North perched on the edge of a leather chair.

His brow was furrowed, a pencil tucked behind his ear, another held between his teeth as he compared two nearly identical shades of ivory linen.

"Okay, okay," he muttered, more to himself than to the man across from him.

He pointed decisively at one catalogue spread open before him. "I think we can do this. A crystal archway here, dripping with those phalaenopsis orchids... not white, the pale green ones. And flanking the aisle, these low, overflowing arrangements of garden roses and peonies. It has to feel... Alive."

He glanced up for approval.

Johan was not looking at the catalogue. His sole focus was on North. His chin rested on his steepled fingers, his dark eyes soft with an expression of such profound, adoring absorption that it was a wonder the paper didn't smolder under his gaze.

"Well?" North prompted, tapping the page. "Doesn't that sound perfect?"

"Mm," Johan hummed with contentment. "Perfect."

"And here," North continued, emboldened, flipping a page with a flourish.

He pointed to a multi-tiered fountain. "Who doesn't love a fountain of champagne? Right???."

Johan's brows lifted a fraction but he simply nodded.

"If you desire a river of champagne, my love, you shall have an ocean. Whatever you wish."

His policy was absolute surrender in this arena. North's joy in the planning, the fierce concentration that lit up his face, was a spectacle Johan would pay any price to witness.

North's happiness was the only aesthetic that truly mattered to him.

Another hour, North delved deeper, debating chair styles, lighting temperatures. Johan watched offering only the occasional, "Yes, my heart," or "An impeccable choice."

But as the golden light began to deepen, painting long shadows across the room, Johan's passive observation began to transform into a more active, tactile appreciation.

North was leaning over a particularly heavy binder, his soft sweater riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin at the small of his back.

Johan's gaze fixed on that strip of exposed warmth.

Silently, he pushed his own chair back and rose.

He moved around the desk with the predatory grace that always made the air thin.

North, senses tingling, looked up just as Johan came to stand behind his chair.

Large, warm hands settled on his shoulders, thumbs kneading the tense muscles.

North sighed his focus wavering as the firm pressure melted his concentration.

"You're working too hard," Johan murmured, his lips close to North's ear.

"It has to be perfect," North whispered back, though his eyes were fluttering shut under the massage.

"It will be. Because it is ours." Johan's hands slid down, over North's arms, then came to rest on his thighs, palms spreading possessively over the taut muscle.

He leaned in, his chest pressing against North's back, his chin hooking over North's shoulder to look at the chaotic desk. "If you are done tyrannizing these wedding catalogues for the moment..." his voice dropped to a low, intimate rumble that sent a direct current down North's spine, "...can we perhaps look at the honeymoon ones?"

North's entire body stiffened, then flushed with a heat that had nothing to do with the setting sun.

A violent, cherry-red blush exploded from his neck to the tips of his ears. He swatted blindly behind him, his hand connecting with Johan's solid bicep.

"You! You caveman!"

He felt the curve of Johan's smile against his cheek.

Johan's lips tugged against his skin. "What?" he asked, innocence layered thick over palpable desire.

"Is it not tradition? Do not all couples embark on a honeymoon after pledging their eternal devotion? I am merely attempting to follow... tradition."

North tried to twist away, but the hands on his thighs held him fast. "Since when do you care about traditions?" he retorted, his voice higher than intended.

"Since the moment I decided to follow the marriage rituals," Johan replied easily, his breath warm against North's ear. One hand slid from North's thigh to his waist, anchoring him. "To do it properly. For you."

"We'll... we'll talk about it later," North stammered, making a feeble attempt to reach for his phone. "I think my mom called, I should-"

"Why later?" Johan pressed, his smirk evident in his tone.

His free hand came up to cradle North's jaw, gently turning his face so their eyes met.

North's face was a devastating, beautiful canvas of embarrassment. "Why the delay, my love?"

"Because-!" North's mind went blank. The intensity of Johan's gaze, the implication in his words, short-circuited all coherent thought. "Because uh... the cake samples! We haven't chosen the cake!"

Johan let out a low dark, delicious chuckle . He looked at the flimsy, flustered excuse, his eyes gleaming with affectionate conquest.

His hand on North's waist tightened, pulling him even more firmly against his chest. "The cake can wait," he declared, his voice leaving no room for argument. "This is more important, is it not?"

Before North could formulate another protest, Johan shifted his weight.

In one smooth, effortless motion, he hooked his arms under North's and lifted him straight out of the chair.

A yelp escaped North as he was pivoted mid-air and then settled, with deliberate care, into Johan's lap as the man sat back down in his own, larger chair.

North was now straddling him, the catalogues on the desk forgotten, their world reduced to the intimate cage of Johan's arms and the hard plane of his body.

"Johan-!" North squeaked, hands flying to brace against his broad shoulders.

"Hmm," Johan hummed, but his eyes were blazing.

One thumb came up to stroke the burning apple of North's cheek, tracing the heated skin with reverent curiosity.

"We need to decide. A beautiful, serene location. A place with a door that locks from the inside. A bed that looks out at nothing but the sea or the mountains."

"Somewhere with no curfews, no schedules, no time limits..." His voice dropped to a whisper, his lips a hair's breadth from North's. "Just us. Finally. Completely."

North's breath hitched, caught in his throat.

He was trembling, a fine, anticipatory shiver.

"Where I can finally worship you properly," Johan continued, the words a sinful promise poured directly into North's soul.

"As I have always wanted to these past four years. With no beginning and no end in sight." His hands slid down North's back, over the curve of his hips, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

"Where I can part these milky thighs," Johan whispered, nipping gently at his earlobe, "and bury myself so deep inside you that you forget your own name."

"Where I can turn you into a sobbing, pleading mess and fuck you into obedience... or," he added, pulling back to look into North's glazed, wide eyes, his own dark with primal intent, "where you can ride me into the same state. Your choice. That is my wedding gift to you. The choice of how you want to be ruined first."

The vulgarity and the raw possession in the words, should have terrified him.

Instead, it ignited a matching fire in North's belly.

The blush on his skin transformed from one of embarrassment to one of deen aching arousal.

He squirmed in Johan's lap, the friction drawing a guttural groan from the man beneath him.

"You're... you're impossible," North breathed, but his hands were fisting in Johan's shirt, pulling him closer, not pushing him away.

"I am yours," Johan corrected, sealing the words with a kiss. His tongue swept into North's mouth, mimicking the promise he'd just uttered, deep and relentless. When he finally broke for air, both were panting.

"So," Johan rasped, his forehead pressed to North's, their breaths mingling. "My love. Tell me. A private villa in Bali? A stone cottage in the Scottish highlands? A penthouse overlooking the Tokyo skyline? Where shall I take you to make you my wife in every way a man can?"

The word 'wife' made North's head spin.

He buried his face in Johan's neck, inhaling his scent, seeking an anchor. "Somewhere... quiet," he mumbled against his skin. "Where no one can hear me."

A triumph growl vibrated through Johan's chest.

He tangled a hand in North's hair, pulling his head back to force their eyes to meet.

The look there was feral with love.

"As you wish," Johan vowed, his voice thick with emotion, " my love."

North tucked his face deeper into the crook of Johan's neck, as if he could hide from the intensity of the moment.

Johan let out a low chuckle his arms tightening around North.

"Do you have any idea," North mumbled, his lips moving against Johan's throat, the words half-swallowed, "how utterly, completely shameless you are?"

"I do," Johan answered as a matter of fact.

His hand, which had been resting on the small of North's back, began a slow, deliberate journey upward, tracing the knobs of his spine through the soft sweater. "I possess a precise understanding of my own moral deficiencies. Particularly where you are concerned."

"I am right here," North continued, lifting his head just enough to glare, though the effect was ruined by his flushed cheeks and glassy eyes.

"In the middle of planning our wedding. Selecting linens. And you're over here...plotting. You're... you're derailing the entire process with your... your..."

"My what, my love?" Johan prompted, his eyes glinting with wicked amusement. "My inappropriate admiration for my fiancé? My anticipation of the vows we will consummate? My desire to discuss the practical logistics of our post-nuptial seclusion?"

"That!" North accused, jabbing a finger at Johan's chest. "All of that! It's not logistics, it's... it's..."

Overwhelmed, he dropped his head and bit Johan's shoulder, a sharp, frustrated press of teeth through the fine cotton of his shirt.

Johan's whole body went still for a fraction of a second. The hand on North's spine stilled.

"Love," Johan said, his voice dropping into a lower, gravelly register that was no longer amused. It was thick, strained.

"If you keep doing that, I don't think I can be held responsible for the structural integrity of this desk, or the continued pristine condition of these wedding catalogues. Do you understand?"

The raw promise in the words sent a jolt of pure lightning through North.

He froze, the reality of the coiled power beneath him crashing past the haze of embarrassment. He could feel the evidence of it, solid and demanding, pressed against him.

Immediate retreat.

North scrambled off Johan's lap so fast he almost stumbled.

He took two shaky steps back, putting the heavy oak desk between them like a shield. His heart hammered against his ribs.

"Go... go help yourself," he stammered, pointing a wavering finger toward the hallway, toward their bedroom. "On your own. I have... I have peonies to finalize."

Johan didn't move.

He slowly tilted his head, his eyes following North's frantic retreat.

Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of immense, regretful patience, Johan looked down at his own lap, at the very obvious, straining problem outlined against his dark trousers.

A slow, wry smile touched his lips. He leaned back in the chair.

"On my own," he repeated, the words soft, musing.

He brought his gaze back to North, and the heat in it was undimmed. "A great suggestion. But it lacks a certain... essential component."

"What component?" North asked, the question out before he could stop it.

"You."

"No," North replied immediately.

Johan's dark eyes, half-lidded with desire, sharpened. A flicker of surprise, then intense interest. He stood up taking a step forward. "No?"

"No. You heard me." North pushed against the solid wall of Johan's chest, and this time, the push had force. It was just enough to make Johan relent an inch, creating a crucial sliver of space.

"You brought this... this situation upon yourself with your shameless plotting. You can deal with the consequences. On your own."

A slow smile spread across Johan's face. "And if I find that solution... insufficient?"

"That," North said, lifting his chin, "sounds like a you problem. I have a problem of my own. It involves silk versus satin chair sashes, and it requires my immediate attention."

North ducked under Johan's arm.

He was quick, but Johan was quicker.

A large hand shot out to snag the back of his soft sweater, a gentle but inescapable hook.

"Love," Johan's voice was a low, amused growl by his ear. "You can't just light the fuse and walk away from the explosion."

"Watch me," North retorted, and with a twist and a shrug that involved sacrificing the sweater's perfect drape, he slipped free.

The fabric stretched in Johan's grip, and for a heart-stopping second, North thought he was caught. Then the material slid loose, and he was sprinting the few steps to the study door.

He yanked it open and spun in the doorway, his heart pounding.

Johan stood by the bookshelf, holding the empty sweater like a trophy, his expression one of stunned, simmering admiration.

"The peonies," North gasped, pointing a finger at him, "are non-negotiable. Your condition," his eyes flicked downward pointedly, then back up, a blush finally giving way to a grin of taunting triumph, "is your own project. Deadline: before dinner. I expect you to be fully focused on swatch selections by then."

He didn't wait for a reply.

He slammed the study door shut followed by a low, frustrated amused laugh of the plotting man inside.

.
•
~***~
•
.

North stood amidst the hushed, plush atmosphere of the tailor's salon, a pin cushion resting forgotten in his hand.

His own suit, a beautiful classic cut in dove grey, was already fitted and perfect.

Now, it was Johan's turn.

And North's world had narrowed to a single point.

Johan stood on the low dais before a triptych of mirrors, his back to North as the master tailor fussed with the drape of the jacket across his impossibly broad shoulders.

The suit was midnight black that held the light like a starless sky.

It was impeccably, severely cut, amplifying the latent power in Johan's frame.

God, that man was handsome.

A dizzying wave of unreality washed over North.

This. Him. Us.

His mind spun back through a chaotic reel of memories- the terrifying first encounters, the simmering tension, the brutal world that lurked just beneath Johan's polished surface. The negotiations, the fear, the two-day treaty that had felt both like a prison and a sanctuary.

Who would have thought?

Destiny, it seemed, had a vicious, ironic sense of humor. It hadn't woven their threads together with gentle gold. It had taken a steel cable and a barbed hook and yanked.

And now, here they stood, in a temple of bespoke tailoring, preparing to bind themselves together forever.

North's lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

The aesthetic beauty of the moment curdled into something sharper, more visceral.

Was he ready?

He loved him. That was the bedrock of his existence.

He loved the man who could reduce a boardroom to silence with a glance, and then whisper poetry against his skin.

He loved the beast and the marshmallow, the killer and the caretaker. He could not imagine a breath of his future without Johan in it.

But living with him... A full-body shiver, fine and cold, traced down North's spine.

The past years had been a cycle of intense, all-consuming immersion followed by necessary, recuperative separation.

Two days a week of Johan's focused, absolute attention was enough to leave him emotionally and physically spent, deliciously wrecked and desperately in need of the quiet normalcy of his mother's house.

24 hours a day, 7 days a week. No treaty. No escape clause. No door he could close where Johan's influence didn't permeate. It would be a total solar eclipse of a life. Permanent. Beautiful, awe-inspiring, and utterly consuming.

Lord, give me strength, he prayed silently, a frantic, wordless plea for the fortitude to survive the paradise he had chosen. And maybe soundproofing.

"Does this look good?"

Johan's voice, low and familiar, broke through his inner turmoil. He was looking directly at him, his head tilted slightly.

In the soft, forgiving light of the salon, the brutal lines of his face were softened.

His dark eyes, fixed on North, held none of the calculated chill of the negotiator or the predatory heat of the lover.

They were simply... loving. Open, tender, and seeking approval.

The cognitive dissonance was breathtaking.

Could you believe this loving creature was a brutal man who tortured people for a living?

The thought should have been horrifying. Instead, in that moment, it just made the love feel more colossal, more terrifyingly real. This was all of him. And North had said yes to all of it.

A hot, familiar blush spread from North's chest, flooding his neck and warming his cheeks. He felt transparent, as if Johan could see the frantic prayer still echoing in his soul.

"Handsome," He said, the word coming out softer than he intended, husky with emotion.

A slow, radiant smile transformed Johan's face, erasing the last vestige of severity. He stepped down from the dais, crossing the short distance between them. The fine black wool whispered with his movement.

He stopped just before North, looking down at him. He reached out and took North's hand, the one not holding the pin cushion, and lifted it.

He pressed North's palm flat against his own chest, over his heart.

Through layers of silk shirt and exquisite wool, North could feel the strong, steady beat.

"It feels right," Johan murmured, his gaze holding North's captive.

"Standing here, in this, for you. With you." His thumb stroked the back of North's hand.

"The first day I saw you, I knew my life had irrevocably changed course. I just didn't know the destination would be this... this profound peace."

North's fears didn't vanish, but they settled, like snow finding its place on a sturdy branch.

The heartbeat under his palm was his compass, his constant.

Exhausting? Yes.

Consuming? Absolutely.

But it was also his. This handsome, terrifying, beautiful man was his.

He squeezed Johan's hand, his blush deepening into something sweeter, more sure. "It's perfect," he whispered. "You're perfect."

Johan's eyes closed briefly, as if absorbing the words as a sacrament. When they opened, they were suspiciously bright. He leaned in, his forehead touching North's, their breaths mingling in the space between them, in the silent, holy air of the salon.

"Then I am ready," Johan breathed. "For all of it. Every single, exhausting, beautiful day of forever."

And North, with his hand over the heart of the beast who loved him, believed him.

And for the first time, the thought of forever didn't send a shiver of fear down his spine, but a flood of awe-soaked warmth.

He was ready to be consumed by the eclipse.