paradisalost | They Say It's Your Birthday

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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.

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For Wes, the day was much like any other. He tended not to celebrate his birthdays. Certainly never had parties thrown in his honour. He was used to it being a quiet affair, with little to no fanfare.

It always seemed to be over-shadowed by the impending Christmas celebrations and the gift-buying fever which accompanied it.

This time, he did plan to at least see what Fred was doing, just in case she wanted to share the evening with him. But when he stopped outside her door and knocked discreetly a few times, there was no answer. She had to be out.

Pushing down a pang of disappointment, Wes let himself into his own apartment, peeling off his jacket and tossing his keys on the side table.

Then he froze, hearing the rustle of movement coming from the bedroom. On the alert for trouble, he approached cautiously, even grabbing a ceramic statue to use as a club if he had to.

But then he saw the candelight...

"What on earth?"

Somewhere in the course of all that waiting, she'd gone and let herself get distracted. Not entirely of course, and certainly not from her intended goal. But asking Fred to sit stock still on that bed until Wesley arrived?

Well, it just wasn't going to happen.

Fortunately, Wesley would always be Wesley. No matter what city he was in. And wherever he was, books inevitably followed. Including a rather fascinating dissertation on the countless miles of catacombs that ran beneath the streets of Paris.

The sound of someone very much of the living tugged Fred right out of her study of the dead. Flipping the book closed (though not without marking her page) Fred scrambled to tuck it beneath a nearby pillow.

There wasn't time to change anything else other than her expression. How how she was sitting. Not even how she'd tucked her hair back to read. Hair she'd so purposely worn down.

Fred wore a smile -- and that shirt -- as she greeted him.

"...Happy Birthday, Wesley."

It's safe to say that Wesley was somewhat taken aback by this development. It safe to say that seeing Fred on his bed, wearing only his shirt was enough to make his jaw drop and other parts of him want to stand at stiff attention.

He ought to say something. 'Thank you?' 'Hello?' 'What are you doing?' Nothing seemed quite fitting for the moment.

Perhaps he would start by lowering the makeshift weapon he had clutched in his hand. Then if he could just get his tongue and brain to coordinate together. Breathing might help, too.

"Well, I...well. I certainly never expected this."

Edited 2011-12-22 08:46 (UTC)

Fred's gaze flickered down towards the small ceramic statute, then back up to meet Wesley's own. She didn't bother hiding her amusement. Or that jolt of pleasure that shot right down to her toes as she realized she truly had caught him off guard.

"Well..." Fred stood then, purposely echoing Wesley's own rather distinct clipped tones in the word. "That's sort of the point, isn't it? Not knowing what you're getting for your birthday. It wouldn't be a surprise, otherwise."

Through her speech, Fred hadn't stopped moving. Step by purposeful step she closed the distance between them. Right up until the point her bare feet nearly grazed Wesley's shoes. He still quietly radiated the chill from outside.

"But you're right, you know. About knowing the town. You might? But I don't. Not even with all those guidebooks. I had no way of navigating all those shops. And who's to say whatever I got you would even make it back with us when all this stops?"

Her fingertips tugged at the hem of the shirt, pulling it close. Fred watched Wesley carefully, studying his reaction.

"Until it occurred to me? I actually did have something I could give you. If you wanted it back."

She tilted her face close to his. Let her smile bring them closer still.

"I don't even need that hair clip in exchange, considering the day and all."

Edited 2011-12-22 09:01 (UTC)

"I'm not usually one for surprises, but this is definitely of a sort I could learn to enjoy."

Wes couldn't seem to look away from her. He was transfixed. Of course, his gaze did flick downwards when she pulled the fabric taut against her body. Her very alluring body which he did want to get more acquainted with. Was that hitch in his breath audible just now?

"Your logic is extremely sound." He ventured, a sense of inevitability descending upon him, but also no small amount of nervous tension. Because this was Fred. He wanted her more than he could possibly articulate. And now that it seemed as if perhaps the time had come to finally take their relationship that important step further, he was finding the prospect a daunting one.

It was embarrassing, to say the least. He ought to take her into his arms and kiss her and see how things developed from there. Why was this so hard for him? It hadn't been with Lilah.

"Is that wine?"

Such a coward.

"...learn to enjoy."

Again, Fred found herself repeating Wesley. All the while increasingly aware of all the places she was, and he wasn't. Gaze still intent as she drank in every flicker of reaction.

"Wesley, I'm standing in front of you, wearing nothing but your shirt. That's the little envelope that comes in Cracker Jacks. The prize at the bottom of the cereal box. That's your birthday present."

In case she hadn't made that clear enough before. Fred wrapped both her arms around Wesley's neck, closing the remaining distance between them. If she wasn't fully aware before, the full consequence of her choice of attire could now be felt from tip to toe. The way the weight of his winter coat pressed through, the fabric of his trousers grazing at her knees.

"Not that I can't take it back. I can admit to being attached."

She let her mouth graze briefly along his jaw before it closed over his own. She was far less likely to ramble here, the kiss brief but purposeful. Fred finally pulled back, but just enough to speak.

"...you weren't supposed to notice the wine."

Did they even have Cracker Jacks in England?

"My birthday present is a Cracker Jack prize?" Wes couldn't help but smirk slightly at the analogy. But she was making a very good point, all the same. He relaxed a bit, his arms folding around her when she pressed closer.

"I suppose I would like it back. After all, it was only ever meant to be a loan. But, if you're that attached..."

The brush of her lips against his jaw served to rob him of speech and then the kiss ensured it didn't return for some time. He looked down at her, wondering what he'd done to deserve this. To deserve her. Wes reached up to comb his fingers through her loose hair. She was so beautiful. And currently quite determined, it would seem. He smiled softly.

"What wine?"

He leaned in, claiming another kiss. After all, it was his birthday.

Fred wasn't about to object to being kissed again. Not in the slightest. The musty, museum scent clung quietly to hin skin and clothes in a not unappealing way. She savored both that, and him drawing her mouth slowly against Wesley's own. One hand quietly lost it's way in the dark strands of hair that satjust above his collar.

"It could be a Cracker Jack prize, if you want. We just have to see about folding it down small enough to fit in one of those little envelopes."

It was an utterly ridiculous idea, and Fred kept herself close as she considered it.

" Of course, that would probably involve me taking it off first."

And there, another light-hearted way of addressing what neither of them was saying -- not directly. It was birthdays and shirts and toy surprises. Maybe she'd gone about this all wrong.

"I'm starting to feel like this is the longest run-on sentence of my life. So..here it is. I didn't wear anything else over here with this shirt, so if you do take it back I'm probably not going anywhere for the rest of the night. Or..." Fred took a breath. For all her teasing before? Weqsley had once asked her for more time. And she wasn't going to not respect that. Not if that was what he really wanted.

Despite her hopes otherwise.

"Or? I'm pretty certain I might've seen some wine around here."

He chuckled, of course, at the idea of folding the shirt down to fit into a Cracker Jack envelope. It was a ridiculous notion.

Then the import of her words struck him. There was really no way to avoid what she was really trying to tell him.

"Yes, you would have to stay here." His gaze shifted to the wine bottle and glasses.

"Fred...I--?" Oh, for heaven's sake, this was getting ridiculous. He knew what she was trying to convey to him. And was there any reason to object, considering his own feelings on the matter. Was it just pride, ego and insecurity standing in his way?

He moved to pour them both a glass.

Edited 2011-12-24 01:33 (UTC)

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