The words of French swirl around him, and Isaac smiles softly, looking down into Chris Argent's eyes. He sees nothing but love there, affection clear in the deep tone of his voice, even though Isaac still doesn't understand French. Mostly because it annoys his mate.
He lowers his head when Chris nods, parts his lips and extends his tongue. Isaac wrinkles up his nose at the salt cube's taste, manages to swallow it down as required, repeats the words that Chris says with a very dry mouth.
The salt reminds him of the day six months ago, when Chris had taken him to the salt lake to watch the birds. Isaac had developed a fascination when he was young, envious of things that could just up and fly away when they wanted. Now everywhere they went, they stopped at the local wildlife sanctuary or zoo to see the birds. That day was no different, sun shining, the two of them curled together on a blanket, just watching, when Chris had pulled out a small wooden box with the Argent crest burned into it.
“I melted it down from bullets.”
Isaac had pulled out the simple silver band with that same crest carved into the inside in lieu of an inscription.
“Chris?” This can't be what it looks like.
“Marry me, Isaac.”
There are observers here, have to be, for this thing to take, for Isaac to be officially an Argent by their clan rules, somewhere in the periphery of the room an old lady, Chris' great-aunt or something. Every Argent owes their allegiance to a Matriarch, and since Allison had gone, Chris' had reverted back to this old lady. Isaac doesn't like her, but she agreed to let them marry, so he keeps his opinion to himself.
He knows the ceremony, at least the translation, each step is supposed to stand for something, the bitterness of life is the salt, next would be the honey that stands for the good parts, and so forth. Unlike most of those that go through this ceremony, Isaac doesn't need the reminder.
He and Chris have been to hell and back more than once.
Isaac's eyes are adoring as he settles the salt on Chris' tongue in return, waits through the hunter's repeat of the formal words, and then they join hands for the next phrase, Chris' voice certain, Isaac stumbling a bit over the unfamiliar intonations.
Honey is brought to them next and Isaac flushes faintly as he thinks about the night before, and how Chris had used honey to torture him. A darted glance into the older man's eyes shows him that Chris is thinking about it as wellm as he dribbles the liquid sweetness on Isaac's tongue.
The honey is pooled in the hollow of his hip, Chris' tongue sliding across Isaac's overstimulated skin, arcing his body towards the older man as much as he can, given the extensive nature of his bindings.
“Please,” he whimpers out, not for the first time. But Chris is relentless, he knows exactly how far he can push Isaac by now, and the werewolf isn't near his limit yet. He just continues drizzling the honey over his beautiful boy, and taking his time about licking it off, avoiding the one place Isaac is desperate for his mouth to go.
Chris moves upward along Isaac's body, and the blue eyes widen as the liquid gold drapes across his nipple, and he's already holding his breath, but it doesn't help when that tongue rasps across nubs already swollen from the hunter's attentions.
He feels teeth scraping along the tender peaks at the same time as that rough, callused hand finally curls around his neglected cock, and with just a few tugs, Isaac is coming, his cries swallowed as Chris covers the werewolf's mouth with his own.
He's breathing a little more rapidly as he gives the honey to Chris next, barely able to repeat the necessary phrases along with his mate.
Next is the wine, something incredibly expensive Isaac is sure, but he'd almost rather have the salt. He wrinkles his nose again at the taste, as Chris holds the goblet to his lips. The werewolf will never be a connoisseur. Doesn't stop Chris from trying.
“You have enhanced smell and sight. Are you telling me that you can't taste the difference between these two wines?” Chris is skeptical. “I can, and I don't have any supernatural abilities.”
“They both taste like crap. Can I have a beer now?”
Isaac had taken a liking to dark beer when they had taken a day trip to Germany. (He'll never be used to just going to another country for a few hours). He can never remember the name of it, but the label has this adorable little goat on it.
Chris sighs and shakes his head. “You have no taste. I can't understand it.”
“I picked you, didn't I?” Isaac leers and then openly ogles Chris' ass as the hunter gets up, rolling his eyes, and goes to gets the wolf's beer.
It's his turn and Isaac lifts the cup for his mate, mumbling the French along with him after.
The last is the blood exchange, and Isaac determinedly keeps his mind blank, because if he starts thinking about the things they've done with blood, he will lose control in front of everyone.
They cut each other's forearms with the ceremonial dagger, and Isaac holds back his healing as they clasp arms and let their blood flow into one another, saying the final words to seal their union.
The old woman comes out of the shadows, still speaking in her native tongue, hands them both their wedding rings as they go through a set of vows more normal to the human experience, and then that's it.
Chris pulls him close, and Isaac tilts his chin down to meet the hunter's lips, gentle and loving, but with the hint of what will come after, as he nips lightly at the younger man's lower lip before pulling fully away.
They both thank the Matriarch en francais, and then they leave there, hand in hand, Chris' ring an odd weight on Isaac's hand. He keeps fiddling with it.
“You okay?” The hunter's eye is drawn to the repetitive movement.
Those beautiful blue eyes look at him. “Are you sure, Chris? Sure about me?”
“It's a little late to be asking that now, don't you think?” The older man grins and tugs his mate close. “And yes, I'm absolutely positive about you, babe.”
Isaac's smile is like the sun coming out.
Chris pulls him into another kiss, arms wrapped around the younger man's waist, then grins. “So, Mr. Isaac Argent, where would you like to go first for our honeymoon?”
The golden haired werewolf smirks slowly. “Our hotel room.”
His husband can't help but laugh. “As you wish.”