It’s my birthday so I wrote a birthday fic
When I wake up, the bed next to me is empty, but I don’t worry. I can hear bumping in the kitchen and the sheets where he slept are still warm. I’m not ready to move yet, but I breathe in deeply and the pillow smells like him, bright and sweet and sleepy. There’s really no reason for him to keep two pillows on his bed, when I spend the night we end up entwined so close that our heads share the same one. My bones ache to stretch out but I don’t budge. I can still feel the ghost of his arms, of his breath on my neck. If I move I might break the spell.
Pathetic, I think to myself. We’ve been dating for months and still not a day goes by that I don’t think it must be a dream, it’s too good to be true.
The door swings open slowly with one soft creak, and my eyes have drifted closed again but I don’t bother to open them. His bare feet tiptoe across the room, there’s a clink as he sets something down on the bedside table (a glass of water, maybe) and he climbs back into bed, careful not to disturb me, slotting himself in the crook of my neck as though neither of us had ever moved. He gives a sleepy sigh as he settles into place, and the sound alone makes me smile despite myself.
I decide I’ve been unresponsive long enough and press a kiss to his forehead.
He chuckles quietly. “Are you awake or having a really nice dream?”
“You tell me.”
I finally open my eyes as he wiggles himself higher up the pillow so we’re level, which makes me smirk a little. The height difference between us isn’t massive, but it’s enough that he has to stand on tiptoe to kiss me. It’s why he takes advantage of the time we spend horizontal.
He kisses my mouth, quick and warm. “I’ve got something for you.”
“Oh?” What more could I possibly need right now?
“Yeah. Sit up.”
I want to protest as he pulls away from me and the air between us goes cold in his absence, but I follow as he retrieves a small plate from the nightstand, the thing I heard him place there a moment ago. On the dish are two chocolate cupcakes with immaculately swirled icing, one blue, one yellow. The frosting is so perfect that it has to be from the bakery downstairs. Not that I mind, cupcakes are cupcakes.
“Breakfast in bed, eh?” I smile as he pushes the plate towards me, sitting cross-legged on the covers.
“Yeah, well, I would’ve made you a real breakfast in bed,” he blushes, “but after last time…”
I drop a kiss on his nose. “I prefer the kitchen fully functional, anyway.”
He blushes harder, but he’s smiling down at his lap. “Happy birthday, Baz.”
I start. I had completely forgotten that was today. “How did you…”
“Mordelia told me.” He shakes his head at me. “I can’t believe you weren’t going to say anything.”
“It’s just another day,” I shrug. No one in my family ever made a big deal about birthdays. It just wasn’t that important to us.
“It’s your day, Baz,” he insists, starting to unwrap the blue cupcake.
“Simon, there’s really no need to -”
“Baz. Every day you make me feel like the most special boy in the world. It’s your turn to feel like that, alright?”
He says it playfully, but my throat actually closes and I might even tear up a bit.
It’s a moment before he glances away from his cupcake and back up at me, but I still haven’t spoken, my chest is too swollen. He sees my expression and smiles almost shyly. “Alright?” he says again.
“Thank you, Simon,” I manage.
“Eat your cupcake.”
I do. It’s soft and still warm from the bakery. He must have snuck downstairs as soon as they opened, still in his pyjamas. I wonder if he threw on a shirt to do it. He’s not wearing one now. There’s a smudge of blue on the corner of his mouth from the icing, and I hope there’s not yellow on mine. “You know,” I venture, “you have my full permission to bring me cupcakes in bed whenever you feel like it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
We lick the icing off our fingers and brush the chocolate crumbs from the bedspread. “So, what are we doing today?” he asks, completely oblivious to the frosting on his mouth. I can’t look away from it, and I purse my lips to keep from laughing.
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Well, it’s your day,” he muses. “Is there anything you want to do?”
I decide it’s time for some fun and shift closer to him until there’s only a breath between us. “Absolutely,” I grin.
He goes scarlet from his ears to his collarbone, catching my drift immediately. I want to laugh at how easily I can fluster him but I really have no right to because just seeing his reaction is enough to have me blushing just as hard. As if I’ve never teased him like this before. As if we haven’t been in plenty of far more compromising positions than this. Fucking pathetic.
“Okay, well,” he stammers, “we can definitely pencil that in.”
I bring a hand up to cup his face and his cheek is burning to the touch. Not fever-burning, just blushing-like-a-cherry-burning. “Simon,” I murmur.
“Baz?” His voice is smaller than I think I’ve ever heard it.
When I lean in the rest of the way, he responds immediately, tangling a hand in my hair and scratching the back of my neck with the other, gently but not idly. His mouth is hot as always and sweet with frosting, and I purposely focus my attentions on the spot of blue at the corner of his lips. I’ve never cared much for chocolate but I can taste it on his mouth and right now I love chocolate, would eat it indefinitely and it could never be as good as this, as my hand on his waist and my name on his lips.
He actually tries to pull me back to him when I break away a moment and an ecstasy later, even though he’s gasping for air and falling backwards against my hands like he’s lost his sense of direction, and Crowley, I want to follow him, to kiss him into the mattress until the sun goes down, to stay exactly like this until we fall asleep, only to wake up in the morning and start all over again, but I stay where I am. “Simon,” I say again.
“Yes?” he whispers, eyes still closed.
“You’ve got frosting on your face.”
His hand whips out of my hair and to his mouth, and he rolls his eyes when he finds the icing still there, despite my endeavors. “Really Baz,” he mutters as he wipes it away with the back of his hand, “you couldn’t have just said something?”
“My way was more fun.”
He grins and pushes me back until I’m propped up on my elbows. “You know, you’ve got something on your face, too,” he breathes when he’s only an inch above my lips.
He shuts me up with his mouth.
I never find out if he was lying or not, but I sure as hell don’t care.