He knew it was coming, with an incredible, firm, assurance - the same way he knew how gravity worked, or how the sun rose and set every day. He could feel it, tingling through his skin even before Maxwell leaned in, even before those soft, plush lips met his own and stole a low, quiet groan from them. His hand on Maxwell's hip slipped up to his spine, pulling him closer as his own lips parted. As his tongue quietly invited him deeper.

The wine, the candles, the castle: forgotten.