte? Or ya stayin' Mary Anne Bell?" he asks, tracing the outline of her breast through her blouse.

"You totally made up that nice man's name," she tells him.

She thinks for a moment. "Dunno...I kinda like Bell. 'Sides, no' like Perte's your real las'name, issit?"

"Nah. If we were t' use m' real last name, it would be 'Ciaran, son of Ardal'. Somehow doubt it'd work," he slurs quietly, looking up at her.

Then the limo slows down, stops, and the driver (whose name is actually Carl, not James) tells them they've arrived at the 24-hour wedding chapel.

Ruin grins at Mary Anne.

"Let's get married, Legs."

She bends down to kiss him.

Last real kiss as a single woman, better make it count. She does.

Eventually, she breaks the kiss, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

"Yeah. Let's go."

Out the step, stumbling a little, but laughing.

Nervous in their drunkenness.

The door looms, but Ruin holds her hand tightly, their rings held in his other hand, and walks with determination.

"Love ya, Legs," he breathes just before they reach the chapel.

She draws up short before the doors, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Yes, she kissed him but this needs to be done too--this closeness, this closure. She needs just a moment to hold on.

"I love you, Ciaran," she murmurs against his neck.

"Whatever's after this, I love you."

And then it's through the doors, where the pastor is having a coffee break but stands up when the couple enters. He smiles at them both.

"I believe you two are here for a wedding."

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