Author's Note: For a Tumblr prompter wondering if Lon'qu would be more affectionate drunk.
"You're sure you don't mind?" Lon'qu asks, and Lissa snorts, even though she's been trying to get better about that.
"It's the only time I can get you to lay me without being so gentle about it."
Her husband blushes but quickly finishes his wine. Lissa grins and leans forward to catch another glimpse of Stahl, at the head of the table.
"Who would've thought that dork could ever get married?" she asks. "Good thing he is who he is. This is the biggest wedding feast I've ever been to. And he didn't skimp on the drinks, either."
She refills Lon'qu's glass from the decanter in front of them. Two in and he's already flushed. Even she can hold her drink better than he can. It's probably because he's usually quite opposed to drinking: something boring about the way of the sword and a life of temperance. But eventually they'd discovered that a little too much wine with dinner relaxed him so much that he could forget all his fears. It made him passionate.
It was really their wedding night that had caused all the trouble. Discomfort had shown on her face, however slight, and her husband—her sweet, overprotective husband who was so terrified of hurting her—was set back weeks in his recovery. Lissa is confident that he'll eventually build back up, and will be comfortable showing her how strongly he feels with his actual strength someday soon, but in the meantime, the wine is a nice shortcut.
"Feeling anything?" she coos into his ear.
"How long do we have to stay at dinner?" he mutters back.
She beams and accepts a large helping of pudding when the bowl comes her way. Her plan has worked yet again.
It's hard to concentrate on dessert with Lon'qu's insistent hand gripping her knee, sliding up her thigh when he grows too impatient, but she just smiles around her spoon and finishes at her own pace.
When she finally stands, he's quick to follow, and when they're alone he kisses her fiercely and presses her against the wall. She gasps as her head bumps it and he pulls away.
"Sorry, did that—"
"No. It didn't hurt. This is nice." She winds her arms around his neck to reassure him and he starts the kiss again, slowly at first, building it until he has one hand clenched in her hair and the other in the fabric of her skirt. When his mouth travels down her neck she breathlessly suggests,
"Let's get back to our room."
But he's tipsy and eager and his hands are steady, so she's perfectly happy when he ignores her completely.