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Asa’s wedding gift to his new husband was a vintage Bentley, and that car would ferry the newlyweds to nowhere else but the Ritz hotel. The couple had left their reception quickly after the Bentley was revealed, Anthony eager for the chance to drive the thing (perhaps too eager, as their trip to the Ritz was paused for to accept a speeding ticket with blushing cheeks, following by a fair bit of teasing). The room there was a surprise for Asa, one that made him pull Anthony in by his lapels for a sweet kiss.
It was late when they stumbled into their room and changed out of their suits, but still they curled up together, some soft music playing while Anthony poured them both glasses of a particularly jammy Zinfandel.
Most of the evening was spent pressing gentle kisses into shoulders and foreheads and knuckles, but when a familiar piano began to play, they stood, pressed close together. They rocked slowly, hands on waists and held together, a blond head resting in that sweet slope between his husband’s neck and shoulder. As the verses progressed, they turned to face each other more, still quiet and always watching the other carefully, ardently, but growing in confidence, until they were dipping and twirling, grinning and laughing.
The song ended eventually, as all things do, but Anthony, still craving closeness, scooped his new husband up into a sort of bridal carry, pressed a kiss to Asa’s lips, and carried the laughing man into the bedroom. They fell into bed together, still riant and glowing. Soft kisses became fervent, a desperate need to taste and feel. Limbs tangled together, and sighs became passionate, became tender satisfaction as hands slid and caressed.
Sleepy and sated, they settled in each other’s arms.
“Listen, love— nightingales.”