His knees hit the dust harder than he'd like — he'll be feeling that
tomorrow — but he laughs anyway. "Now, you don't even know what manner of
trinket is inside the box yet! Perhaps you'll allow me a moment for it's
presentation?"
Her hands grab his thighs and she tips forward to interrupt him again with a fierce kiss. She licks heated promises into his mouth until she runs out of breath. They've definitely caught attention now, especially the merchant of the fabrics they haven't yet paid for.
Harley draws the shimmering fabric up from his shoulders until it drapes over both of them. A secret place for just him and her.
"Okay," she says with breathless anticipation. "Go."
He kisses her back, face absolutely burning up. He's pretty sure he can
feel people staring. The feeling does not go away with the fabric over
their heads, and the sheer fabric allows enough light through for her to
still be able to see his flushed face.
"People probably think us absolutely mad," he points out, but he's
grinning. "Are you sure you don't want to go home for this? I've been
working on a very moving sonnet..." Is he teasing? It's hard to tell.
Harley looks around at the crowd waiting for the show to play out, blurred and shaded through the makeshift curtain, then ducks her head. She studies her hands, pressed to the tops of his thighs, her thumbs stroking little arcs.
"You're not ready," she says. "That's okay. I'll ask next week."
She leans forward again to kiss another promise into his skin.
It's that he really is working on a sonnet, and it's going to be
exceptional.
It's that the crowd is slowly filling him up with panic like sand in an
hourglass, and what happens when all the grains run out?
It's that his last attempt at a romantic gesture brought him to ruin.
It's that he's dying and he's terrified of what that means.
Particularly for her.
As he kisses her, one of his hands finds hers and places the little box
into it. "If things were different, I swear I would do this all better. But
all the same, I want you to have this, a promise of a future together. You
are my lighthouse in the darkness, and I would surely sink without you. I
love you, never doubt that for a moment."
Her fingers curl around the box and her other hand grasps his wrist, her thumb pressing lightly against his pulse.
"I know that," she says between kisses. She presses her forehead against his and breathes him in. "This is perfect, because it's you. It's us. Ours." She tucks the box next to her heart. "Let's go home. I'll make a really bad dinner while you work on your sonnet, and then you can open the box for me and I'll say yes as many times as you want to hear it. Every day, for the rest of our lives."
She takes a moment to bask in their private bubble, before having to burst it. "Also, I gotta hurry up and pay for all this fabric that we've been rolling around in."
He laughs, and it bursts from his lips like he wasn't expecting it either. She always makes him laugh, makes him realize how long he'd gone without doing so before she burst into his life like a shooting star.
"I suppose we had better, before they call the city guard. I'm not keen to begin my criminal record today." He leans in to give her one more lingering kiss, grinning before he's even pulled back again. "Besides, you haven't met my mother yet."
With that, he sweeps the fabric off of their heads, casts prestidigitation to clean the dust off of it (they plan to buy it, but the poor merchant looks near to fits over it, and he feels a little guilty), and rolls it back onto the bolt. There's a bit of a crowd around them, which he tries and fails to ignore. Some of them look a little confused, like they were poised to applaud a successful proposal, but they're not sure whether one happened or not. More than a couple look like they recognize him, and the thought that there will be new gossip about him (he isn't just disgraced, he's gone mad) crawls over him like fire ants. When his breathing starts coming in a little too quickly, he reaches for Harley's hand.
"We'll buy both, the entire bolts. And my apologies for the display, but aren't we all fools in love?" His expression is sweet and boyish, big brown eyes contrite, and it's clear that this is how the young, rebellious Gale probably got out of a lot of trouble both at school and perhaps with the previously mentioned Morena Dekarios. The merchant seems satisfied, whether because they've agreed to buy the merchandise instead of leaving it ruined, or because the spectacle seems to have brought more attention to their stall, doesn't really matter. They even get a discount, for 'the newlyweds', and Gale doesn't point out that it's the price point the merchant was probably prepared to be haggled down to anyway.
He reaches for her hand and she immediately falls into his orbit. Their fingers link together and she gives an anchoring squeeze. Her free hand explores the tendons and fine bones of his wrist. Her body presses against his side and she tucks her face against the side of his neck. It's a disgusting picture of smitten newlyweds to the audience, but she's putting herself between him and the world. Trying to fill as much of his senses as possible with only her. A quiet, solid anchor for him to hold onto.
Harley feels her heart go buttery soft at the sweet face he gives the merchant, and knows she can never ever let Gale know. There won't be any hope of her winning any argument if he knows how fast that would work on her.
She's shielding him, he knows, but he begins to wonder whether this entire shopping trip wasn't also an attempt to reacclimate him to the world. Now that he knows how brilliant she is, he's starting to see how her actions that might have once seemed capricious are in fact calculated. She wouldn't bring him here thoughtlessly, he thinks, feeling like a caged animal being slowly reintroduced to the wilderness.
"Surely that's not the only thing you wanted to see in the market? There's an entire merchant caravan's worth of wares to consider, and I want you to look to your heart's content." It's only a little performative. Not the part where he wants her to be happy, just the part where he's unbothered by the crowds. But he wants to show her that he can be brave, that he can improve. He doesn't want to skitter back into his cage just yet. "Besides, who knows what books they might have? Or very nice paper and ink."
There is a mysterious box with a mysterious item tucked in her cleavage this very moment, which she won't get to see until they get home, and now he wants to stay out.
Very well. The only way she can fight his lust for books is with other books. She reaches into her bag and pulls out the book of bedroom magic.
"Maybe I'm ready to go somewhere private and look at you to my heart's content." She waggles her eyebrows just in case he isn't picking up on such a subtle cue.
He laughs louder than he means to, and looks at her with equal parts love and hunger, shaking his head all the while. "Gods, we're going to end up in Horkle's Gossip Cauldron, I hope you know."
They get the book and the bolts of fabric tucked away in her bag of holding, and he offers her his elbow again. "We'll compromise and take the long way home. I want to buy you flowers. Besides, don't you know that the wait makes the cake taste sweeter?" He doesn't waggle his eyebrows, but his expression is nonetheless lascivious.
"Then we should make sure Horkle has plenty of good things to write about," she quips before darting in for another kiss. She hopes the broadsheets mention his gorgeous soft eyes and the way he laughs, but probably the best case scenario is that they don't write anything too ridiculous about her tattoos.
She takes his elbow when offered and looks at him a little stunned. She bites her lip on a shy smile. "You want to buy me flowers," she echoes quietly. Nobody has gone out of their way to buy her flowers before, and certainly not for no particular reason.
"You don't like flowers?" He had put a couple of hyacinths cut from outside the tower into the bow when he'd given her the gift that kicked off their romance, but he had never considered whether she liked flowers. Maybe she finds it too sad that they're destined to die soon (probably not that, because she's still here with him). Maybe she's allergic. Gale has always liked flowers, and since people generally don't think to buy them for men (and goddesses are more inclined to accept offerings than buy gifts anyway), he tends to buy them for himself from time to time.
Even though the flowers are in question, he starts leading them on their path that will take them past the florist. "I could buy you chocolates instead," he offers.
"I love flowers," she's quick to correct. "I love that you want to give me flowers. That's not--" She swallows and blinks away the storm of feelings. "It's new."
His smile is soft and even though they're still in the midst of a crowd, those puppy eyes are just for her. "I should have bought them for you sooner then. I'll buy you flowers every day, if you like, just to celebrate the honor of being in your company." He leans in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, a bit clumsy as they're still walking. "What are your favorites?"
"Hyacinths. I always liked the way they smelled," he replies. It hadn't
hurt that purple hyacinths in particular symbolize asking for forgiveness,
and he had been worried at the time that he had upset her somehow.
This time, he buys her blue hyacinths paired with white ranunculus from his
favorite florist. He doesn't even make her listen to the flower symbolism
behind it while they walk towards home.
Harley cradles the flowers carefully in the crook of her elbow. Several times on the walk home, Gale has to gentle steer her away from walking into something because she's too distracted looking at the blooms. Her fingers keep carefully brushing the edges of the petals like she needs the touch as a reminder that they're real.
Even as he tried to spare her from a yappening, Harley cues him up anyway. "Is it true that different flowers mean things?"
Now it's Gale's turn to be surprised. He has been called know-it-all so often that he just expects people to be exasperated when he starts talking at length about anything. His power and expertise in magic, that's what people seek from him. Anything else is merely tolerated at best.
"Ah, well," he begins, a false start because he wasn't prepared. "That's true, florals have their own language, in a way, so that you can convey some rather complex messages with the right bouquet. Hyacinth's meaning depends on the color. Blue hyacinths convey sincerity and devotion. Ranunculus typically symbolizes charm and attraction. The white ranunculus, in particular, conveys more of a refined beauty, as well as indicating new beginnings, which makes them popular for wedding flowers."
"Oh!" he echoes in alarm, turning on his heel to face her rather than stand beside her. His hands hover, awaiting action as he assesses the damage. "You've busted your lip." He takes out a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at the blood.
"You're more important than flowers," he gently scolds. "I can buy you more
flowers, but you are irreplaceable." Gently brushing her lip with his
thumb, he beams at her. "Though I'm making a mental note to give you
flowers at home from now on, when you're not walking anywhere."
She clutches the flowers and little tighter and angles her body away like she's worried he might take them back now that she can't be trusted. It would be nice to simply let him fuss over her, but her lips turn town in a tight little frown.
"You... know I get hurt a lot, right? That's the line of work I'm in."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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She says it way too loud and now anyone in hearing range is definitely looking at them.
"Gale!" She laughs and pulls him down to the ground with her.
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His knees hit the dust harder than he'd like — he'll be feeling that tomorrow — but he laughs anyway. "Now, you don't even know what manner of trinket is inside the box yet! Perhaps you'll allow me a moment for it's presentation?"
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Harley draws the shimmering fabric up from his shoulders until it drapes over both of them. A secret place for just him and her.
"Okay," she says with breathless anticipation. "Go."
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He kisses her back, face absolutely burning up. He's pretty sure he can feel people staring. The feeling does not go away with the fabric over their heads, and the sheer fabric allows enough light through for her to still be able to see his flushed face.
"People probably think us absolutely mad," he points out, but he's grinning. "Are you sure you don't want to go home for this? I've been working on a very moving sonnet..." Is he teasing? It's hard to tell.
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"You're not ready," she says. "That's okay. I'll ask next week."
She leans forward again to kiss another promise into his skin.
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"It's not that."
It's that he really is working on a sonnet, and it's going to be exceptional. It's that the crowd is slowly filling him up with panic like sand in an hourglass, and what happens when all the grains run out? It's that his last attempt at a romantic gesture brought him to ruin. It's that he's dying and he's terrified of what that means. Particularly for her.
As he kisses her, one of his hands finds hers and places the little box into it. "If things were different, I swear I would do this all better. But all the same, I want you to have this, a promise of a future together. You are my lighthouse in the darkness, and I would surely sink without you. I love you, never doubt that for a moment."
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"I know that," she says between kisses. She presses her forehead against his and breathes him in. "This is perfect, because it's you. It's us. Ours." She tucks the box next to her heart. "Let's go home. I'll make a really bad dinner while you work on your sonnet, and then you can open the box for me and I'll say yes as many times as you want to hear it. Every day, for the rest of our lives."
She takes a moment to bask in their private bubble, before having to burst it. "Also, I gotta hurry up and pay for all this fabric that we've been rolling around in."
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"I suppose we had better, before they call the city guard. I'm not keen to begin my criminal record today." He leans in to give her one more lingering kiss, grinning before he's even pulled back again. "Besides, you haven't met my mother yet."
With that, he sweeps the fabric off of their heads, casts prestidigitation to clean the dust off of it (they plan to buy it, but the poor merchant looks near to fits over it, and he feels a little guilty), and rolls it back onto the bolt. There's a bit of a crowd around them, which he tries and fails to ignore. Some of them look a little confused, like they were poised to applaud a successful proposal, but they're not sure whether one happened or not. More than a couple look like they recognize him, and the thought that there will be new gossip about him (he isn't just disgraced, he's gone mad) crawls over him like fire ants. When his breathing starts coming in a little too quickly, he reaches for Harley's hand.
"We'll buy both, the entire bolts. And my apologies for the display, but aren't we all fools in love?" His expression is sweet and boyish, big brown eyes contrite, and it's clear that this is how the young, rebellious Gale probably got out of a lot of trouble both at school and perhaps with the previously mentioned Morena Dekarios. The merchant seems satisfied, whether because they've agreed to buy the merchandise instead of leaving it ruined, or because the spectacle seems to have brought more attention to their stall, doesn't really matter. They even get a discount, for 'the newlyweds', and Gale doesn't point out that it's the price point the merchant was probably prepared to be haggled down to anyway.
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Harley feels her heart go buttery soft at the sweet face he gives the merchant, and knows she can never ever let Gale know. There won't be any hope of her winning any argument if he knows how fast that would work on her.
"Let's go home, love."
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"Surely that's not the only thing you wanted to see in the market? There's an entire merchant caravan's worth of wares to consider, and I want you to look to your heart's content." It's only a little performative. Not the part where he wants her to be happy, just the part where he's unbothered by the crowds. But he wants to show her that he can be brave, that he can improve. He doesn't want to skitter back into his cage just yet. "Besides, who knows what books they might have? Or very nice paper and ink."
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Very well. The only way she can fight his lust for books is with other books. She reaches into her bag and pulls out the book of bedroom magic.
"Maybe I'm ready to go somewhere private and look at you to my heart's content." She waggles her eyebrows just in case he isn't picking up on such a subtle cue.
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They get the book and the bolts of fabric tucked away in her bag of holding, and he offers her his elbow again. "We'll compromise and take the long way home. I want to buy you flowers. Besides, don't you know that the wait makes the cake taste sweeter?" He doesn't waggle his eyebrows, but his expression is nonetheless lascivious.
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She takes his elbow when offered and looks at him a little stunned. She bites her lip on a shy smile. "You want to buy me flowers," she echoes quietly. Nobody has gone out of their way to buy her flowers before, and certainly not for no particular reason.
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Even though the flowers are in question, he starts leading them on their path that will take them past the florist. "I could buy you chocolates instead," he offers.
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"What are the ones in front of the house? You gave me those before. That's my favorite now."
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"Hyacinths. I always liked the way they smelled," he replies. It hadn't hurt that purple hyacinths in particular symbolize asking for forgiveness, and he had been worried at the time that he had upset her somehow.
This time, he buys her blue hyacinths paired with white ranunculus from his favorite florist. He doesn't even make her listen to the flower symbolism behind it while they walk towards home.
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Even as he tried to spare her from a yappening, Harley cues him up anyway. "Is it true that different flowers mean things?"
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"Ah, well," he begins, a false start because he wasn't prepared. "That's true, florals have their own language, in a way, so that you can convey some rather complex messages with the right bouquet. Hyacinth's meaning depends on the color. Blue hyacinths convey sincerity and devotion. Ranunculus typically symbolizes charm and attraction. The white ranunculus, in particular, conveys more of a refined beauty, as well as indicating new beginnings, which makes them popular for wedding flowers."
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"Oh."
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"Saved the flowers, though!"
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"You're more important than flowers," he gently scolds. "I can buy you more flowers, but you are irreplaceable." Gently brushing her lip with his thumb, he beams at her. "Though I'm making a mental note to give you flowers at home from now on, when you're not walking anywhere."
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"You... know I get hurt a lot, right? That's the line of work I'm in."
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