Work Text:
Who knew that two words could change a person's life?
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Charlie and I were together for a decade, a happy decade with few bumps and bruises to speak of, before we turned over a new leaf. His constant companionship brought me comfort, even through the toils of the world we stayed beside one another. Through the chaos and confusion, through every hateful person and beratement of the populous. Even as the world turned its back on us, people like us , and shamed our very existence, he stayed by my side.
Over the years, I realised that he was more than my partner, he became my everything. And when I lost him… when he left there was a void in my soul that I simply couldn’t fill. Though it’s best not to dwell on the past, not when this tale is about the future.
One day, long after our little incident in Lit-de-Diable and my transfer of power, I sat with my brother at a little cafe just outside the city. He loved going there on a lazy Sunday, wearing little more than casual clothes and his god-knows-how-expensive sunglasses. He would always be there at an outside table, crossword or book before him, waiting for me with a smile and a hug. I wasn’t a fan of hugs, usually, but he gave a good, tight squeeze that nobody (including yours truly) could resist. We talked about things, shooting the usual shit, but he asked me something rather out of character for him. He asked me about my plans with Charlie, now that we could spend our days in semi-domesticity, and if we’d go off and elope in some little part of the world. Truth be told, I had to let my mind catch up with my ears after he inquired about it. My boy and I never discussed the potential of anything more than the civil partnership we held, but I knew what Charlie wanted… what I wanted. Though that was a heavy topic for a bright, sunny London day in our time. I dismissed the question entirely and Rudy gave me his ‘you’re a bloody liar and you know it’ look, but took mercy on me by rambling about some song I hadn’t heard since our childhood. I left the cafe only a little shaken by his question, but thought nothing more about it by the time I was back in the arms of my love that night.
I didn't hear from him for weeks. I, myself, had forgotten about our chat as I assumed he was too busy with running the country to worry about his ‘little’ brother's antics. Life went on for a month, Charlie and I travelled to Italy for his job one week (he was phenomenal as per usual), and to be honest; we were happy. Every time I looked in his eyes, I could tell that Charlie was content with life. It was ‘everything he could ask for and more’ (his words, not mine, pillowtalk is a powerful thing), and it meant the world that he was finally satisfied. And bonus points to me for bringing about that satisfaction (in both meanings of the word).
Rudy called me around ten one night, Charlie was resting peacefully in my arms with his newest book obsession in-hand (Emma), and I answered. Half-expecting my brother to be in some kind of distress or trouble, I clung to his words with an urgency I typically saved for life-or-death situations. As he spoke, my heart raced, the arm I had wrapped around my boy began to tremor slightly. Charlie assumed something tragic had happened, but assured him that it was quite the opposite. But despite the lack of mortal urgency, Rudy insisted we joined him in our best dress.
After a quick freshen up and Charlie grumbling about how Rudy shouldn’t ‘put him on the spot like this’ when it came to clothes (he takes longer than I do some days), we piled into the Bentley. My boy and I set out to meet Rudy at the cathedral that Charlie frequented. A very apt choice by my brother.
He, Charlie, wasn't a devout Catholic by any means, but he believed enough to carry a rosary and attend mass with my best friend, Chris (not to mention the odd trip to confessional). Charlie’s favourite, and most frequent, display of faith was to pray for God to give him strength when I’m being especially stubborn. I couldn’t entirely blame him as I could (can) be quite a nuisance given the right circumstances.
As I proudly led him into the gothic building, his confusion only grew. Charlie quickly crossed himself as we entered, looking at me as if I were a madman. And I couldn’t blame him; an obvious queer couple prancing into a Catholic church in the dead of night? Might as well have been asking for trouble.
Rudy waited for us, donning his snappiest suit, and greeted Charlie with the kindest, warmest smile I had ever seen on him. After clapping me on the shoulder, he led us along the pews. He explained everything to us. The papers, the pardon, the vows and the permissions. I didn't truly hear a word of it though, all I was aware of was Charlie’s hand wrapping evermore tighter around my hand. I could feel his pulse pick up, his eyes filled with shock and wonder. He drew his gaze at me when Rudy said it was my idea (it wasn’t, but who was I to argue?), the look Charlie gave me… I could never explain it in words. In short: it was as if all the love he had ever given me in our ten years of companionship was beaming upon me from his beautiful blue eyes, teary and joyous. I couldn’t be any more proud.
As my brother wrapped up the details, the priest (or who I could only assume was the priest) came up to us, welcoming Charlie into his arms. The man had known my partner for ages and said that this place was safe for us, for everyone, no matter the walk of life. Charlie introduced me as his partner, and the priest smiled and greeted me with equal friendliness (of course, he chuckled at my name). Rudy gestured to him and we took our place at the altar.
Now, dear reader, I can safely say this moment would be the most terrifying, unnerving, hair-raising experience of my life up to this point. I held my boy’s hands in my own as the priest droned on about something to do with matrimony in the eyes of God, or something, and all I could think about was Charlie. How I could finally give him what he longed for, what he deserved. How I could finally pick up the broken pieces of his heart and mend them with golden promises. How he would never be hurt again, not as long as I was alive. My boy, the young man I met all those years ago in Italy, was going to be mine forever, eternally, and I would be just the same to him.
“Lucifer, do you take Charlie for your husband? Do you promise to be faithful to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love him and to honour him all the days of your life?”
The words struck me like a bus (the double decker kind, going at a solid 100km/h if not more) and I nearly froze. “I do.” Charlie’s gaze stripped every wall I may have put up in my life, every insecurity and vulnerability I had was laid bare.
“And Charlie, do you take Lucifer to be your husband? Do you promise to be faithful to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love him and to honour him all the days of your life.”
Two words, dear reader, changed my life for the better.
“I do.”
“What God joins together, let no one put asunder.”
Charlie tore his gaze from me as a person came up to us at the altar- well… people. Chris held Mycroft, our nephew, on his hip. And Mycroft proudly held a little pillow with two rings atop them. That, dear reader, was the final straw for Charlie’s resolve. What little restraint he held against his tears, it was broken and he cried freely and hands shook in my own as his emotions overwhelmed him (in the good way, I assure you). Through the tears, he wore a magnificent, dimpled, bright smile that could have lit up even the darkest of nights; ‘cause Lord knows that it lit up my miserable dreary existence ages ago.
Charlie was the first one to shakily take a ring from the velvet pillow, sending a smile to Muffin, after the priest blessed the small silver circlets. “Lucifer, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.” Of course he had this memorised… oh how he must have longed to say these words upon the altar to someone, how many times he recited them in an empty room all on his lonesome… and here he is, giving me the honour of becoming his husband. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
My voice may have cracked as I spoke, repeating the words that Charlie had spoken not moments before. Feeling every ounce of fear I ever had been lifted off my shoulders, I slipped the ring on his finger, gently brushing over the metal as the priest said a few more words. It felt surreal, having this with him in such a cruel and unforgiving world, how this little blip in time healed so many wounds of pain from the past.
“In the sight of God and these witnesses-” I glanced at Chris, little Mycroft, Rudy. My heart swelled with delight. “I now pronounce you husband and husband .” My husband, what a thought. I met Charlie’s eyes, starry with the promise of the future, diamond-blue orbs filled with love. “You may now kiss.”
I had done it hundreds, thousands of times before, just a firm press of our lips, no deeper, and yet… it contained more passion than any intimate moment we had ever shared. I felt my own tears trail down my face as we embraced one another. Charlie giggled a little as we parted, using his thumb to wipe away the liquid from my cheek. “We did it.” There was that beautiful smile again, soft and tender, I could look at that for hours and never once become uninterested…
“Yeah,” I put my hand over his own, the ring settling on my finger. Not that I would admit it any other day, but I couldn’t help the small cries of happiness that escaped me as I pulled Charlie back into my hold, squeezing him as tight as I could, holding his head near my heart. “I love you, I love you so much Charlie you have no clue-” I let breathless laughs tinged with tears flow over me, revelling in the feeling of his warm body next to mine.
I only let go once I felt a tiny body crash against our legs and equally tiny arms wrap around us. “Chali and ‘Uci!” Oh sweet Muffin, he was in on it the whole time and managed to keep it hush hush even when he visited No.9 only a couple days prior. A smart lad. “You married?”
“Yes, my little Muffin!” Charlie gladly scooped up the little boy. “Si, siamo sposati. Mariti.” He showed the simple silver band to Mycroft as he told him we were married (husbands), the lad looked on in wonder.
“Sposati,” he tried the word on his tongue, soaking up the new word for his already extensive Italian dictionary. “Chali ‘nd Uci are mariti!”
“Correct!” Charlie congratulated him before catching my eye again, his expression relaxed into something more than contentment or satisfaction. “I’ve finally gotten my better half, Muffin.”
“Not that anything’s wrong with not having a better half,” Rudy came up behind me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, “Look at you Luci-!”
“Don’t call me that-”
“-you’re a married man! How does it feel? Hm?”
“To be honest?” I let a nervous chuckle out, “I’m terrified I’ll muck it up-”
Charlie cupped my cheek and placed a quick kiss on it, making my heart jump. “You won’t, promise. And if you muck it up, we’ll muck it up together!”
Rudy took Mycroft from my husband (chills, I tell you) and Chris came up to us, bringing us both into a bone-crushing hug and swaying. “Look at you two! Married, who knew?”
“Well when an unstoppable idiot meets an immovable arseho-”
“Bad word!” Muffin reprimanded my brother, giving him a firm smack on the shoulder. “No no!”
“Apologies Muffin, won’t happen again.”
My family… small, broken, a bit weird, but my family all the same. I could never ask for better people to love and to be loved by. I may have vowed my life to Charlie, but I also vow to those around me, the ones I have the honour to call my friends and family: my company will serve as a beacon of hope in the darkest of times, and my loyalty will remain strong as the night passes us by till dawn.
To family, to Charlie: I love you, openly and freely without restraint. No matter what the world says.