[For Thamiris's color drabble challenge, keyword burgundy, and for Fannore. ]

Courfeyrac tossed his freshly washed shirts onto the bed in a rumpled heap that smelled faintly of rosemary. "Ah, good," he exclaimed, then drew the wine bottle out of his trunk with a flourish of the waistcoats that had cushioned it. "Share this with me."

Feuilly took it, cradling it reverently, and read the label. "Good Lord, what a vintage. Where did you come across this?"

"It was a gift from my grandfather when I was born. It's been languishing in my family's cellar since then." Courfeyrac took Feuilly's hand, uncurling his fingers from the top of the bottle, and kissed the tips of his fingers, making his eyes flutter closed. "Every time I've seen my father for the last, oh, five years, he's reminded me that the bottle was there."


Courfeyrac imitated his father's jovial tones with a stern expression. "I'm looking forward to drinking that wine at your wedding, son."

Feuilly set the bottle down on a desk so gently that it did not disturb the dust. He was hardly breathing. "Ah. Who is she?"

"Who is whom?" Courfeyrac frowned in puzzlement, then burst out laughing. "Oh, God, Daniel. There is no girl. There won't be a girl, or a toast at my wedding. Here, where did we put the corkscrew?" He turned away to look through a drawer.

Feuilly stood still as a statue, one hand covering his eyes. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"Here it is." Courfeyrac opened the bottle. "Are the glasses clean?"

"Yes." They were on top of the bookshelf. In a moment, Feuilly retrieved them, careful not to let them ring together in his shaking hands. "Here."

Courfeyrac poured them each a glass, handed one to Feuilly, and raised his in a toast. "To enduring friendship."

"To -- enduring friendship." Feuilly raised his glass to sip, then paused. "I thought you said this wine was for a wedding?"

"Ideally, yes."

"And still you do not say a word of love."

Courfeyrac faltered, lowering his own wine untasted. "You must know that I adore you."

"Must I?"

"I do. Truly."

Feuilly took his first deep breath since Courfeyrac had opened his trunk. "How was I to know?"

"Everything I have done for you, all the nights we've spent together, how I trust you -- what else could it be?"

"Enduring friendship." His tone was sharp, but his hand shook.

"No. Not with you." Courfeyrac shook his head a little, then raised his glass again. "To love and friendship, and the best blend of both."

Feuilly repeated the toast and drank deeply.

* * *

Each kiss they exchanged tasted of captured sunshine and adoration. Feuilly hesitated at the request, but Courfeyrac encouraged him with, "It's all right, beloved."

His earlier protests of awkwardness faded into a sigh at the first embrace of Courfeyrac's lips. A moment later, he mirrored the gesture, emboldened by passion. The complex flavors blended like the sensations of giving and receiving pleasure: wine, passion, the heat of a tongue, and the thickness of a cock. Every daring movement echoed through him until he grasped Courfeyrac's hips and thrust into his mouth, shaken by cries of desire, unconscious of the world.

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