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honeysuckle
Slate had never enjoyed the taste of sapwine.
As every hearthian worth their salt, they had celebrated their maturity by drinking a pint of the foul beverage without puking their guts out but it had been a close call. Esker had laughed at their miserable grimace before patting them behind the back, assuring them that sapwine was an acquired taste and that it was pretty common for freshly new adults not to enjoy the drink. And like a complete fool, Slate had believed them and took it in stride, hoping the flavor would get better with time.
It didn't get better, of course.
Sure, the engineer's alcohol tolerance had gotten stronger with the years but the bitter, earthy taste still made them want to gag after the first sip. "It's like trying to drink liquid dirt." They had confessed to Feldspar, a few years ago, only to get a skeptikal then delighted grin in answer— a silent promise to get teased to Bramble and back, whenever their best friend saw the opportunity.
Feldspar isn't around to tease them anymore but Slate's distate for sapwine didn't stay unnoticed.
After their predecessor's passing, Porphy had taken the mantle of the village main winemaker and apothecary with a sort of innate grace the engineer couldn't help but admire. Younger than them by a few years, Porphy was the opposite of the person Slate had been as a young adult: confident, charming, eloquent and well-liked by everyone, adults and hatchlings alike. They had also, for a reason that escaped all forms of common sense, taken a special interest in Slate— or maybe it's just their distate of sapwine.
It had made the founder nervous at first. They weren't used to receive the kind of subtle attention Porphy loved to lavish on them nor their gentle compliments. But the winemaker had been determined to find a blend of sapwine suited to Slate's tastes and alcohol tolerance, something as unique and impressive as the engineer's mind.
"Think of it as a way to show my dedication to my craft, Slate." Porphy had declared cheerfully after another infructuous attempt and a badly hidden digusted face. "And as a way to appreciate the most incredible engineer who ever lived on Timber Hearth."
Slate had felt their cheeks flush upon hearing such praise, a mix of embarassment and pleasure clogging their throat. "I'm probably just a hopeless case."
"Why, you could never!"
The founder hadn't protested much afterwards. They had lived most of their teenagerhood bearing the disapproving stares of their elders without backing down but somehow, the sight of Porphy's dismayed expression was making their chest uncomfortably tight. So, whenever they were in the mood to attend a communal campfire, they took the offered cup and tried not to grimace too much.
Tonight had been no different.
It had been a summer night like most others on Timber Hearth: another communal campfire, Spinel's special fish stew, Gossan's best batch of stories about the beginning of the Ventures— usually those about their lunar crash and some of the first flights they took in Feldspar's company— quiet songs sung by Gneiss and another pint of sapwine pressed in Slate's hands, still too sour and muddy for their tastes. As the fire was dying down and most of the adults slipped away to either put the hatchlings to sleep or go tend to their own business before nighttime. Slate had voluntereed to collect the empty bowls and cups, putting them into the washing barrel, not exactly eager for once to go back to their workshop. They've been having trouble with the new autopilot model's programming and tonight's break had been more than welcome.
They had just put away the last one of the dirty dishes when another half-full pint was pressed into their hand.
"You missed one." Porphy's face winked at them before looking at them expectantly.
"Another drink? Porphy..." Slate pouted, a bit disgruntled, but before they could protest more, the winemaker's finger came to gently tap against their lips, shushing them effortlessly with a mischievious smirk.
"I've been saving this one, actually. It's a very special blend, brewed with a bit of honeysuckle and a very special ingredient."
"If it's the same kind of ingredient you put in your last one, it didn't work on me."
"Oh, trust me, it's a brand new one." Porphy assured them, their smile softening into their usual, sunny one. "Please, Slate? Just a sip? For me."
Blast it. Slate could never resist those eyes. They inhaled, preparing themselves for the bitterness to come, took a gulp and...
...
None of the unexpected sourness ever came. Instead, the wine had a strong and faintly sweet flavor, far away from the bitter and harsh taste Slate had always associated to it. The engineer coughed, a bit surprised by the difference, before taking another swallow.
"So?" The winemaker asked, obviously excited to get the answer. "How is it?"
"It's... It's quite good, actually. I think... I think I like it?"
It was as if the Ventures' founder had discovered how to make a rocket function again. Porphy's whole face shone more brilliantly than the sun on the hottest day of summer as their pleased smile reached the far end of their face.
"Really? You think so?!" They squealed in delight. "I'm so happy to hear it!"
"Yeah, I... I have never tasted a blend of yours with such sweet tones. What did you put in it? Honeysuckle flowers and... ?"
Porphy's expression suddenly became more playful, on the verge of slyness. "Oh no, no, it's a secret. What kind of winemaker would I be if I began to spill my recipes here and there?"
"An exceptional one, if you managed to make me like sapwine." Slate admitted, frankly impressed by their friend's skills. "I really thought I was a lost cause."
"You only tell the sweetest compliments, Slate." The winemaker replied, a pleased flush coloring their cheeks in a sweet shade of purple. "Tell you what... if you close your eyes, I'll let you know what my secret ingredient is. Deal?"
Slate blinked, a bit surprised by the secrecy. They didn't know the first thing about flavors and winemaking but they couldn't deny their curiosity was piqued now. "Uh, deal?" They quipped back before quickly shutting their eyes.
For a fleeting moment, the whole night seemed to hold its breath. And then, suddenly, a delicate pression was pushed against Slate's lips and the rest of the universe dissolved itself into the gentle caress of their first kiss.
Porphy's lips were wet, dripped in their honeysuckle sapwine and carrying the faintest scent of the winemaker's own smell, a subtle mix between the saltiness of a skin and sweetness of fruits lingering on their mouth. They must have tasted the sapwine first before serving it to Slate, letting their own inimitable scent mix with the wine and give it an unique, remarkable flavor. The engineer found themselves wishing they could taste it all night, chasing the oh-so prized nectar through Porphy's kisses and caresses for as long as they would allow it.
And yet, when the winemaker put an end to their gentle contact, Slate could only stand back and breathe, their renewed thirst unfortunately unquenched.
"There, there, honeysuckle." A whisper, flushed cheeks, the ghost of Porphy's lips hovering over their own, silently asking for permission. "You know my secret, now."
Slate had never enjoyed the taste of sapwine before. But tasting it on Porphy's lips was different than anything they could have imagined and more.
It tasted like promises of a sunny day on Timber Hearth, of the languid smell of sugar mixed with the faint sourness of effort, of the thrill of a new discovery for every new day. It tasted like falling in love with the stars again, again, again— the ones shining in Porphy's eyes as Slate framed their gorgeous face between their hands.
"Don't worry." They said, their heart soaring horizons that even the most daring astronaut would never breach. "I won't tell."
Porphy's lips tasted even sweeter the second time.