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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It was still early, but Wes was wide awake. He was rolled onto his side, head propped up on his hand, watching Fred sleep. He couldn't help it, he was still trying to remind himself that this was real. That it wasn't a dream he was going to be cruelly woken up from at any moment. Fred was actually in his bed, lying next to him. And hogging the covers, apparently. He smiled to himself and pondered whether he should try to ease some back onto his side.

It was Christmas morning, however, and he could afford to be charitable.

Unable to stop himself, Wes leaned down to press a whisper-soft kiss on the crook of her bare shoulder.

From somewhere just on the other side of a particularly pleasant dream, a feather-soft touch did its best to tug Fred into wakefulness. Instincts still slightly jumbled, the brush to her shoulder illicited a wrinkled nose -- and a yawn.

She'd never been a light sleeper, but as Fred rolled onto her back she couldn't help but recognize the feeling of settled that ran through her body. She'd clearly stayed in one place for some time.

Eyes finally opening, she took a moment to process where she was. Fred's gaze searched for -- and then settled on -- Wesley.

"...morning."

"Morning." He shifted back, making sure she had plenty of room to sprawl out, but then pressed close again, one arm casually draping over her middle. "I didn't mean to wake you. It's still quite early, actually..."

As Wesley's pronouncement of the hour, Fred felt a yawn settling over her. She tilted her head and pressed it into a pillow to effectively smother it, still too content to lift the hand it probably required.

She moved to settle closer against the warmest point in the bed, which was undoubtedly Wesley. There was a distinct chill in the air that morning.

Fred cobbled together the energy for a smile.

"I'm not objecting. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." Since she wasn't objecting to being woken up, he leaned in to place a firmer kiss on the side of her neck. "How can you possibly be cold when you've stolen all of my blankets?" He teased, his lips brushing against her ear.

Fred shivered slightly, still slightly-sleepy skin coming awake to the sensation of Wesley's morning stubble grazing across it. Not that she was objecting to the kiss either.

"I...did not. You must've just drifted away from them and abandoned them. It's not my fault if I made good use of them."

"Oh, I see. The covers were suffering from neglect." He chuckled softly and wrapped her more closely in his embrace since the blankets on their own weren't apparently sufficient to ward off the morning chill.

"...they were. That level of neglect? It's positively shameful." There was a lilt in her voice, a hint of the drawl that her life in L.A. had all but stamped out. It only seemed to appear on very early mornings, or very late nights -- usually involving alcohol.

For all her defense of those blankets Fred shimmied and shifted within the confines of Wesley's embrace, determined to at least partly remove herself from them.

Because if she had to pick between the two...

"Well, it's a good thing you're here to make sure they get the care and attention they deserve, then." He murmured, happily pressing against Fred's back and curling himself around her to warm her up. "I'm willing to let you win this custody battle."

Fred settled close, eyes closing for a moment as she cataloged as many details as possible. When they'd initially arrived in Paris, Fred hadn't much cared what her room was like, out of her own intent not to stay in it any more than she possibly had to.

So how was it she was not content not to leave the mall confines of a single bed? It must be the cold.

She moved closer still.

"And just what battles are you implying I'm going to lose?"

That better not be a threat against a certain shirt.

Edited 2012-01-02 06:25 (UTC)

"I just meant that there will be some things I'll contest more than others. The best victories are hard won, after all."

He wasn't certain he ever wanted to get out of bed again, now that Fred was snuggled so close, wrapped in his arms.

"It's a good thing we all have the day off, because I'm perfectly content where I am, right now. Unless it's to fetch you your present, or some breakfast. Or both."

"Contesting," Fred mused, drawing herself up closer as she lifted her cheek back to draw it against his own for the simple reason that she liked the way that it felt. "I can do contesting."

His touch tugged the last remaining sleep off her senses and she became more alert.

"...Christmas. It's...it's Christmas. And I left your present across the hall." Fred mentally chided herself for her own forgetfulness. That wasn't how it was supposed to work. Of course, there had been a very genuine intent of going to collect it the night before but --

"Two seconds. Ok, maybe two minutes and two seconds and I'll be back and we can..."

Fred moved to scramble from the bed, only to somehow forget in her haste that she'd acquired all the blankets though the course of the evening.

Blankets she didn't account on navigating.

Blankets that were still tangled around her when she landed in a jumbled heap on the floor.

"Yes, it is, but you don't--" Have to go and fetch it just yet, he was about to say. But Fred was already wriggling out of his grasp, intent on dashing across the hall.

Wes soon realised what was about to happen, but was too slow in lunging to help tug the blankets free and watched rather helplessly as she tripped over and effectively left him lying now completely uncovered on the bed.

"Fred! Are you all right?" He was trying hard to suppress the urge to chuckle at the mishap and how exposed he now was, just in case she had injured herself in the fall.

"...I'm fine. You know, other than my completely and utter inability to put one foot properly in front of the other."

Despite her words on the matter, Fred didn't seem overly embarrassed. Instead of wearing any sort of blush, she's chosen something very close to a smirk instead. Her mouth tilted as she realized of just how little she'd left Wesley with.

"Don't move," she ordered, all the while twisting and navigating the heavier coverlet free and letting it fall to the floor. "Don't change....a thing. Not a thing, do you understand?"

Wrapping the sheet around her, she tossed the excess over one shoulder and moved for the bedroom door.

"I'll be right back."

It was all very well for her to tell him not to move or change a thing when she was safely wrapped in a sheet. He, on the other hand was rather feeling the draught; the chill air of the December morning. Still - because in all things he wanted to please Fred - he remained where he was, trying not to feel embarrassed by his positioning and blatant nakedness.

"Now I know why naked sculptures often sport fig leaves." He called out teasingly while he waited for her to return.

It doesn't take long for Fred to acquire what she needs.

"Well," she countered, reappearing in the doorway and openly taking in the scenery. She might be in possession of every scrap of blankets and sheeting but it had very little to do with the warmth in her gaze. "The fig leaf would really be for my benefit, and I can assure you that I'm just fine."

Still, she lingered.

"And it'd have to itch."

She closed the distance between them then. And despite Fred's graceless exit from the bed, there was something coordinated and purposeful about the way climbed back onto the mattress -- an aged case following her. Recognizing the chill, Fred lowered one shoulder to send part of the sheet cascading down. A corner she graciously offered to Wesley.

The dance concluded in a lingering kiss.

"Mmmm. I think that reward was well worth a little draughtiness." Wes did appreciate the offer of the corner, however, and used it to cover what he could. He couldn't help but eye the case, his curiosity most definitely piqued.

"What have we here...?"

Fred watched him shift and maneuver the sheet, recognizing that ultimately what she'd shared with Wesley hadn't been all that effective. At least from his perspective.

She was still more than content.

Still, it was Christmas.

She shifted and twisted some more, yielding more of the fabric to be shared. Then she slid the case closer, obviously careful with its contents.

"I think how it usually works is you open it and find out."

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They Say It's Your Birthday

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