"Well, Mrs. Irving," laughs Lloyd, drawing forward a giggling and blindfolded Colette as they arrive at their new house, "welcome home!" He tugs the handkerchief loose from her eyes and squeezes her hand as she stares in wonderment at the house he has been working on for weeks.

Dirk's helped him, of course, and so have some of their other friends, but he's specifically kept it a secret from Colette in the interest of surprising her. It's on the outskirts of Iselia—close enough to walk into the village, but far enough away that they won't have constant visitors. It's a fairly modest house, but Lloyd is proud of it—and, as far as he's concerned, rightly so. There's even furniture in it, and even though it might not be of the best quality since that was of lesser priority than building the house itself, it's more than enough to get by.

"It's beautiful," whispers Colette sincerely, and the genuine admiration in her voice enchants him as much as ever: a thrill of adoration rushes through him, and he grins at her happily. How lucky is he, to be able to say that he's married to an angel in so many senses of the word? It will be a privilege to share his future, both imminent and distant, with such a woman.

But first and foremost—tonight.

Lloyd isn't going to pretend he knows what any of this 'wedding night' stuff is about, and he's certainly not about to ask Zelos for advice, particularly after how hectic the wedding party was. No, he and Colette will figure it out on their own.

He realizes he's been beaming down at her for Martel knows how long, and blushes, but Colette doesn't seem unnerved: rather, she's smiling just as giddily up at him, and before Lloyd can do more than open the door, she's picked him up bridal style like he weighs nothing at all, and is carrying him across the threshold—pausing only once to kick off her shoes, and pull his off too.

Turning absolutely scarlet as they make their way through the house by way of Lloyd's finger-pointing, he doesn't have the heart to tell her this is something of a reversal of tradition, and gradually gets to enjoy it. Even merely thinking it makes him feel distinctly emasculated, but… it just feels so… secure in her arms. (Lloyd, still blushing hotly, resolves never to let that sentence cross his mind again as they enter the bedroom.)

As soon as they're within a few feet of the bed, Colette predictably turns her ankle on nothing at all and plunges forward. Lloyd flails a little as she drops him, but immediately finds that he is lying spread-eagled on his own, new, comfortable bed, and her face is pressed into his stomach, veil-headband askew.

After a moment of silence, the two of them start laughing uncontrollably; it might be more than a minute before both of them get themselves mostly in control again. Colette eventually sits up and casts her veil aside, love shining sunnily in her eyes; Lloyd sees no reason to bother sitting up again. He smiles gently in utter contentment as she crawls forward, positioning herself uncertainly over him: he plays with a strand of her hair lazily, and she smiles at him (he returns it eagerly) before leaning down and kissing him, closing her eyes.

Lloyd is used to pure intentions, innocent glances, and chaste kisses. This moment involves none of the above. He wonders whether he should be closing his eyes like she has, but quickly throws the imaginary rulebook out the imaginary window; he doesn't know how he's supposed to just close his eyes and relax into something as passionate and suggestive and wild as this.

So this is what Zelos was always on about.

He realizes with a jolt that after being carried through his own house by a girl eight inches shorter than him, he is not about to let her take control here too. Lloyd breaks away as gently as possible and sits up, then—breathing hard—hooks his elbows around Colette's shoulders: she is wide-eyed as he grins at her, falling forward gently so that she lies on her back this time as he leans over her, and she laughs that wonderful laugh of hers, toying with his jacket.

Lloyd hastily removes it and his shirt quickly after, brain scrambling for something to do next. The only thing he knows for sure about wedding nights is that you can't have one with all your clothes on. Well, at least not a good one.

The way Colette is looking at him makes him turn red, and she's blushing too, adorably so, as she giggles excitedly. It's not as though she hasn't seen him without a shirt before, but this is such a wildly different context from what he's used to (which is to say, swimming) that he feels much more exposed.

"Oh, so you think you're so pure!" growls Lloyd playfully, and tugs at the sleeve of her dress gently: Colette, after a moment's mirthful deliberation, sits up, pulling both arms out of her sleeves and attempting to wiggle out of her dress; Lloyd scoots out of the way.

"I'm a ghost!" she giggles, spookily waving her arms from inside the skirt, and Lloyd laughs, but isn't sure whether or not she's doing it on purpose or not before she says—voice muffled by her bodice—"Lloyd… I think I'm stuck. Help?"

Lloyd is more than happy to give her assistance; after he casts the dress aside, he glances down again and is promptly rendered speechless. Colette lies on her back—scantily clad, rosy-cheeked, and smiling—and as he can't help but stare, her wings flick out and shimmer on either side of her, completing the image of utter perfection.

Inside and out, she's flawless, and Lloyd wonders distractedly how exactly he got so lucky. He almost doesn't want to touch her, to take away the chastity he can tell she wants gone as she fidgets with the linings of her undergarments.

Almost.

((And this completes their wedding day! I had this image in my head before I even knew about the ceremony itself, particularly the bit about bridal style.))