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)

She'd opened the wine nearly an hour before, to let it breathe. When of course meant that ultimately? Despite all her planning? Fred had ultimately anticipated drinking it all along.

Recognizing Wesley's need for space, she moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Her fingers compressed into the edge of the mattress, thoughtful.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

It, of course, being no small number of things.

Wes sat down next to her, holding out a glass for her to take before having a sip from his own. It was very good, rich and aromatic. After another bracing step, he turned to regard Fred, his expression slightly pained.

"I'm ruining things, aren't I? You've gone to all of this trouble..."

"It's your birthday. I don't think you're allowed to ruin it," Fred replied, accepting her own glass of wine. She took a long sip of her own before continuing. "In fact, I'm almost completely certain there's a rule about that somewhere."

Her tone was firm, and didn't really allow for argument.

And truthfully, there hadn't been all that much trouble involved. It was just a shirt and a bottle of wine -- quietly sided with a bout of breaking and entering. But as plans went, they weren't especially complicated. If there was any trouble? It was that she didn't completely understand.

Fred her perch on the bed, Fred took in Wesley's profile. The stain of the wine was just barely visible on his lips. Through her examination, a thought occurred. She'd thought it was well behind them, but --

She stood, moving to stand just in from of him. Her knees brushed against his own as she carefully navigated her own class until one hand rested over each shoulder. It was a completely different embrace than the one she greeted him with. Mostly, she just wanted to make sure he was looking at her.

She assumed, after all this time, that they'd closed the chapter on one particular evening in the Hyperion. It was so long ago, now. But she needed to be better at reminding herself that for Wesley -- perhaps it wasn't. There was a wall they seemed to come up against sometimes, when they were especially close. Was that part of it?

"Wesley." She measured the word carefully. "You're not going to hurt me."

Edited 2011-12-25 09:37 (UTC)

He looked up at her, holding her gaze for a long drawn out moment before he dropped it again, a self-conscious heat coming to his cheeks. He'd been in Paradisa for nearly a year and so much had happened between them since then. So much lost ground recovered; new, stronger bonds forged. Yet, still, the past did sometimes intrude. Unwelcome and irrational. Scars which had faded but not completely healed over.

"I never wanted to. But I did. I have. What you went through in Pylea, I read it on the wall, Fred. I read it all. It just makes what I did that much worse. Gunn was able to fight it, I wasn't."

He knew that she'd forgiven him for his actions, but there was always that awareness that had he not assaulted her, perhaps things might have gone a different way. A different chain of events might have occurred rather than those which had spiraled into tragedy.

"If we do this, it's a big step for us. A natural one, of course, but still, I -- I'm terrified of screwing this up, Fred. Of screwing it all up. I've never been happier. I keep waiting for the proverbial penny to drop."

He reached out with his free hand. To just rest it on her hip, lightly, but still with an intent behind it which gave away how unmoored he felt.

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.

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They Say It's Your Birthday

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