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This was the type of ring that should be in the lining of his jacket pocket. The type of ring to bait the scam, to start his heart flying wildly with the thrill. In fact it was almost too fancy, the type to raise dull alarms in the brains of less than honest men. Gold, inset with diamonds and two elegantly carved gold wings. Ostentatious would have been an understatement.
And yet it was on his finger. Tightly fitted, so it would be difficult for any would be unlicensed thief to take it off him without his notice- not that they would try, at least not now. It was part of the brand as much as anything else, the gold suit, the silly hat he was quite attached to. Showed the post office was thriving and the mint was prosperous. It was practical, although to most practical would be the last word used. He liked how it felt around his finger, the grip tight, not restraining, just resting. A reminder of the life he had now.
It was a fascinating exercise in restraint, that being the majority of his public facing life he was holding back from shoving it into the face of every person he met or angling his hand deliberately to show it off. Every time it caught his eye he felt like turning cartwheels about the street, like standing on roof tops* and crowing “She’s marrying me!”
*In Ankh-Morpork this would draw a large and quickly disappointed crowd hoping for an entertaining suicide
Like he had done every time he returned home since she had put a ring on his finger, Moist went looking for Adora. She would be away for long periods of time, as would he, and given the nature of their jobs he wouldn’t always know when their schedules would match up. Sometimes, quite by surprise, she would be there. So he would always do a cursory sweep of the house, wandering round the rooms, hoping. Spike would tell him he looked a bit like Mr Fusspot, but he didn’t mind. Especially nights like these when his searching paid off. When he came into the kitchen Adora’s lips quirked up into an expression that could be called affectionate, if you were well versed in the language of her affection, which the soon-to-be Mr Dearheart-Lipwig was a dedicated student of.
“Slick” she chided as he stepped closer, but there was a joking lilt, she loved his little ritual as much as he did. He took her proffered hand gently and sank to his knees. In this position he could feel the world so much differently, the tiles solid beneath his knees, the soft skin of her hand, and if he looked up he knew he’d see her gaze fixed intently onto him.
As it was however, all of his attention was firmly directed at her hand as he sought out her thin matching gold band, lavishing kisses onto the pleasantly warmed metal- all gentle, as if he could imbue the depths of his care, his dedication, his passion for her to take with her. All the world felt soft with her ring against his lips, and already he could feel himself sink into that comfortable space where naught but her hands could reach him, where his mind meant for flying could simply drift. Instead of sinking deeper, he finally looked up, met her eyes, and with a look of pure innocence slid her ring and middle finger into his mouth, lending it the slightest edge of suction. She laughed, his Spike, she laughed and brought her other hand to cradle his chin.
“Incorrigible, as always Slick”
At that he gave his brightest, cheekiest grin- as best he could with his mouth still wrapped around her fingers. In return she pushed her fingers deeper, which he took easily; after all he did have such a talented mouth for getting him out of trouble. He could sink then, he knew, and she’d take care of him, take care of all the decisions. It was a game they both loved to play. But right now, he had plans for the evening, and there was work to be done. So he pulled back off her fingers with only some reluctance and the slightest pop, and with one final kiss to her ring, he smiled up at her.
“Care to join me for dinner, Spike?”