2020-12-30 - Pre-Marital Bliss

It's a testament to Dante's exhaustion that he doesn't even check in with the kitchen or hsi staff before taking off with Cristobal. He managed to secure a high-roller suite for tonight, which, even with his insider connections was no small feat. It's got expansive views of the harbour, a sunken living room and a giant soaker tub. There's a food basket on the table and a New Year's bouquet of flowers.

And the be-suited Englishman isn't too fussed by any of that, because he's kissing his lover quite firmly the second they're inside the room.

Cristobal slams the door closed a little rougher than necessary with the sole of his fancy Dante-purchased shoe, but his force can be excused for exuberance. There's laughter in his throat, happy and unhindered as he kisses Dante back with hands fanned out on the man's bearded cheeks. "Shoulda carried you over the threshold." He murmurs in between passes of their lips. A quick glance at the rest of the room, but more in exploration of what they're going to bump into or turn over as they traverse through the suite. "Wait, wait, wait. At least I can do this right, now." Cristobal digs into Dante's pocket to steal the ring box back, stepping back so he can hitch his trouser leg and get down on one knee.

"Dante Taylor, mi luz, mi corazone, will you complete this broken man, and do me the greatest honor of marrying me?"

"Hey, hey, handsy," Dante drawls as the hand goes into his pocket. But then when he realizes what Cris is doing, his cheeks pinken. It's a strange thing to witness. He's not shy by any stretch of the imagination, and he definitely doesn't blush. But here he is. "Cristobal, my darling," he says, looking down at the other man. He reaches out to paw his hair. "I never in my life thought someone would be propsing to me, you scoundrel you. He holds his hand out and twiddles his fingers. "In case my Spanish was too poor before, I'll simply say yes." Queue the shark-grin with a flash in his eyes.

"Your Spanish was perfect, a little more practice, and you won't even need me to translate my family when we visit Juarez, though we'll have to get you brushed up on the cuss words." Cris stays on his knee as he fishes the ring out of the box and takes those twiddling fingers into his own to slide the cool band over the knuckles of Dante's fourth finger on his left hand, kissing the flaming heart when it's settled. "I didn't know if you would want something more traditional, so if you hate it we'll buy you a replacement together."

"Darling, I've spent my entire adult life bucking tradition. I'm not about to insist on convention now," Dante drawls. He takes a moment to examine the ring. "It's lovely. You're blinging me out," he waggles his other hand where he habitually wears the signet ring that he bought him awhile ago. He's about to say something, when there's a knock at the door. "Ah, yes. I ordered something on the sly. I wanted them to come early in case, well, in case we were interrupted." He helps Cris to his feet, kisses his hand and moves to the door. A staf member rolls in a tray that's set on the table. An extensive charcuterie platter, along with a very expensive bottle of scotch. Glenmorangie 1981 - a 20 year old Sauternes wood finish. It's not a full bottle. There's about an eighth left, but that eighth is a few hundred dollars' worth. "I hope you don't mind. I'm rather over champagne at this point in the holiday season."

Cris has rings on most of his fingers tonight, but they are all meaningless trinkets in comparison. The symbol of Dante's ring matches the one inked over Cris' heart, so no doubt that's why this particular one was chosen as an engagement band.

The knock on the door has Cris rising from his kneel with the help of Dante, the man habitually unbuttoning his suit coat just in case he has to reach for the gun rig that's hidden up on his ribs, despite Dante expecting a delivery. HIs grin reforms when the scotch and charcuterie are what roll in, and so instead of a gun he's pulling out a moderate tip for the waiter, before giving him the 'piss off so we can snog' upnod of thanks.

"We could be toasting with toilet water and it wouldn't matter, as long as we were toasting you saying yes. But, I think this..." Cris examines the label from the Scotch, "Is perfect."

"Did you plan to do this tonight?" asks Dante after the server is on his way. He steps up to Cris and loops his hands around his waist, fingers already moving to untuck his shirt tails and find skin. "What if I'd had a kitchen emergency and I'd disappeared for half the night?" He then disengages one hand to pour a measure of the very expensive alcohol into two cut crystal glasses. The smell, a sort of soft sweetness mixed with the scotch is apparent right away.

One of Cris's eyes squeeze sheepishly closed as he gives a little, "Eh." noise. "I've been carrying it around for a bit now, waiting for the right moment. But I had it commissioned from the family jeweler back in May because I knew it would take a while. But having that in my pocket has been the greatest reminder to do better, be better. And now that it's on your finger, all the more." Cris accepts the glass, sticking his nose in it first to get a sniff of it, even if he's partially preoccupied with grabbing the tail of Dante's bowtie and tugging it loose out of the bow.

"May," murmurs Dante. "Blimey." That's not a word he has ever said in Cris' company before, but it seems to fit the situation. "You have always been a planner and a romancer. Does..." he hesitates, leaning in to let Cris tug at the bowtie, "...your family know about me?" He sips from the scotch. His eyes roll back into his head and he makes a little rude sound. "That sip cost as much as four normal drinks."

A dark eyebrow quirks up when Dante says 'blimey'. How very provincial of the boarding school boy. "Who do you think gave me the number to the jeweler?" Hispanic families are a bit like Jewish ones, in the fact that every family has a 'guy' for certain things that they stay loyal to. "Mi madre says the ninos are very excited to meet their new gay uncle. So be forewarned." Cris' head tilts as he watches Dante appreciating the drink, "Which means I can't afford to keep a flask of it in the bedside table. I mean. I'm good, but not Glemorangie good." Just as Dante's accent is a little off when he speaks Spanish? Cris doesn't quite have a handle of that Scottish name.

"They'll only be excited until they figure out I'm no fun at all," Dante takes another sip of the ridiculously expensive scotch, then leans in to Cris. "This all feels a bit surreal. You've been thinking about it for awhile. I've...well, I'd be lying if I hadn't considered being the one to get on his knee. But it makes the most sense that it was you. Because only you would know when you were ready. But I haven't really considered...details. Logistics. Reality." He chuckles. "And of course the whole bloody town probably already knows, despite your attempts at discretion."

"The discretion was for my pride in case you said no, and I didn't want to embarrass both of us in front of your staff should I need to punch some asshat who made a snide comment." Even though it turns out Ruiz did, and he won't find out until later when they leave the casino from the rumor mill. Cristobal, taking Dante's glass to sip from it instead of reaching for his own, because sharing is caring, continues. "We talked about marriage before. I just had to wait until you warmed up to the idea." His mouth quirks. "Details, reality, those can come later."

"Oh my darling, look who you're talking to. I find it nearly impossible to not consider logistics almost immediately after something has been set in motion. I assure you, I'll drive you quite mad." Dante looks around, then back at Cris. He reaches up to tug at his tie. "I don't think I want to do it in Gray Harbor. The only place nice enough is Sitka, and I don't want to get married at work. But we could have a party here?"

"Mm." Cris says at the notion of planning, but because he's busy letting the scotch sit on his tongue for a minute before he swallows and can properly talk. "Vegas. We'll fly out of Seattle, take a weekend at Ceasar's Palace, get married poolside or by a drag queen Elvis, your choice. Fly to El Paso, have a reception there, then one in England and then one back here."

Dante slides the tie off Cris' neck, then reaches up to undo the top few buttons. "Vegas? Vegas? Are you serious? You're teasing me, yes? I'm fine with the triple reception idea, though it sounds like a a logistical headache. I'd rather force my family to come to El Paso so I don't have to deal with the stuffy fusspots who are coming because it's just a jaunt down the road for them and they want to see what's become of the Taylor queer." He snorts softly. "If they have to travel for it, my side will be smaller, but it will be the people who aren't absolute bores and traditionalists."

"Alright, so not Vegas. And are you sure that you want to mix families for the first time at what is supposed to be a joyous occasion? My family is very Mexican and your family is very British. The shock in the contrasting color palette of their clothes alone will be shock enough. But hey, I'm game if you are. We can take bets on which side cracks first. Will it be your mother, fainting, when she's exposed to our food, or my little sister cracking your great aunt or something like a piņata for rolling her eyes too much?" Cristobal teases lightly, abandoning his drink to tug on Dante's belt.

"Isn't that the point of weddings? Throwing sides of the family together and watching the fireworks?" Dante steals the scotch back and sips it, letting the flavour ride on his tongue before it burns sweetly down his throat. "My mother will be fine. She's a lawyer and a senior partner in her firm. She's travelled the world and backpacked through southeast Asia when she was in her twenties. My sisters will adore you. My gay great uncle will drag his partner wherever we go. I've a few assorted cousins who would love an adventure." He wraps an arm around his waist. "My first marriage was for my family. This one will be for me. Which means I don't want any of the toxic elements of my family around."

Cristobal starts bumping Dante towards the expansive bed with a zillion thread count sheets. No doubt his goal will be to christian as many possible surfaces of the suite tonight, but it only seems right that their first act as an affianced couple be something sweeter and more tender. Or at least more comfortable. "I feel the same way about my first wedding. And suffice to say I don't think either of us will be wearing white on the big day this time. We'll figure out something that's perfect for just the two of us. Starting tomorrow. Right now I want to make sweet sweet love with you until the only thing you can think about is if you remember how to walk afterwards."

"Yes, I was going to say. I've had my fill of logistics for the moment with tonight's 'do and all the office parties I've been helping arrange. Give me a couple of days and I'll be right back on that horse though." Because Dante can't quite help himself. He lets himself be led towards the bed, but he pauses to whisper lasciviously in Cris' ear, "...you've definitely earned the right to peg the dandy this evening." And then there's a tongue tracing over the pulse point at his throat, up to his ear.