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http://users.livejournal.com/_fredless/) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisalost2011-12-21 11:16 pm
http://users.livejournal.com/_fredless/) wrote in paradisalost2011-12-21 11:16 pm
Entry tags:
They Say It's Your Birthday
Who: Fred and Wesley
What: Fred plans an evening for Wesley on his birthday
When: Dec 22 - Dec 28, Wesley's Birthday Week
Where: Wesley's Parisian Apartment, Catacombs, Paris
Rating: PG 13 --> ? TBD by muses. Will Update as needed.
She couldn't say, exactly, when she'd made the decision.
If only because it felt as if there really wasn't a decision to make. The remaining distance between herself and Wesley had felt far more bearable with a mystical castle and the majority of a town separating them. Fred wasn't as certain about distance making things fonder anymore, so much as manageable. But now he was just across the hall.
Just across. And it might as well have been the same space, for all the protection from her own thoughts that offered. You couldn't see through walls, at least not in the traditional sense. But you could feel heat through them. It might be winter in Paris, but it certainly wasn't in Fred's small studio apartment.
And now? It was Wesley's birthday.
Maybe, back at home, that might've looked entirely different. Dinner, maybe. Another not-quite-as-planned date. And there always seemed to be some distraction or the other. But they weren't in Paradisa, they were in Paris.
And now she was back to the part to it not really being a decision.
It didn't take much to break into his apartment. She'd never had much trouble with locks, not when she set her mind to them. Wesley was still at work, which suited her plans perfectly. After all, if he'd been here? She might not've been allowed much further than the living room. But Wesley wasn't there. And that afforded her plenty of time to locate a handful of candles tucked under one cabinet, and to light them along the perimeters of his bedroom. Even if truthfully the lights coming from the window were far more appealing.
A bottle of wine and two glasses sat quietly on his dresser. Because it was Paris, and there was more definitely wine. Either way, her lack of deciding aside? Whatever Wesley decided, they could still spend the evening together.
Finally she settled herself -- and a familiar bit of blue fabric -- onto his bed.
And waited.
What: Fred plans an evening for Wesley on his birthday
When: Dec 22 - Dec 28, Wesley's Birthday Week
Where: Wesley's Parisian Apartment, Catacombs, Paris
Rating: PG 13 --> ? TBD by muses. Will Update as needed.
She couldn't say, exactly, when she'd made the decision.
If only because it felt as if there really wasn't a decision to make. The remaining distance between herself and Wesley had felt far more bearable with a mystical castle and the majority of a town separating them. Fred wasn't as certain about distance making things fonder anymore, so much as manageable. But now he was just across the hall.
Just across. And it might as well have been the same space, for all the protection from her own thoughts that offered. You couldn't see through walls, at least not in the traditional sense. But you could feel heat through them. It might be winter in Paris, but it certainly wasn't in Fred's small studio apartment.
And now? It was Wesley's birthday.
Maybe, back at home, that might've looked entirely different. Dinner, maybe. Another not-quite-as-planned date. And there always seemed to be some distraction or the other. But they weren't in Paradisa, they were in Paris.
And now she was back to the part to it not really being a decision.
It didn't take much to break into his apartment. She'd never had much trouble with locks, not when she set her mind to them. Wesley was still at work, which suited her plans perfectly. After all, if he'd been here? She might not've been allowed much further than the living room. But Wesley wasn't there. And that afforded her plenty of time to locate a handful of candles tucked under one cabinet, and to light them along the perimeters of his bedroom. Even if truthfully the lights coming from the window were far more appealing.
A bottle of wine and two glasses sat quietly on his dresser. Because it was Paris, and there was more definitely wine. Either way, her lack of deciding aside? Whatever Wesley decided, they could still spend the evening together.
Finally she settled herself -- and a familiar bit of blue fabric -- onto his bed.
And waited.
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