A Disenchanting New Year: Lucien (Patreon)

Disenchanting New Year; Lucien

“Your mother is the worst person alive,” You say, leaning back in the passenger seat of Lucien’s car, “But at least she hasn’t canceled that credit card.”

He huffs out a soft laugh, “You’re not wrong.”

Going to Times Square for New Year’s Eve isn’t exactly cheap, after all. Not to mention getting a luxury hotel that throws a swanky party. You shudder at the thought of that particular bill, but Lucien had entered his mother’s card information without remorse. Maybe she kept it active because she hopes he’ll come crawling back once he realizes how much money he’ll inherit. She hasn’t seemed to realize that he’ll get it either way, as the Riveras have no other children or family.

You’d feel bad for her and her delusions if she wasn’t a blight on humanity. Unfortunately, she is, so you immediately agreed to partying in New York on her dime.

“We won’t see the ball drop in person,” Lucien says as he navigates the heavy traffic, “But I don’t really feel like getting tangled up in that mess anyways.”

He hates crowds, so you understand why he’d be hesitant. You’re just as happy to sip a drink with him and watch it on the big screens in the fancy hotel bar, honestly.

“Fine by me,” You say, looking at the thick crowds lining the sidewalks as you enter the city, “It definitely seems a bit packed.”

That’s certainly an understatement. Lucien carefully navigates through the mess to your hotel, tossing his keys to the valet with a smile before getting your bags out of the back seat. You’re staying for a week, a vacation of sorts before classes start up again, so more than an overnight bag was necessary. While he checks in at the front desk, you admire the fancy rugs and the vintage lamps. It all has a very Roaring ‘20s theme, from the chandeliers to the red velvet covered stools you see at the bar.

“This way,” Lucien comes up behind you, a hand resting on your hip as he leans in close to pass you the key cards, “We’re on the tenth floor.”

He leads you to the elevator, his hand hovering over the small of your back the whole time. When you unlock the door, he sets the luggage by the bed before giving you a quick kiss.

“I’m happy you agreed to this,” You feel him smile against your lips, his forehead resting against yours, “Just having you here is…”

He trails off; whatever words he’d been looking for, apparently they hadn’t been enough. Instead of explaining, he kisses you again. It’s firmer this time, more sure, and you feel the air shift around you as his wings flutter.

“We should head down soon,” You say, tucking a curl behind his ear, “We got here late.”

His teeth brush over his bottom lip, contemplating, before he eventually agrees. He follows you right back out the door, drifting closer to your side as you head down to the lobby once again. The bar is slowly filling up when you two arrive, but it isn’t too crowded. Lucien doesn’t seem to mind it at least, despite having to keep his glamoured wings tucked close to his back.

The booze flows steadily, but Lucien isn’t big on drinking these days. He has one or two, getting even touchier as the alcohol hits him. A hand on your thigh, your arm, your waist; he’s all over you. A kiss on your neck, your cheek, your lips; you feel warm in the face and wave him away before things go too far in public. He pouts about it for a moment before settling on draping himself over your shoulders as the seconds tick closer and closer to midnight.

As the countdown starts, he’s hardly paying any attention. His eyes are steadily locked on you, and he’s kissing you by the time everyone has reached five. When the ball drops and the cheering starts, you’re already wrapped up in a kiss that makes you weak in the knees. You run a hand along his jaw and he lets out a little whine that makes heat ricochet up and down your nerves.

You pull back, enjoying the kiss bruised look of his lips, “You didn’t even see the ball drop.”

“I was looking at something much prettier,” He says, a dopey grin curling his lips.

You roll your eyes but settle into his arms despite his cheesiness, watching the confetti flicker in the air outside through the windows. People are dancing to the music around you, kissing and celebrating and hugging. You pay them no mind as the flutter of invisible feathers brush your skin, Lucien’s wings curling around your shoulders like a blanket. You’d love to see the white feathers, to be able to stroke through them in the way that makes him go soft and limp under your touch. You file the thought away for later tonight as he rests his head on top of yours, swaying with you to a song neither of you know.