One Night Only.

He's standing by a large wooden table with my old college professor, a man who is now white haired with glasses sitting on the end of his nose. Rydian has his hands on his hips, his face intense and curious.
A white shirt is unusual on him, as are the black dress pants that it's tucked into. I have a brief vision of him looking up at me and unbuttoning a few buttons on the shirt with a glare, protesting that he doesn't like formal attire and wants his chest on show. Then again, I didn't tell him what to wear tonight. He did this for my sake, for me, even if it's for one night only.
The most handsome thing about him right now isn't his attempt at dressing formally, but that he's paying attention as he examines the papers before him. They're diary entries and letters written by Jane Seymour, the third wife of England's King Henry VIII. I'm the host of this exhibit because I own the pieces. I came across them by chance, a descendant of Jane's was desperate to sell them.

Rydian doesn't care for history or artifacts like these. It doesn't interest him. In fact it bores him to death. One night as we laid on the sofa, I recounted to him an article about the first findings of Ancient Egypt. He became silent and when I lifted my head from his chest, he was asleep, snoring softly, face as serene as a baby's. It happens more often than I appreciate, but tonight, he's focused, looking as interested as someone like me. I'd believe he was a Historian too, if I didn't know that he was an artist who falls asleep as soon as I open my mouth about my work.

My thoughts call to him, the only thing that seems to distract him from what my Professor's speaking of: the missing pieces of Jane's journals. Rydian's eyes slowly lift to mine, slate grey and upturned cheekily as he approves of me. At first, he questions me with those eyes, wondering why he's silently been summoned. Then, as he understands my overwhelming appreciation of him, love for him, his eyes fill with pride. He's proud of me, happy for me. My heart will burst if I feel that any deeper, so I turn away.
But his arms are around my shoulders in the next moment, making me steady the glass in my hand, the Champagne sloshing around in the flute.
"Mon amour." He murmurs with his endlessly cocky grin, nuzzling into my neck and making me giggle. I hate that giggle. I hate that he makes me feel like a giddy child, even in the most quiet and upper market setting. He kisses at the curve of my neck only once then lets me go and instead takes my hand.

Rather than look at him, I look at the crowd of professionals that have gathered in this small room at a museum to look at my collection, my artifacts. I've studied them for months. I've changed what we know about history, about a King and his favourite Queen, about England and its monarchy. I'm proud of myself more than I ever have been. I'm happier than I ever have been.
Rydian squeezes my hand and I turn to speak, but he's facing me and dropping to his knee. I can barely pay attention, because he's mocking me in my mind. Even in front of me he's smirking because he knows that I don't want the attention of all of these people staring at us. Secretly, I love it.

--

He grasps my body and we burst through a door after I miraculously find the keyhole to our apartment. This has never been hard, the intimacy between us. There's always been a spark, a flame, a fire, even after so many years.

Tonight I've gotten engaged. I'm going to marry my soulmate.
It doesn't make me complete just because it was 'meant to be', carved into our skin since we were born. It's because of the way that he looks at me, the way he kisses me like there has never been anyone else, despite how many there HAS been. It's the way he speaks to me, of me, like I'm the greatest gift in the world. Even his devilish smile can't hide the fact that he'd do anything for me. I'm his Queen, as cheesy as that sounds, and just as cheesily: he is my King. Tonight he's solidified that. I will be his forever; for eternity.

Our bodies hit wall after wall with smirks and chuckles between breaths, and moans just from heated kisses. I can't recall if we shut the front door but neither of us check it. Instead, we dance until we hit something strong enough to deal with our antics.
His back hits the counter and I shove him up, making him lay across the quartz before I join him, straddling his body.

My exhibit was perfect, but he is so much better.

He can't move a finger beneath my dress before I have it unzipped at its side. I've pulled it off before he can bother thinking to do it himself and I reconnect my lips to his right afterwards.
He's undressed too before I can think of anything else.

The future looks exciting. I'll have him for the rest of my life. My eyes are slightly swollen from crying earlier, happy tears. A smile hasn't left my lips from the moment I saw him immersing himself in my world. Even now, his face is intense. My mind is overwhelmed with his attention tonight: to my work, to me, to us. The look succumbing him says that he wants me, loves me, couldn't handle a world without me. He grabs at my skin as if he anticipated being rejected earlier. He's finally letting the relief roll over him, the fact that he won't ever lose me.

I moan and he sighs at the sound, his hands bringing my face to his again. He looks over my lips. He's thinking. He's trying to speak, but I stop him by molding my lips to his and my body to his own. We connect in a way that doesn't need words, right atop our cold, sparkling, kitchen counter.

--

We're slumped over each other, two sweaty bodies.
My ear rests over his heart that's pounding so loudly, I can't hear much else.
"Marry me." He asks in a breathless whisper as if he didn't get the answer the first time.
I lean back, hair stuck to my forehead, and I laugh at him with a forceful breath of air from my chest. "I already said yes."
Rydian smiles at me. His eyes open, then close. "Thought it was a dream."
Shaking my head, I sigh tiredly and place my chin to his chest. "I'm going to marry you Rydian Arkyn." My lips turn up in a grin, much like his own. "Finally."