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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Fred held her own gaze steady, aware of when Wesley's broke contact to look elsewhere. She exhaled a breath she'd been keeping in since her unplanned speech, quiet and tense. But other than that she didn't move.

"Charles had just touched the blood in the office, Wesley. Minutes before. Hardly more than that. Maybe that is who you were right after collecting the sample. We can't know. We won't know, now. I never blamed you."

She meant that, genuinely. With the same conviction she'd worn that afternoon to his apartment. More, even. But? Fred hadn't chosen him either. Something else that still sat between them.

And again, she fell silent. This wasn't just about her relationship with Charles. It was about her relationship with Wesley as well. Some fears simply didn't go away, and abandoned watches only went so far.

"If a penny drops, Wesley? You simply bend down and pick it up. Heads or tails, it shouldn't matter. You pick it up. Because you tend to the things that are important. You don't abandon them."

It was the apology he'd never seemed to be able to let her give, despite several attempts on her part. Including the night of Wesley's arrival. But what she couldn't do with words she did with walks. And sheer stubbornness.

The truth was? They likely would hurt each other at some point, near or distant. But Fred firmly believed this wouldn't be the way they did it.

Perhaps she had never blamed him. But how could he not? It was something he was rather good at, unfortunately.

But Wes nodded, accepting her words and trying to take comfort from them. He also heard the apology which she didn't quite say and yet nevertheless was able to convey to him.

"Can it really be that simple? Just - pick it up again?" It was true, they'd already proven it was possible to move on from the mistakes of the past. To learn to trust again.

Perhaps it was fated to be his constant internal battle with himself, that desire for perfection. For everything to go as planned, plotted and strategised within his own mind. It wasn't realistic to have those kinds of expectations; he knew that intellectually. Most of the time he didn't. But he wanted to make Fred as happy as she made him so badly that insecurity was bound to rear its dreaded head.

He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes finally.

"I don't want to think. I think too much. But you, you make me feel. And for that, I will always be grateful."

"The decision to pick it up is simple enough, if it matters," Fred admitted, not immune to his point. "Sometimes the actual getting there takes a fair bit of work."

It was, most definitely, and oversimplification of what sat between them. Between everyone from then, actually. Angel and Cordy. Lorne. Charles. But that was only because ultimately? Fred trusted that Wesley would understand.

She held herself still as Wesley finally lifted his eyes back up to her own, not wanting to give him any reason to break contact. It was a difficult conversation, and she couldn't help but think she could navigate the waters better of she could properly gauge his reaction. Catch any missteps.

Though it was long behind them, she still could shake the memory of that first fumbled apology on his first night. One that promptly ended with her being ushered to the door.

There was another breath, her mouth slightly softer at its conclusion.

"And that ," Fred challenged in a tone that in no was discounted the importance of what was just said. "Sounded dangerously to 'thank you'."

"A fair bit, indeed." Wes acknowledged, a wry smile coming briefly to his features. Then he let out a soft chuckle, spontaneous and unfettered.

"You know, some rules ought to be broken occasionally. To remind us why we have them. This one you will have to live with, I'm afraid, because I will never not be thankful of having you in my life, Fred."

He turned to deliberately set his wine glass down on the nightstand. Then he slipped his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss and then his cheek against her shirt-covered belly.

At the soft exhale of amusement, Fred smiled. There was simply no way to prevent it, despite the more serious tone of their conversation. She was certain she hadn't imagined the feeling of at least some of the tension leaving Wesley's body.

"I suppose I can make an exception," she offered quietly as Wesley's folded himself into her. She could feel the warmth of his cheek through the then fabric of her -- his shirt.

She still held her own wine, but Fred was able to keep one arm free of the freshly compacted space that sat between them. She nudged his knees with one of her own, intent on easing between to pull him even closer. Her other arm remained draped securely over Wesley as Fred pressed a brief kiss into his hair.

"I love you."

Edited 2011-12-25 19:50 (UTC)

He sighed out a breath when she shifted closer, he felt her lips on his hair and he heard her say those simple and yet profound words.

She'd said them before, in reciprocation of his own declaration. And he'd known it, suspected it in all the ways that counted. But still, it hadn't quite sunken in at the time. The reality of it. The fact that Miss Winifred Burkle, formerly of Texas, did actually love him. In full awareness of his many flaws and weaknesses.

This was a moment he wanted to live in forever, feeling the warmth of her surrounding him. Knowing that she accepted him. Wanted him.

Leaning back to look up at Fred again, he smiled, no longer feeling a sense of trepidation in his heart. Despite everything, she had waited for him. And he wanted this. Wanted it so very much.

He slowly stood up again and cupped her face with both hands.

"I think I would like to claim my shirt back now."

Fred smiled as his hands moved to frame her face, aware of the subtle alterations in caused to the embrace. His words?

Only caused her to smile more, meeting Wesley's gaze directly. Something felt different. Maybe an hour from now, even a day from now she'd have a head better tasked with navigating just what that was. But now, much like the soft friction she reveled in where his fingers brushed over her cheeks? Fred just wanted to enjoy how it made her feel.

She was still close enough to the nightstand to deposit her own wine glass, one mildly distressing thought occurring to her as she straightened.

"I can still borrow it every now and then, right?"

"I have a feeling it's going to be going back and forth quite a bit." Wes reassured her, a soft playful sort of smile lingering upon his lips.

Then he leaned closer, bumping noses gently, drawing out the brush of lips teasing against lips before turning it into a proper kiss. All of his previous indecision and doubt had been replaced by a good sort of nervous tension now. A coiled energy that waited to be released. He pulled Fred into an embrace, one hand shifting up to tangle in her loose brown tresses.

Her breath caught audibly as Wesley slowly drew his mouth over her own. For all her intentions? Fred's own nervous, pent-up energy was evident in the sound. She'd spent the better part of three hours curled up on Wesley's bed, oddly determined not to invade his privacy any more than she already had.

Which meant a lot of waiting. And no book was enough to completely distract her thoughts. Thoughts that inevitably turned toward what could happen when Wesley came through that door. Nerves already raw and exposed now lit and fired under his touch.

Somewhere under the kiss she smiled, one hand curling on his chest.

"Let's just worry on the 'back' then. We can negotiate the 'forth' of things after."

"I rather like the sound of that." He murmured breathlessly against Fred's lips, finally starting to tug his shirt out from the waist band of his trousers with his free hand. He had a lot more layers to contend with, unfortunately.

Wes could scarcely believe it was finally going to happen. How often had he dreamt or fantasised about this moment? Nothing could have prepared him, however, for the heady feeling of knowing that it was finally here. There was nothing standing in their way. No impediments. Well, except for the clothing they both still had on.

There was a bubble of laughter Fred couldn't quite stamp out, compressed and contained between. Along the back edge of it came the thought that she hoped the sound wasn't in any way upsetting. The simple truth was that she was happy.

Her mouth made a preemptive apology, moving to kiss him even more deeply than before.

Which of course eliminated any opportunity for further conversation. Instead her hands drifted to assist Wesley with his task, slipping beneath fabric to slim along his waist and back until it was entirely tugged free.

She'd had a bit of experience with his shirts.

He was tempted to ask her why she was chuckling, but then her kiss completely took his breath away and speaking - about anything at all - was suddenly the farthest thing from his mind. He did, however, make soft sounds of enjoyment, especially when he felt Fred's hands skimming across his bare skin. His stomach muscles tensed slightly in response. Every grazing touch was like a tiny electrical charge to him. With his mouth still locked greedily to hers, his fingers moved to attempt to undo the buttons blind.

The need to level the playing field was strong, even if he could barely suppress the urge to slip his hands under the hem of her- his shirt and touch her more intimately.

Action and reaction. Always inclined to relish the simple, pure science if it -- Fred couldn't help but be captivated by the part where the subject at hand was Wesley. Her hands.

Muscles shifted and tightened underneath her hands, and her own curiosity left Fred with no other real choice other than to skim her nails across his newly-exposed skin. Just to know.

At least up until the point that Wesley's own fumbled attempts to undo his shirt became a distraction. Fred lifted both her hands up to cover his own, her intent clear.

She took her time, undoing one button after the other. Savoring the fact that she finally got to enjoy this particular task in reverse. Skin slowly being exposed, as opposed to covered up.

Wes leaned close, trying to calm his wildly beating heart and to regulate his already shortened breaths. He watched her start to undress him, one button at a time and it was both maddening and wonderful to see her doing it at such an unhurried pace. But he forced himself to hold still, even though every part of himself seemed coiled for action, aching for her touch. If only he knew a spell which could magic every scrap of clothing away in an instant...

But he could see that Fred was enjoying the slow removal and he wouldn't have wanted to deny her that, even if he had known such a spell.

She worked her way down, one button following after another. Fred was far from the immune to the feel of heated skin brushing against the back of her knuckles, but that didn't keep her from savoring the task at hand.

A glance up at Wesley from beneath her own lashes left her confident he'd understand. After all. He was the one that'd thrown away the watch.

Finally, the last button tugged free. Her hands moved in reverse then, one slipping under each respective seam to slowly travel back up his exposed chest. Fred tasted wine again and realized her mouth had compressed itself tightly in some need to -- contain. Her fingers finally found his collar, tangling themselves in it for a moment.

All of the tension was there, her own nails cutting half-moons into her palms.

Then she let the breath she was holding in go, pushing back the shirt as far as she could off his shoulders. Fred trusted gravity -- and Wesley -- would manage the rest.

It only took a few subtle movements and shrugs of his arms and then he was finally free of the shirt. He let it fall, deliberately allowing it to do so haphazardly. A faint quirk of a smile followed the gesture. She'd understand what that meant. That he intended to allow himself to be messy and disheveled for once.

He began to toe off his shoes and socks, always annoying things to deal with in such circumstances. Meanwhile his hands reached for his belt buckle. He took his time with it, even enjoying the sound of the metal parts clanging together as he undid his belt.

Each new moment brought with it new tension and anticipation, but gone was the feeling of self-consciousness. She'd seen him without a scrap of clothing on. Had already glimpsed his scars. The parts of him that told a story of his life that he couldn't hide. And, in many ways, no longer wanted to.

He didn't speak. But there didn't seem a need to exchange words. Instead it was the glances, the touches, the space that shifted, closing or opening between them as they stood together, slowly moving forward together.

Edited 2012-01-17 09:16 (UTC)

Fred watched as Wesley's shrugged his shirt free, admiring their mutual handiwork as it drifted to the floor to land in a haphazard pile. Of course, an exchanged glace suggested that there still was something deliberate about it.

She laughed, then. A brief punch of sound as she tilted her mouth to slant over Wesley's own. She wasted little time in encouraging it to open so that she could slip inside. The barest hint of wine waited for her there.

He might've unclasped his belt, but Fred again let her fingers tangle with his own, reaching to tug the stretch of worn leather free. There was something satisfying about the way it slipped free of its fabric loops. She let it fall to the floor, landing in a separate pile from the shirt.

Breaking the kiss, Fred openly studied the results of their mutual effort. After the attack his scars had seemed especially stark against pale skin. Individual.

Isolated.

Now they seemed more a part of him, blending from one place to the next. Her fingers traveled over the scar that marked his abdomen, reading it like braille as Fred moved to kiss Wesley again.

Buttons. Zippers. Were they any sort of obstacle considering they'd just faced down each other?

Wes very much liked the frank way that Fred gazed upon him. Bold and openly admiring. It made him feel desired. Even his imperfections seemed interesting when Fred beheld them. Grazed her fingertips over them. He sighed into the kiss, shifting closer and letting one of his hands to caress a gentle path upwards over her shirt-clad back to the edge of the collar underneath her hair. He traced the skin just above that line with two of his fingers. Teasing brushes.

His other hand worked to unfasten his trousers, more confident now, barely fumbling at all. A few well-placed nudges at his hips and a step free and then there was only one item left to remove. For both of them.

Edited 2012-01-17 10:13 (UTC)

Fred shivered as Wesley grazed the back of her neck, her body quickly losing grasp of things like logic and reason. She was hypersensitive to his touch, and currently tangled in a study course clearly designed to remind her just how long it'd been. She refused to fully consider the math.

Warm fingers at the nape at her neck and her knees refused to work as they were meant to, buckling slightly.

They were nothing less than traitors, really.

A breath, then composure gained through thorough and complete recommitment to the task at hand. Her hands traced over his waist in a way not all that unlike when she'd asked him to tuck her in outside Caritas. Fingers slipped below the fabric, nails grazing against skin in unapologetic exploration before Fred finally reached to tug the boxers free altogether.

Wes' abdominal muscles went involuntarily taut at Fred's more brazen touches and his breaths noticeably shortened. His hips were lean, much of his body was lean. But it didn't feel like a deficit. He was toned and physically fit. There was nothing to be ashamed of, least of all his arousal which now was in full view. Undeniable visible evidence of his body's physical reaction to Fred. Of the effect she had on him. Stark and tangible desire.

There was something ironically fitting in him being the first to be undressed. Fred was still in the very same blue shirt she'd greeted him in. That she'd intended to gift back to him when this whole evening had begun, in fact. And now, that same shirt was all that remained between them. One thin layer of fabric.

He very deliberately reached up to the first button that held the shirt closed and slipped it free of its button-hole. Then another. And another. His movements were unhurried, though, and deft in their execution. A contrast to his earlier faltering. As each button was freed, a sliver more of Fred's bare skin was revealed, but he waited until there were no buttons left to undo before pushing the shirt wide open and coaxing it to fall from her shoulders.

It was Wes' turn to appraise and admire what was before him. To reach out and touch what his now heated gaze alighted upon; exploring and mapping the contours of Fred's naked body.

She was beautiful to him. Lovely beyond measure.

Passion gripped him and would not let go, making his heart race to a galloping beat and his breaths to become even more quickened. There was far too much space between them now. He removed it all by pulling her flush against him, his mouth seeking hers in an ardent kiss.

Edited 2012-01-17 12:17 (UTC)

He was beautiful.

Did Wesley know that? Did he even begin to see? Fred suspected that he still didn't, and the knowledge only motivated her to redouble her efforts to somehow convince him otherwise.

A conviction, it seemed, that would have to wait. At least in that particular moment. She felt her breath catch, hovering thick in her throat as Wesley reached to tug the first button of her shirt free. Another button conquered, and now an audible hitch of air that caused the edges of his fingertips to just brush against sensitive skin. The quiet, deliberate skill displayed caused a new heat to pool and spread from her center, outwards.

And that was just a button.

She rolled her shoulders when Wesley was done, aware of how the fabric brushed against her skin as it fell to the floor. Fred wanted nothing more than to eliminate the space between them, and then subsequently the space between them and the bed. To tumble into the moment all limbs and mouth and those skilled, skilled hands.

But she forced herself to hold still. To give Wesley the same opportunity he'd allowed her. And she didn't flinch as his hands began to drift over her skin, exploring over less-exposed scars. Not just the still-visible gash on her arm. Or the small, round mark not far below her collar bone where the grappling hook had cut through. There were older, more faded ones as well. The ones that Charles had never once asked about. And fairly, the ones she'd never offered to explain.

It hadn't been what they wanted from her. And it hadn't been what she wanted for herself.

Wesley had seen her wall. Could translate the stories there, if he chose too. And she was...

She was...

Before Fred could navigate her way through the remainder of that thought Wesley pulled her tight against him, his mouth hot and his arousal hard against her abdomen.

Maybe now was the time to start considering that bed.

Wes was having a very similar thought. It happened naturally: the shifting of balance, intent and gravity all combining to create a fall towards the comfort of the bed. It could have been a graceless, awkward tangle of limbs for all the lack of care in the execution. But it wasn't at all. The shock of the soft impact, the collision of bodies, the warmth of bare skin finally contacting against bare skin only served to heighten the thrill of what was happening.

Wes took advantage of the breathlessness of the moment, claiming a deeper kiss. Robbing Fred of breath and hopefully of reason too. He wanted her so much, and didn't have to hold that back from her any longer. The subtle roll of his hips and gentle stroking caresses down her side and along her thigh made that very plain indeed, but he wasn't about to rush things. He was determined to draw out each new discovery. To celebrate what they'd waited so long to enjoy.

He'd start by placing reverent open-mouthed kisses to her throat and collarbone. To the parts of her which had once been shackled by a slave's collar. Fred was free of that now. But he knew that the memories lingered on. The pain of her ordeal in Pylea having dulled over time but never completely forgotten.

Through a heated, thoughtless haze Fred's hips instinctively lifted to meet Wesley's own. A conversation between bodies where her mouth was so clearly otherwise occupied. She could feel it all -- the natural thrum of his arousal, the erratic nature of her own pulse made plain wherever her skin pressed against his and the Wesley's skilled, mind-numbing exploration of her mouth. Not one rhythm lined up with the next.

The effect was dizzying, and for all her encouragement towards precisely this moment? A jagged intake of breath hinted that Fred wasn't completely prepared for the current assault on her senses.

She tilted her mouth free, shifting up and moving so that one leg effectively straddled each of Wesley's hips. Hands on his sides served as anchors, thumbs distracted by the texture of hard muscle under warm skin. Her gaze stated at the scar that marred his neck, before drifting lower.

It wasn't that Fred was avoiding it. Far from it. She'd acknowledged it on more than one occasion, could still remember how it tasted beneath the earthy tones of water from the hot springs. Instead she settled on the scar that stood lifted and raised on Wesley's abdomen. At first just one thumb drifted to trace across it again, traveling to understand what she didn't know.

Her body folded, rearranged itself as Fred moved to place a kiss against the raised and puckered skin. Her tongue traced against it, memorizing how it felt.

His gunshot wound. A relic from his time before Fred. A battle wound which had, for a time, brought him and Gunn closer as brothers in arms. A reminder of how Virginia had not been able to live with the life he'd chosen for himself.

And Fred - sweet, clever, curious Fred - was kissing the marred skin. Allowing her tongue to dart out and taste him there. How was it that everything she touched was suddenly no longer ugly.

Wes drew in a shuddering breath, keenly aware of the delicate pressure of her lips and tongue against his skin. His fingers found their way into her soft brown hair, twining with the tousled strands.

Her name spilled from his lips with the softest of sighs. "Fred..."

Fred smiled against Wesley's scar, emboldened by his favorable response to her touch. She pulled her mouth against the taunt skin skin again, more pressure and heat and the unmistakable scrape of her teeth.

And then she closed her eyes, cheek tilted and pressed against Wesley's stomach as she cataloged the moment. Tastes and texture collected and set to memory.

His fingers tangled themselves in her hair and Fred shivered, aware in her own reaction of every place they touched. Her name, Wesley's voice -- settled over both of them. Whisper soft.

Fred shifted again, dragged her body lower even as sparks lit and fired where his hand was still lost in her hair. It did little to deter her as she pressed another kiss to the valley where hip met thigh. Another place previously unexplored.

"...Wesley."

They Say It's Your Birthday

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