theirgoldenboy: (Giggle)
It was their second Valentine’s Day together.

In fact, while their anniversary was technically in the end of January, right after Irene’s birthday, today was a very, very special day, too. Hell, smutty as it sounded, it was a year ago today that they’d first all been really together … as in having sex. Not in twos or even threes, although the weekend leading to Valentine’s had been Caleb’s first time with Pogue, too, something a very long, hurdled while in the making. But today was for all of them.

And while last year had been in a luxurious hotel room, with borrowed furniture and specialized cuisine, tonight Caleb was cooking in.

It was a four-course meal, one favorite course for each of them, and no, he didn’t forget himself, or he’d get glares that would decidedly spoil the mood. And he didn’t want that.

Three of those four courses could be finger-eaten. Or finger-fed. Maybe not neatly, as was particularly the case with the dessert, but it was a possibility. One that he suspected they would get around.

He also set the table properly. For four. With a white tablecloth, tall candlestick with rose-scented candles, crystal glasses, elegant silverware. Comfortable chairs. And not the large table they used when they had guests, either. A small one which would enable them to reach around and across it to touch each other very easily.

He prepared music, too. This time kind of cheating - by borrowing the soft jazz compilation that Dee had set up for them last year. Nobody had ever doubted he was sentimental, anyway - he saw no reason to disappoint that expectation. Especially since they did all like it.

And the bedroom... The familiar softness of Egyptian cotton sheets around fluffy soft light covers. Incense burned in the room before a quick airing, so it scented everything but did not choke the air.

Also, naturally, all kinds of things they might - probably would - need, at an easy reach. As well as a stand if they decided to kidnap some of the food to the bedroom, too.

All in readiness. All as good as he could make it.

The food kept warm, he settled to wait for Dee, and then Pogue and Irene, to find their way home after work.

Home, and love, and a special, special evening.
theirgoldenboy: (Pogue: Mine. For  me.)
Caleb's head thudded back against the leather of the seat of his Mustang. He'd still not touched the soda he'd packed when he started; didn't feel like it. Possibly yet, although he wasn't sure. It was energy, yes, but it was also a stimulant, and right now, he wasn't sure if it wouldn't push him over the edge. )
theirgoldenboy: (Broody in bed)
It was stupid o'clock in the morning of his birthday and Caleb was wide awake. Which was frustrating; the time wouldn't be for something like seventeen hours or more, yet, and he couldn't go back to sleep.

Which was a problem for a guy tangled up in bed with his boyfriend and two girlfriends - who were all sleeping, and with good reason. The three of them had jobs that they needed to be operational for in a few hours; somebody tossing and turning and waking them up at four? Much as they loved him, they didn't need that.

So he set to disengaging himself, slowly shifting his weight away from Dee, slipping his foot from under Irene's shin. Kissing Pogue's shoulder and lightly raising his arm to move out from under it, then sitting up and rising out of the bed with as little disturbance as he could manage. There was a glitter between eyelids here and there, shifting and stirring, but he murmured a reassurance, and that worked.

He slipped on sweats and a T and a jacket, and set out, in the pre-dawn (much pre-dawn) drizzle to walk some of the restlessness out.

It wasn't anticipation - or anxiety - that he'd once greeted his birthdays with. It wasn't dread, either, though. It was just memory of a day loaded with way too much. Too many memories, too many events, not enough of them good to balance out the miserable ones.

Although, truth be told, when he stopped to think of it - there had been only one miserable one, full of loss and pain and anger and Power and fire and rain, and one... questionable. Some that were cast over by the gloom of other events, but there had always been people who'd cheered him, made things easy and bright and wonderful, even if for small parts of the day. And considering how the last... oh. Eight months almost had been? He suspected today would be even more like a normal person's birthday. No, a happy person's birthday.

That was... very surprising, actually.

But instead of confusing, that thought brought a smile to his face. And while he knew he still couldn't sleep, all of a sudden he was missing the warm way in which their bodies had been tangled up so briefly ago. He didn't need Pogue or Dee to tell him that it was a good thing, on a walk in the chill early-fall rain that could easily have gone to brooding.

It was anticipatory instead, and he wasn't sure when exactly the last time when he'd felt that on the morning of this day had been.

His eyes had gotten accustomed enough to the faint light enough that a blotch of color, surprising this late in the season, made his smile widen.

When he returned to the house, he snuck back into the bedroom, hovering over the pillow end only briefly.

"Coming back to bed?"

He smiled down at the sleepy, quiet words. "No... too awake now."

"And too wet." Amusement leaked into the slurry words.

"And that. Try to get some more sleep, hmm?"

"Mm-hmm." Slight rustle of the sheets, a faint beat of silence... then, even quieter, "'py birthday, Caleb."

He ducked his head, and now the smile just didn't leave his face as he curled up in an armchair with a paperback that Reid had coaxed him into attempting to read.

Breakfast was best when fresh, anyway; he had some ideas about that already.
theirgoldenboy: (Dee: Formal)
This was taking longer than it should have. Longer than they'd expected; they really had not meant to be both away by now.

Caleb was... )
theirgoldenboy: (Oh yeah? smile)
Caleb watched snow melt from Pogue and the slender girl sitting practically in his arms by the fireplace, watched them shift closer together unselfconsciously, and smiled at the heat on his friend's cheeks that he suspected was not entirely caused by the proximity of the open flames.

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Caleb Danvers

July 2011

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