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“Geldy!” Rhéla practically yelled his name with the broadest grin he had ever seen, causing a few of the other patrons to look around wildly. Her nose flushed red, eyes glassy from whatever - and however much - alcohol she had consumed. Vorgoth, as was his way, stood next to her like a statue, his hand (if one could call it that) resting on the bar top.
Rhéla wobbled in place as she tried to slide off the bar stool, Vorgoth’s hand reaching out to steady her. He spoke, voice deep but loud even among the heavy chatter that filled the room as Geldauran wove through the dense throng of people, “LITTLE PYRE IS INTOXICATED.”
Well, that much was obvious.
When Geldauran finally reached the duo, his face was instantly squished by Rhéla’s palms. He could smell a mixture of liquor and elfroot wafting from her, her lips curled up. She gave him a small grin. The one she usually reserved for when they were home, and alone, not in a bar full of people. The blush crept further across her nose and down her cheeks. Rhéla’s voice dropped low and husky, “You’re so fuckin’ handsome, Geldy.”
Yeah, she was real drunk.
His laugh was deep, rumbling as she stumbled into him, her legs shaky like a faun. Vorgoth hovered, though it was difficult to see what sort of expression sat underneath the hood - did Vorgoth even have a face? He had to, right? Geldauran tried not to think too hard about it, or contemplate about how weird it was that his girlfriend’s best friend was an unknown entity that spent most of their time with corpses, “SHE REQUIRES WATER.”
With Rhéla unable to hold herself up properly, Geldauran swept her off her feet into a bridal carry. One arm under her knees, the other supporting her back; he held her close to his chest, giving Vorgoth a small nod, “She’s gonna need a bit more than that, but I got ‘er.” A soft hum from Rhéla in response, who had buried her face in his neck. He could feel the vibration from her lips across his skin.
He pushed away the flare of heat in his stomach, voice rough, “C'mon, drunky. You gonna be a good girl for me?” Geldauran’s voice a bit too hoarse - he knew what he was doing.
After he said his goodbyes - and Rhéla , well… attempted some form of goodbye that came out as drunk babbling - he carried her out of the bar.
Once the cold air hit their faces, she announced - loudly, “I am not a BRIDE, Geldy.” His expression turned perplexed as he slowed to a stop, Rhéla wiggling in his arms. Her hooded hazel eyes looked up at him, brow furrowed, looking as defiant as a toddler with a right opinion.
“Gonna need to catch me up, Rhey.” His drawl, thick and low. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk with the intoxicated elf in his arms as other people meandered by.
“You’re carrying me like a bride.” She got the words out through a series of mumbles and single hiccup before trying to adjust her position in his grasp. His hands moved double time to make sure she didn’t fall out of his arms and onto the cement below them.
When she finally settled, her arms draped around his shoulders, the tips of their noses brushed as she let out a soft giggle - it forced a smirk to tug at the edges of his own lips. Rhéla wrapped her legs around his waist, his hands moving instantly to secure her by her thighs.
Geldauran’s breath caught in his throat as she ran her nose along his, pressing a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips.
“That’s… much better.” She slurred out. “I want to go home.”
And he did too.