[No interventions. Just sitting here and listening to this with absolute delight because all that's going through Alucard's head (beyond what this evening shall be like) is my wife.]
Because you've yet to utter the words Her Royal Highness. Mistake one. Mistake two, thinking that there's any title I care more about than getting to be one of two husbands to you.
[Sypha's right. Because his face somehow manages to grow fonder, softer, and even more stupidly, desperately, ridiculously happy than it already is . There are no tears, but the warmth and adoration that radiates off that face could get a field to grow.]
My wife.
[And okay, maybe he's a little teared up now, but that's going to be solved with another kiss because shut up.]
[Is it time for swooning into his arms because this seems like a great time to just drape herself all over him, which is also conducive to kissing so it works out.]
Your wife!
[They've done reverence; now this iteration rings with joy and delight and elation.]
Your wife, that's it, you're going to have me as your wife! And when I sleep on you in the summers and make you hot from soaking up all of your coolness, you will just have to accept it as my wife privilege!
[Better her than him, which is liable to happen about now.]
Yes.
[Yes to all of it. Yes to the tone of this and the sheer joy of hearing Sypha say it too. Maybe he'll just start calling her that today, maybe not, but the sheer heights that his heart has just soared to are impossible to articulate.]
[She goes with him obligingly, lifting her chin for a kiss that feels like it's straight out of a fairy tale itself, and when he's done she steals a second and a third before she lets him get away.
If she weren't in her exceedingly fancy dress, and thus worried about taking good care of it, she'd be far more maneuverable at the moment. But as it is, she still manages to twist a little and situate herself so that she can get in close to his ear, which is mostly what she's after because she finds she wants, more than anything, to hear him laugh like that again.
Maybe she really is a furnace, she thinks idly. Something to warm him from the outside when he draws near to it, helping the cold spot in the room lose its chill when it has no way of accomplishing that itself.]
Your wife, your wife, your wife.
[Like a chant, like a spell, three times in all, and she presses each one against his ear, velvet and hot.]
[It has never, ever escaped Alucard's notice that for two men so scarred by fire, they've placed all of their affections with a woman who burns like a bonfire at night. Heating everything, shining through all the dark. It's the most joyful irony in life, and he'd never exchange it.
Never has he felt that thought more keenly than in this moment, between all the kisses, between Sypha so, so carefully rearranging herself (he swore that design was simple in comparison to some of the others!) She's here, and the words said are a spell. Magic is intent, after all, and what else is this entire arrangement going to be? Intention. Intention to just formalize things a little more, intention to have a tiny little sign that the world can see that there is so much more than scholar, hunter, soldier.
(Will they all just wear one ring, or two? That's a discussion to have later.)
Trevor's still absent. Maybe leaving that gift in the Hold was an error in judgement. A thought for later, because Sypha's demanded all of his attention. All the warmth in him right now is because of her, and those words only add fuel to that same warmth.]
Yes. [There's still such joy in his voice. He sighs, so soft and content.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[Okay, now she's just getting silly. An intervention is needed. Desperately.]
Handsome royal prince his highness Adrian Belnades.
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You keep excluding yourself, you know.
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[...]
How am I excluding myself, my handsome royal prince your highness?
[she's not even TRYING]
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[How dare he be so sweet as to make her blush like that. HOW DARE!!]
You're so romantic!
[why does this sound like a complaint]
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Yes. And you're having too much fun with names. Neither is a bad thing.
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[And she is going to watch his facial expression intently, because if she's right she isn't going to want to miss an instant of this.]
Your wife, the beautiful royal highness Sypha Belnades.
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My wife.
[And okay, maybe he's a little teared up now, but that's going to be solved with another kiss because shut up.]
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Your wife!
[They've done reverence; now this iteration rings with joy and delight and elation.]
Your wife, that's it, you're going to have me as your wife! And when I sleep on you in the summers and make you hot from soaking up all of your coolness, you will just have to accept it as my wife privilege!
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Yes.
[Yes to all of it. Yes to the tone of this and the sheer joy of hearing Sypha say it too. Maybe he'll just start calling her that today, maybe not, but the sheer heights that his heart has just soared to are impossible to articulate.]
Even the last one, furnace.
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[It doesn't matter. She's too happy to care, and feeding off of his happiness, besides.]
That's your beautiful wife Mrs. Furnace, I think!
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My apologies! I have caused such a great offense, and on such an auspicious day. There is only one price to pay for such a wrong done.
[Which is to stroke Sypha's cheek so very gently, before tilting her head up so he can kiss her yet again.]
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[She goes with him obligingly, lifting her chin for a kiss that feels like it's straight out of a fairy tale itself, and when he's done she steals a second and a third before she lets him get away.
If she weren't in her exceedingly fancy dress, and thus worried about taking good care of it, she'd be far more maneuverable at the moment. But as it is, she still manages to twist a little and situate herself so that she can get in close to his ear, which is mostly what she's after because she finds she wants, more than anything, to hear him laugh like that again.
Maybe she really is a furnace, she thinks idly. Something to warm him from the outside when he draws near to it, helping the cold spot in the room lose its chill when it has no way of accomplishing that itself.]
Your wife, your wife, your wife.
[Like a chant, like a spell, three times in all, and she presses each one against his ear, velvet and hot.]
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Never has he felt that thought more keenly than in this moment, between all the kisses, between Sypha so, so carefully rearranging herself (he swore that design was simple in comparison to some of the others!) She's here, and the words said are a spell. Magic is intent, after all, and what else is this entire arrangement going to be? Intention. Intention to just formalize things a little more, intention to have a tiny little sign that the world can see that there is so much more than scholar, hunter, soldier.
(Will they all just wear one ring, or two? That's a discussion to have later.)
Trevor's still absent. Maybe leaving that gift in the Hold was an error in judgement. A thought for later, because Sypha's demanded all of his attention. All the warmth in him right now is because of her, and those words only add fuel to that same warmth.]
Yes. [There's still such joy in his voice. He sighs, so soft and content.]
Words I don't think I shall tire of hearing.