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2022-10-27
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2022-10-30
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Lucy's Wedding Night

Chapter 2: AU 2: Lucy and Quincey

Summary:

An AU where Lucy dares to marry a cowboy (and drinks too much brandy).

Chapter Text

VERSION TWO: Quincey Morris

Lucy tried to contain her giggles as Quincey Morris ran down the hallway of the hotel, carrying her in his arms. The porters were practically jogging behind them to keep up, and Quincey would spin every once in a while, which made Lucy laugh so hard that she had to bury her face in his neck.

It was already late at night— after the wedding ceremony, Quincey had insisted on taking her on a ride around London in his carriage, pointing out sights and drinking brandy all the way. Lucy had drunk a full glass, which made her feel that the world was hers to conquer. Her mother had always insisted that brandy was unrefined for a young lady— but Lucy was not on the best terms with her mother now, anyway. Mrs. Westenra only barely tolerated Quincey because he was so ridiculously wealthy, but her face had been like sour milk the entire wedding ceremony.

Quincey pulled up short at the heavy-paneled doors and gave her another spin, and when the porter opened it he carried her across the threshold and plopped her down into an overstuffed chair by the fire. Lucy loved the extravagant yet cozy room— their stay here was a gift from Quincey's good friend Lord Godalming.

As the porters bustled about, Quincey wasted no time pouring himself another glass of brandy, and Lucy giggled and flushed as she stole it out of his hand, raising the burning liquid to her lips and feeling the warmth travel all the way into her stomach. Quincey protested it and tried to snatch it, both of them giggling.

The porters left (with what Lucy thought was a rather judgmental glance), shutting the door behind them, and Quincey tumbled sideways into the opposite chair, one leg slung over the arm in a most ungentlemanly way, which made Lucy laugh even more.

"Miss Lucy, your face is flushed as a sunrise on a stormy morning. Give me that glass."

"Nonsense!" Lucy said in a flirtatious way, hugging the glass close and taking a defiant sip. "And I'm not Miss Lucy anymore, I'm Mrs. Morris."

"Damn right you are! —Er, pardon my French." Quincey reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her into his lap (and sloshing brandy everywhere), where she curled up, still slightly giggling.

"No more brandy, little lady!" he said with mock sternness, emphasizing his Texas drawl to make her smile. He pulled the glass out of her hand and set it next to his on the end table. "Less drinking, more kissin'."

"If you insist," Lucy said, throwing herself against him. He met her lips eagerly, and for several minutes they just rolled in each other's arms, kissing and murmuring. They'd had a decent amount of practice by now— the number of times they had been un-chaperoned during their courtship was downright scandalous, even though they had never done more than kiss (well, she had felt under his shirt once). But there was an element of scandal to their relationship from the beginning anyway— very few people could fathom why Lucy had chosen a cowboy over a lord or a handsome doctor. What was she thinking?

Lucy hadn't been thinking— she had gone with her heart.

She had almost broken off the engagement two months ago, when Quincey had admitted to her that he had sexual experience. Lucy had run sobbing to Mina about it, and Mina let her cry for a long time before asking her why this made her want him less. When Lucy didn't have a good answer, Mina encouraged her to accept Quincey for who he was now— a man clearly committed to being a true husband— rather than what had happened in the past. In this conversation, Lucy finally broke down and asked Mina all she wished to know about sex, which Mina answered so kindly and patiently that Lucy had hardly even blushed the whole time… until the end of the conversation when Jonathan walked in and Lucy realized that Mina had been talking about her experiences with him, and fairly melted into an embarrassed puddle.

But now, as Quincey petted her thigh and kissed her neck, sending little shivers of pleasure through her, she felt a small, guilty relief that he actually had some practical knowledge about what to do.

Quincey unpinned her hair, letting the curls fall to her shoulders. It wasn't an elaborate hairstyle— she would feel silly dressing too fancy while marrying a cowboy— but having the pins off her scalp was a relief anyway, and feeling his familiar hands running through her hair made her feel like she was floating on sunshine. When her hair was loose, he shifted her in his arms— she loved the way he could easily move her around— and began kissing down her throat, past her collarbone, and right to the edge of her corset, where the curve of her breast was just barely visible.

"Mr. Morris!" she giggled. "How indecent!"

He looked up at her with his warm brown eyes twinkling, and flicked his tongue out to lick her skin, which made her gasp in pleasure. The sensation was so intense that she pulled away, and though he playfully tugged at her to get her back onto his lap, she leaped up, smoothing out her dress in a huffy way. "I have not had nearly enough brandy for this kind of attention," Lucy said with a grin, vaguely aware that she was having to concentrate to enunciate properly. Before Quincey could stop her, she grabbed the glass of brandy and knocked it back.

Quincey tried to laugh, but she thought she sensed a worried edge on his voice. "Okay, darlin', that's definitely enough. C'mon, don't you want my lovin' more than you want that fire-water?"

Lucy threw herself back onto his lap and began kissing him again, pulling off his cravat and unbuttoning his shirt. To her surprise there was no undershirt, and the buttons parted to reveal his bare chest, a sight that made her heart leap. Quincey chuckled wickedly to see her blush, but a moment later she had torn his shirt apart and began kissing his chest, feeling the hard muscle and curly hair against her lips as he stroked her head. She felt she was swimming in a haze, and the pleasure that moved through her was so intense that it was making her stomach hurt and roll and pitch like a boat at sea, and her throat burn, and… oh no, what was this? Oh no…

She barely had time to jump up and run to the wash basin before she puked. It was an explosive motion that burned her throat with acid, and she couldn't seem to stop. She felt Quincey grab her shoulder and pull her hair away from her face as she threw up all the brandy, and most of their wedding dinner, too.

When she spat out the last bits, she felt her vision closing in, and her knees gave way. Quincey caught her and lowered her to the floor, and when her vision cleared she found him kneeling beside her, his bare chest still exposed, and dabbing her lips with a wet cloth.

Through acid-burned lips, Lucy whispered, "Am I ill?"

Quincey shook his head, looking equal parts amused and remorseful. "Mrs. Morris, this here is what we call 'getting blootered'."

"What does that mean?"

"Drunk," he said, suppressing a chuckle.

Lucy's stomach lurched again, and she groaned. "I'm sorry."

"It's my fault!" Quincey said. "I can drink that stuff like it's water, but I forgot that you'd have trouble with it."

"Because I'm a woman."

"Because you're half my size! C'mon, darlin', let's get you to bed."

At the word bed, Lucy felt embarrassment creeping to her cheeks. How could they consummate when her stomach was twisting into knots and her head felt so fuzzy? Well, it was no matter, Quincey could just make use of his experience, and she could just lie there.

Quincey slipped his hands under her knees and back, and effortlessly lifted her and carried her to the bed and set her down on its edge. "Let's get you out of these clothes," Quincey said, and Lucy weakly moved to obey. The whole room was spinning, and the force of throwing up had given her a headache.

She was vaguely aware of Quincey unbuttoning her dress and then easing it off her shoulders, leaving her in her corset and shift. He knelt to take off her shoes— kissing each foot in turn when he did so— and reached up with a daring familiarity to unbuckle her garters and pull off her stockings. Lucy felt a vague sense of warmth in her body at his touch, but the puking had knocked all the desire out of her. She was so tired, and hoped that Quincey would be quick in his attentions so she could go to sleep and hope to feel better in the morning.

Quincey climbed onto the bed behind her and moved her hair aside so he could undo her corset. Again, with a little twinge of guilt, she felt glad that he had experience enough to work the laces effortlessly, for her corset was soon off and she was only in her thin shift.

She expected him to pull that off, too, but instead he moved off the bed, drew back the covers, and helped her lay down. Then, to her surprise (as much as she could feel through the thick haze descending on her), he tucked her in on all sides, so she was like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

Her eyes fluttered closed, but opened again as she felt him climb onto the bed. He laid down propped up on one arm, laying on top of the covers beside her.

She would've fallen asleep right then and there, but she felt that it was her duty to say something. "You are… you are not going to take your rights tonight?"

Quincey scoffed. "Little lady, I'm never going to take anything. Get some sleep, y'hear?"

Lucy murmured softly, and then lifted her head slightly for a kiss, which he gave her. The smell of brandy made her feel nauseated, and she quickly pulled away. She was afraid she had hurt Quincey's feelings, but he just chuckled.

"Sleep well, darlin'," Quincey said, stroking her forehead. "We have all the rest of our lives to sort this out."

Lucy nodded weakly, leaning into his warm, callused hand on her forehead. Within moments, she was asleep.

~~~