[for alcuin] a quiet celebration
It had taken some doing, arranging a meal for Alcuin's birthday without Alcuin himself either making plans or being aware that Mohinder had anything planned. He supposed he might simply have told Alcuin, but he thought, perhaps, Alcuin would fret over whether he meant to invite Rupert - he didn't, as it happened.
Birthdays, like the new year, ought to be celebrated in peace and pleasure, Mohinder thought - without bitterness but with no little protectiveness in Alcuin's direction. His lover had suffered rather enough this past year, and he hoped that this evening would set a trend in favor of something better.
Alcuin had been suitably surprised when he arrived at the hut to find dinner laid out, and glasses filled from the extra bottle of wine Rupert had brought on the new year. More surprised that Mohinder had gone to the trouble than that he'd known, it seemed, but Alcuin did tend to miss that Mohinder had fallen very much in love with him. He'd smiled and shrugged and they'd become engrossed in a discussion of comparative birthday traditions that had, with a shift midway to other holidays, carried them through the meal and well into their current disposition amongst the cushions on the floor of Mohinder's hut that he'd found were a good deal more comfortable than his rudimentary efforts at furnishings.
"Do you have a favorite?" Mohinder asked, fingers tracing Alcuin's marque by rote and through his shirt, and then drained the last of his wine and set the glass aside.
Birthdays, like the new year, ought to be celebrated in peace and pleasure, Mohinder thought - without bitterness but with no little protectiveness in Alcuin's direction. His lover had suffered rather enough this past year, and he hoped that this evening would set a trend in favor of something better.
Alcuin had been suitably surprised when he arrived at the hut to find dinner laid out, and glasses filled from the extra bottle of wine Rupert had brought on the new year. More surprised that Mohinder had gone to the trouble than that he'd known, it seemed, but Alcuin did tend to miss that Mohinder had fallen very much in love with him. He'd smiled and shrugged and they'd become engrossed in a discussion of comparative birthday traditions that had, with a shift midway to other holidays, carried them through the meal and well into their current disposition amongst the cushions on the floor of Mohinder's hut that he'd found were a good deal more comfortable than his rudimentary efforts at furnishings.
"Do you have a favorite?" Mohinder asked, fingers tracing Alcuin's marque by rote and through his shirt, and then drained the last of his wine and set the glass aside.