The Arcana Oneshots

Good Morning, Handsome - Julian Devorak

IT'S THE DOCTORS BIRTHDAY!~

When he woke on his birthday, slowly blinking into wakefulness, the first sight he saw was her face, her eyes, watching him.

He knew at once they were in her bedroom above the shop. The morning light was filtering in through the colored baubles and flasks that hung in the window, bedazzling the dark room in glimmers of emerald, and rose, and gold. It shimmered behind her, crowned her head. Angelic, he thought, and he could not resist reaching out to touch her, knuckles stroking the smooth skin of her cheek.

She leaned into the touch, before settling back into the pillows with a contented sigh, a smile on her lips.

"Good morning, handsome."

He responded in kind, voice still hoarse with sleep. "'Morning, love."

But there was more than that to it. It wasn't any morning; it was a very particular morning. And this, here, waking up beside her—it should have been enough for him. He knew that. Already it was more than he deserved. But against his better judgement, against all his instincts, despite people telling him (for years, really) that he craved too much attention, was too loud, too demanding, he couldn't hold himself back, not with her, (she'd told him, so many times, not to) he leaned closer to her, noses nearly touching, and whispered (barely audibly):

"Today is my birthday."

Her face brightened at once, contented smile splitting into a delighted grin. "Is it really?" And before he'd truly appreciated how pleased she looked to hear it, she leaned forward, her hand gentle on the side of his face, and captured his mouth with a sweet, lingering kiss.

Then she nestled closer to him, burying her head in the crook of his neck so that he could feel her breath on his throat. She favored him with one more kiss before settling, lips vibrating against his skin with a hum.

"You should have told me earlier, silly. I would have gotten you something."

Julian only swallowed in response, wrapped his arms tighter around her. When, exactly, did she think would have been an appropriate time to tell her? When they were fleeing from the palace guards? When they were sneaking out of the grounds with baited breath? Oh, yes, do mind the eels in the aqueduct—and by the way, my birthday is in three days.

(Though, really, if he had known then how this was going to go—that by the time the dawn broke on his birthday, he'd be waking up in her arms—he might have.)

"Let's take the day off," she crooned. "No gallantly through the spooky forest, no knife fights in speakeasies. Stay here, with me."

It was a much better reaction than he'd anticipated. Her eagerness to indulge him had him coloring. He was thankful she was buried in the crook of his neck, where she couldn't see—he was sure his ears were going red.

"We don't have to do anything special," he mumbled. "There's no need to fuss over it."

He didn't mean that in the slightest, but he thought it best to give her the option.

She pulled herself out of her hiding place to look at him, grinning. "Nonsense," she chastised, eyes sparkling in a way that implied she'd seen right through his ploy. "It's your birthday! I want to spoil you. We can go for drinks, at the Raven. I'll make us dinner. A cake, for you. You like pistachio, right?"

He loved pistachio.

"You really don't have to," he insisted, though his words were less convincing than he had wanted them to be. "You've already done so much for me, more than enough."

"Oh, but I do," she pressed, leaning her head towards his until their noses were nearly touching. She rested her hand on his chest just above his heart, and favored him with her most sultry look when she whispered between them, "If there's no cake, then there will be no icing. What will I have to lick off of you, then?"

And how was he supposed to pretend to protest that suggestion? He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body flush against his before pressing a brief, bashful kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"I—yes. Okay, cake, yes."

Her seductive look transformed at once into one of glee, pleased (it seemed) to have won him over. "Good." But then she was pushing back the sheets—cold, unentangling their nest of comfort and warmth—prying herself away from him.

"But first—coffee. And breakfast, I think, in bed."

"No—" he gasped, reached for her; and when his hand fell, gently, to her waist, she stopped, legs already over the side of the bed, and looked at him. "No," he repeated, if a bit guiltily.

But there would be no 'in bed,' Julian knew. It was a nice gesture, a kind thought. But if she left the bed he would not linger; he'd follow her, chin tucked over her shoulder while she busied with the kettle, following her while she set the table, scrambled eggs, pressing grateful, adoring kisses to the back of her neck, the tips of her ears. And that was fine—that sounded grand, really. But,

"Not yet," he pleaded. "Let's just... stay here, with me, a little longer." His eyes softened, and his fingers stroked along her thigh, enticing her back into bed. "Waking up with you in my arms... that's the best part so far. I don't want it to end just yet."

She bit her lip, trying to hold back her grin. Without a moment's hesitation, she folded her legs back under the sheets and snuggled up beside him, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Okay, birthday boy. Whatever you want."