Chapter Text
~ 1 ~
It’s around two when Monty and I make it back to our flat. We left the bar at one, but between bumping into every acquaintance we have on Sodomites Walk (Monty is still an insufferable flirt when given the opportunity— and frankly I love to witness it knowing it’s me he’s taking home ), and swinging into every dark alleyway we pass to kiss (“We should be more careful”—“Then perhaps you should be less bloody gorgeous.”), the half-mile journey home took three times as long as it should have.
Tonight had been a rather big night at Miss Muff’s. After two weeks of telling their plans to anyone that would listen, our friends Peter and Edmund had a lavish wedding ceremony in the bar. Tears were shed, flowers were thrown, and copious amounts of gin was consumed (none of it by us— although I may have had one too many beers.) It’s not the first such wedding I’ve witnessed, but there was something… different about it. Something unnamed that moved me more than I was expecting.
I’m still thinking about it when Monty swings open the door to the flat and practically dances inside, still humming whatever song the band was playing when we left. I love when he’s like this— all of his cares forgotten, lost to a night of laughter and dancing and love. He glows with it.
It may well be contagious. I close the door behind us, then reach out and tug his arm. He spins dramatically then presses himself against me, tilting his head up to look into my eyes.
“Hello, darling.”
“Hello, my love.”
“What’s that look for?”
I frown. “I have a look?”
“Yes. It’s one I’ve seen before. Like it’s your first time laying eyes on me.”
I smile, tilting his chin up so that our lips can meet. He sighs into it, his body leaning further into mine, and suddenly the strange, nameless feeling that’s been bubbling under the surface of my skin all night forms into two words, which I can’t seem to keep inside.
“Marry me,” I whisper against his lips.
He pauses, then gives me one more kiss before pulling away and looking at me. “You’re drunker than I thought.”
I frown. “Monty…”
He steps back, humming again and doing a little twirl. I watch him, trying to get my thoughts in order. I begin to wonder if I should have kept my mouth shut.
“So, which would I be?” He says as he turns back to me. “The bride or the groom?”
My lip twitches slightly. Banter? This I can manage. This is safe. “We’d both be grooms. But if one of us did have to wear a dress, I think it’s pretty obvious that…”
I trail off, raising an eyebrow and gesturing at him, and he scowls at me— folding his arms over his chest protectively and seeming to puff up like a threatened bird.
“Excuse me? I am a Lord. The height of masculinity.”
“A disgraced Lord. With a penchant for high heels and lads’ arses.”
He scoffs. “One. One lad’s arse, these days. Thank you very much.”
I smile, twisting around slightly and lifting up my coat. “Oh, this?”
He glances down, then chews on his lip. “No, not that one. Terribly bored of that one.”
“Of course you are, my love.”
I shake off my coat and drop down onto the bed, propping myself up on my elbows. Monty watches me for a moment, before glancing around the flat. He grabs something from next to the burner, and I tilt my head— wondering where on earth this is going.
He ties a white dish towel around his head, dangling the length of it over the front of his face, and starts to hum the wedding march as he walks slowly towards me.
I hate this man.
“I hate you,” I inform him.
“No, you don’t. You want to marry me.”
He grins at me, climbing onto the bed so that he’s straddling me, one knee on either side of my hips. He dramatically pulls back the ‘veil’, shaking out his hair like a lady who’s just come inside from the rain.
“I wasn’t joking, Monty,” I say, resting my hands on his hips. “I would marry you in a moment.”
The smallest of frowns appears on his face. “Darling. That’s sweet but…” he shrugs, motioning to the door. “That wasn’t real, you know?”
“In what way?”
“Well, for a start, I don’t think two mollies being wed by a man wearing a dress and rouge is legally binding.”
I roll my eyes. “A man wearing a dress, he says. Like he wouldn’t trust Madame Macaroni with both of our lives.”
“I would! But—“
“You think it wasn’t real to them?” I cut him off, and he looks a little taken aback.
“Peter and Edmund?” He pauses, then shrugs slightly. “They were completely foxed, darling.”
“Perhaps. But they looked happy.”
“Are you not happy?”
He stares at me, eyes wide, and my stomach flutters. Suddenly, I feel almost foolish. “Of course I am. I’m with you. Of course I’m happy.”
He nods, still looking troubled, and I lean up to kiss him.
“Forget I said anything?”
He pauses, then smiles. “I still think you’d make a gorgeous bride. White against your complexion?”
I laugh. “I can’t wear a dress. I’d lose you under my skirts.”
“Oh!” He gently flicks my nose. “From proposals to cruel jibes about my stature within minutes. It’s a wonder I put up with you.”
“Who else would boil the water, sweetheart?”