btitle: /b Another Glass of Wine
bfandom:/b Kaze to Ki no Uta
bcharacters/Pairing:/b Auguste/Jules; mentions of one-sided Jules/Gilbert and (flashback) one-sided Rosemariné/Auguste
blength:/b 1138 words
brating:/b PG-13 for fade-to-black sex, Augu creepin', and mentions of the most traumatic parts of Rosemariné's past.
bsummary:/b Despite his actions in the past, Auguste Beau has very much become somebody that Jules admires, and if he wouldn't mind being seduced by him, well, that isn't his fault, is it?
Criticism of any kind is always welcome~
Auguste always goes out of his way to keep not just his, but both of their wine glasses full, Jules has noticed. He's noticed a lot about the man lately; it seems like they've been drinking together every weekend these past few months. At first, it was under the guise of professional talk about Lacomblade's well-being, then it became, in Monsieur Beau's words, "Arion Rosemariné would want you to get to know his family better," which Jules knew was utterly untrue. And now, it was merely because they had gotten in the habit of it; Jules wouldn't call the two of them friends by any stretch of the term but still accepted each invitation in order to satiate his curiosity about the man and snack on cheeses that his family couldn't afford even on special occasions.
Monsieur Beau never needs to worry about keeping Jules' glass full, of course, because Jules is smart enough not to drink everything that's left in front of him. After his last memory of Auguste Beau and fancy wines in fancier glasses - he was fifteen then, and still remembers the wine in Rosemariné's hand falling to the floor, ruining his expensive and now ripped, clothing - well! After that memory, Jules knew better than to drink anything that someone like Auguste had given him without great caution. Which is not to say that Auguste has ever drugged Jules' glass, nor that Jules thinks he would even iwant/i to do anything unsavory to somebody like him. But it has always been better safe than sorry with Jules and besides, if Auguste is anything like his relatives, he'll need somebody sober nearby to keep him from doing something embarrassing after too much alcohol.
Auguste's ability to converse helps Jules want to stay sober as well. During every meeting of theirs, no matter the topic, Monsieur Beau sweeps him up in some discussion of paintings or Greek poetry or sometimes even the weather, and Jules always wonders if he can really be called a genius in the face of somebody like him. It's amazing and almost frightening how Auguste always has the answer to questions Jules has never even thought of, and Jules has yet to decide if he's numb with admiration or merely threatened by the whole thing.
But it might just be that Jules is distracted by his hands; hands that are sometimes still lightly stained with ink and that gesture as gracefully as a dancer's. They go along beautifully with eyes that stand out from the greying blond of his hair. He's a very enticing man, to say the least, and every so often, Jules has wondered idly that if - if if if - he were attracted to men, whether he'd find Auguste Beau of any interest. He loves - likes, rather, or admires - his elegance, after all, and can very much see where his nephew learned his own way of gracefully moving and seducing classmates with his very being. Jules couldn't imagine Auguste seducing anyone at all, though, and he's not sure that he wants to watch the older man overwhelm anybody with nothing but gentle touches and words.
"Have you a sweetheart, Monsieur de Ferrier?" Auguste asked one night, with the unfortunate timing of right as Jules had begun to wonder if, before this and that had happened, Rosemariné had ever found himself attracted to his distant cousin. It would be incredibly awkward now, of course, but in the past...
"No," Jules replied, somehow embarrassed to admit it. "I had one, once, but… well, things happen." That was all that Auguste Beau needed to know and most likely all he cared to here. Surely he had grown beyond the only anecdotes Jules could tell, stories of giddy confessions and seemingly scandalous stolen kisses. Jules couldn't imagine the man having any use for giggling.
"She was blonde, yes? That does seem to be your preference, given your closeness to my nephew." It was a remark with a casual tone, and didn't necessarily imply anything but friendship with Gilbert Cocteau. Still, Jules felt like he had been exposed for deeply hidden thoughts - thoughts that he himself ignored and that Auguste had no reason to suspect. His relationship with Gilbert was... complicated, to say the least, and he didn't intend to complicate it more, even if he did think the boy was rather lovely.
He didn't notice when Monsieur Beau had gotten so close to him, close enough for their legs to practically touch, and yet there he was, Jules realized when he tried to choose a proper response. "Of course," he finally answered, "but Gilbert is really nothing like a lady at all. I'm not sure that I understand your point.
"Oh, don't be ashamed of your desires. It's only natural for a boy your age to have a few thoughts that his mother wouldn't approve of," Auguste continued, still smiling politely but now in a way that Jules might have called somewhat sinister.
Surely he was only guessing, Jules assured himself, only assuming that all of the boys at Lacombade were the same. That wasn't true at all; the relationship between Gilbert and Jules was nothing like that between Gilbert and his lovers, that much anyone could see for sure. "I haven't the foggiest what you mean, Monsieur. I'm simply not interested in men in that fashion," he lied, wondering if he was blushing as deeply as he thought he might have been.
"I didn't say anything about that, did I?" Auguste asked in mock surprise; of course he didn't, that was only Jules' guilty conscious showing, and perhaps also the distracting feeling of the other man's hand on his thigh, gentle as a butterfly but still far more present than Jules might have liked. "But then, there's no harm in that, either."
Jules wasn't sure what to do - laugh it off and explain that of course he only misspoke, or take a chance and perhaps have a new confidant who knew every one of his deepest secrets? But then he didn't have to, because Auguste's lips were meeting his as he whispered that it was fine, he knew what he's doing and he was sorry he wasn't younger and didn't have wavier hair. It was almost nice to not have to worry at all about what to say in return, and Jules kissed him back, still confused but eager.
He could no longer lie to himself and say that he wasn't curious about men after all, and never would be able to again; Jules knew that for a fact. The more that happened, the harder it because to erase... but at that point, it was impossible for him to stop. He was still certain that Auguste hasn't done anything at all to his drink, and that, somehow, would make the whole thing worse - better? - come morning.