In Defense of the Vile + Proposal
"Peter."
Quentin Beck, former detective, leaned against his kitchen island and lifted his hand.
"What's this?"
It wasn't hard to figure out what he was referring to. The adornment on Quentin's knuckles was limited to patchy scarring from years of fighting, so the ruby ring looked incredibly out of place.
"Engagement ring," Peter said over the rim of his coffee mug. "You're out of yogurt, by the way."
"And why," he asked, with far more patience than the young man standing mostly naked in his kitchen probably warranted. "Do I have an engagement ring on?"
Peter regarded him with the kind of smile that meant he'd asked a silly question.
"Because we're getting married, obviously."
"Obviously," Quentin echoed, dubious.
"Personally I wouldn't mind the courthouse, but daddy insists on a spring wedding."
"Does he."
"Something, something, family tradition, I think it was? Anyway, we'll have our pick of venues, so really we just need to decide on a rabbi."
The observation of his faith was a subject Quentin would examine at another, less disorienting time.
Peter turned to the counter in search of his sugar bowl, leaving Quentin the opportunity to come up behind him. His hands fell to the trim waist lost under one of his cast-off button downs, trapping the thin cotton between them.
"I don't recall a proposal," he murmured, low. "Those usually precede the engagement."
"Well I thought it was implied."
Quentin felt Peter's body still, preempting a pause in action. He sensed, rather than saw, the moment a mirthful grin split his face.
"Oh you old romantic, you're disappointed!"
He dug his thumbs into the old bruises on Peter's hips, earning a sharp laugh for his trouble.
"A little."
His fiance ( which, he supposed Peter was now ) laughed merrily and spun in his arms. Quentin allowed it, just like he allowed their positions to flip, Peter crowding him up against the granite countertop.
"Quentin Oliver Beck, will you marry me?" he asked, his tone bordering on mockery, if not for the uncurrent of something sincere.
Quentin let out a long suffering sigh.
"If I must, yes."