[Closed] Happy Birthday to Me (Charlie)

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Intas 21, 2720

Baz's flat, late evening.

He was somehow not surprised when Charlie admitted this wasn’t odd for him. He didn’t think it would have been. Not to disparage the man’s character, but he had clearly done this before. Luckily, Baz mostly remembered where the rum was. It was somewhere in the vicinity of his workbench, he was pretty sure. It took a bit of rummaging and rifling around, but he eventually found the bottle in one of the drawers. A bit more digging turned up a clean pair of mismatched glasses. He unscrewed the top of the bottle as Charlie wandered his way over to the wash basin.

Baz blushed a bit, as Charlie noted the drawings on the wall. They were old ones, from last year. Studies he had done of migratory birds before they had left for warmer climates. He had more in a notebook that sat in his bedside drawer, newer ones that — in his opinion — showed marked improvement, but the ones on the wall were his particular favourite species. One of them was a robin, and the other a barn swallow. He intended to revise them once the birds began to make their way back as the weather warmed, but for now, what was there would do.

“I love birds,” he explained, pouring them each a glass of rum, “I find them fascinating. I think that we — as engineers — can learn a great deal from studying them and how they fly. Birds don’t need complex spells or balloons of volatile gas to take flight. They only need their wings and their own power. It might sound silly but I think that observing and studying them could revolutionize air travel as we know it.”

He made his way over, standing behind Charlie and reaching over his shoulder to offer him a glass. This was, perhaps, the closest they had been all night. As Charlie mentioned his pet, Baz smiled.

“A whice, hm?” he repeated. “What breed? I’ve sometimes thought of getting a pet bird myself, but I don’t think I’d have the heart to keep it in a cage. I’ll settle for watching the wild ones.”

[Charlie Ewing]

Intas 21, 2720 - Late Evening
Baz's Flat, Old Rose Harbor

Not just interest, but loved birds. Gracious clocking lady, it was like looking in a funhouse mirror. There was something so absolutely sweet about a love of birds so sincere it drove one to put drawings of them up on one's wall. No matter how amateurish. Even that was petering on the adorable; it was a good thing Charlie liked Baz's face very much, as he gave the strong impression of someone who got attached. Normally Charlie avoided that as much as possible.

He listened with only partially feigned politeness as Baz nattered on about the lessons to be learned in the study of birds. Charlie wasn't particularly interested in them as a category of animal, it had to be said. He was very fond of Tippy, Alioe only knew why, but he had acquired her rather by coincidence and not out of great interest in avian husbandry.

A glass had appeared somewhere from over Charlie's shoulder; the promised rum. Charlie knocked some of it back and felt instantly warmer. Baz's solid presence somewhere at his back didn't hurt much, either. Although they were still, somehow, discussing birds. He didn't even really know whice had breeds--weren't they all just, well, whice?

Charlie turned around without increasing the distance between them at all. "Breed? Whice, I think. Blue and green?" Charlie offered helpfully. "I don't think Tippy would survive long in the wild. Although she tends to have full run of the place as long as I'm home."

That was quite enough bird talk, he thought. Charlie tilted his head up and slightly to the side, an only mildly drink-soft smile on his face. It was a good angle for his face (there were no bad angles, of course). All blue eyes and dark eyelashes and sharp, delicate planes in his face. Thank you, Hoxian grandmother.

"I would be very surprised if you wanted me to come back with you talk about birds, though." Charlie's smile focused then, and it was wicked, pure and simple. He placed a hand against Baz's chest and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Intas 21. 2720

Baz's flat, late evening.

"Perhaps—”

Baz had been about to offer several suggestions as to what breed of whice Charlie’s may be, but the words seemed to die on his lips the moment Charlie turned to face him. The light of the phosphor lamp playing across his face highlighted his features in such a dramatic way. Alioe, he was pretty. His hand came up to rest on Baz’s chest, and his soft smile turned wicked. Pretty and, just maybe, Baz thought, a little dangerous. Like an osta playing with it’s food. He hadn’t invited Charlie back to his flat to talk about birds, had he?

No, he supposed he hadn’t. He brought one hand up to brush the backs of his fingers across Charlie’s cheek, following the line of his cheekbone and brushing a bit of his awry dark hair behind his ear. His other hand still held the glass of rum he had poured for himself, mostly forgotten now. There were other things more worth talking about than birds.

“You’re beautiful,” Baz said softly, his hand coming to rest on the crook of Charlie’s neck.

His coat was damp from the melted snow, sparking a realization in Baz that he still hadn’t lit a fire. It was cold in his flat. The building was old, and there was a draft that came in through the windows. Rather uncomfortable, he thought, especially when things were trending the way they were.

“I should get the stove going...” he mumbled, though something in his voice made it clear that he didn’t really want to leave Charlie’s vicinity in all that much of a hurry.

[Charlie Ewing]

Intas 21, 2720 - Late Evening
Baz's Flat, Old Rose Harbor

No more bird talk, at last. Good. That had felt rather dangerously like bonding, and that was not what Charlie was here for.

Jaded coquet Charlie Ewing might be, but he was not immune to the flutter in his pulse when Baz brushed the back of his hand along Charlie's cheek. Clocking hell, he did like looking at Baz Morgenstern's face. The rest of him, Charlie could only assume, was equally as good. Now that they'd stopped talking about much less interesting things, he really hoped to find out as soon as possible. Despite himself, Charlie's pale face warmed a little. Just the rum; he'd knocked back quite a bit of it at once. Charlie kept smiling.

"And you're not too bad yourself," he said with a voice that was almost a purr. Charlie tilted his head closer and started to slide his hand down when the stove was mentioned. Ah, yes, that.

Oh, that reluctance at the mention of the stove was delightful though. Charlie didn't really want him to deal with it either, truthfully. Except for how it was, in fact, quite cold. The building was very clearly not new, and Charlie still had his coat on because it hadn't felt smart to take it off. It was getting a little soggy. Soggy was not the best adjective for moments like this, so he would rather like to hang it up somewhere. Even if that meant being even more patient. He could be patient, he really could. He was a man of many talents.

"You should, or else I have to keep this coat on." Charlie leaned against the edge of the wash basin, more than a little flushed now. "Which does tend to make the whole affair a little more difficult. Unless," he added with a teasing edge to his voice and smile, "that's your thing. In which case, I suppose there is a first time for everything..."

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Intas 21, 2720

Baz's flat, late evening.

Goddess, the purr in Charlie’s voice made it even more difficult to tear himself away. But Charlie was right. The coats would only get in the way. Baz gave a snort of laughter at Charlie’s suggestion of that being ‘his thing’. Maybe if they were pressed for time, but as far as he knew they had the whole night. He leaned close and rested his forehead against Charlie’s for a moment, working up the will to leave him. He sighed and pulled away, his hand lingering on Charlie’s neck briefly before he moved out of reach.

“It’ll only take a minute,” he said, more to convince himself than Charlie.

He set his glass on the workbench as he passed, then unbuttoned his coat and pulled it off. He laid it over the back of the sofa, rolled up his sleeves and knelt down, setting to work building a fire. He’d gotten rather good at it since moving here. He briefly considered casting, just to make the process faster, but decided against it. Matches worked just as well. He struck one and lit the kindling, and shortly had a happy fire roaring away in the grate. He closed the door of the stove, dusted off his hands, and got to his feet once more. The heat spread quickly through the room, making it much more comfortable. He held out his hands to warm them. It was easy to see in the light offered by the stove and the phosphor that it wasn’t just his face that was freckled; little constellations were scattered all up his hands and forearms, and likely beyond as well. He looked to Charlie.

“Now, about that coat…” he said, with a slightly wicked smile of his own.

[Charlie Ewing]

Intas 21, 2720 - Late Evening
Baz's Flat, Old Rose Harbor

Charlie came excruciatingly near to saying forget the stove--there were other ways to keep warm. The laughter had been rewarding, and so had the sigh and the lingering touch of Baz's hand. It was all very charming, very nearly enough to make him forget that he was still wearing his clocking damp coat. But only very nearly, and he had moved away in any case.

"I'm not going anywhere," Charlie said with an amused lift of his eyebrows. At least, not right now. Charlie crossed his arms and took another sip from his glass, slower and smaller than his first. He didn't move from his place at the basin, mostly because he didn't really know where else to go with his coat on.

Charlie wondered if Baz would start it with a match or if he would try to cast. He had been trying to figure out just what type Baz was all night. If he were very serious, Charlie thought, casting was unlikely. Or if he simply wasn't any good, but Charlie had been standing close enough to know that wasn't the case. That was Charlie's primary motivation for not using magic instead of matches, but he was something of a special case. Charlie hadn't quite worked out what he thought magic would have meant; he was a little bit (very) drunk still. Hard to keep track of such abstract ideas for more than a minute or so.

At any rate, it didn't matter because the question was answered and the answer was matches. It really had taken almost no time at all to get the fire going in the stove, and for heat to fill the rather small room. Between the stove and the phosphor and the sort of attractively masculine sleeve-rolling-up, Charlie could now observe that it wasn't just Baz's handsome face that was coated in freckles. They started somewhere on the back of his hands and disappeared under the roll of his shirtsleeves. Charlie was very keenly interested to find out just where they managed to stop. Charlie was very fond of freckles, which was both a blessing and a curse in a country like Anaxas.

"Coat? Oh, yes. Right. This." Well wasn't that hideously embarrassing. He'd gotten so distracted thinking about freckle configurations he'd forgotten all about his extremely damp coat. The warmth of the room actually made the thing even more unpleasant to have on than it had been before. Charlie was only too happy to take it off, only to find he hadn't the faintest idea where to put it.

"I have to confess I am slightly relieved to not discover that the coat would be a thing. You are very attractive and I would have humored you, but it isn't something I think I could share." Oh, Alioe's tits, what was he even saying? He was very drunk. Just absolutely ridiculously so. It was making him chatty, but also stupid. These were not ideal qualities to combine together at this current moment in time. Charlie kept smiling like he hadn't said something incredibly thick-witted and held up the damp coat questioningly.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Intas 21, 2720

Baz's flat, late evening.

Baz’s smile only grew as he caught Charlie staring at him again. Another point, him. He did like catching Charlie out, and was especially pleased to see that he had entirely forgotten what it was he had been doing. He laughed once more as Charlie went on to say that he thought that Baz was very attractive, and that he would have humoured him, but was still very glad coats hadn’t been his thing.

“How kind,” he said, jokingly, “but fear not, I can safely say that woolen outerwear doesn’t do much for me at all, aside from the fact that I do appreciate some fine craftsmanship. But really, who doesn’t?”

As Charlie stood there holding his coat, Baz gestured to the sofa, upon the back of which his own was still draped. “You can just lay it next to mine. That way the heat will dry them out a bit faster.”

He moved back over to the workbench to retrieve his glass of rum, glancing out the window into what was visible of the blizzard for a moment. It seemed to be getting worse, and he was glad they had left the pub when they had. If they had lingered longer, they would have gotten caught up in even more snow. He took a drink, then set the glass back down, before turning his attention to Charlie once more.

“Where were we?” he asked, making his way over to him and placing his hands on Charlie’s hips. “Now that we’re warm and dry and free of damp overcoats.”

[Charlie Ewing]

Intas 21, 2720 - Late Evening
Baz's Flat, Old Rose Harbor

"I am nothing if not magnanimous," Charlie agreed as Baz laughed and reassured Charlie that he did not in fact have some kind of wool-based paraphilia. Finally, he knew where to put his godsdamned coat. Charlie crossed the room to drape it over the back of the sofa, spreading it out just a little fussily. In his defense, it would dry faster that way, and he didn't know how long he'd be here. Sometimes things were disappointing that way.

The snow was really starting to come down; Charlie wasn't looking forward to the journey back to his own flat. Not that he had to hurry back in particular; the best thing about the care and keeping of whice, Charlie thought, was how little care and/or keeping they actually needed. She had already been fed for the week. Still. He grimaced at the window before he turned his attention back to the present moment. Snow was a problem for future Charlie. Right now he was indoors, there was a fire, he had rum, and the potential for a very good evening still in front of him.

Ah, but Charlie did like a man of action. He had been a little worried there would be a lot of talking involved. They had already discussed Tippy, after all. What was next--asking him about his work, his interests? The idea made his skin crawl just a little. Luckily, he seemed safe from the terrors of light conversation; Baz came back and put his hands on Charlie's hips. He hummed like he was trying to remember.

"Well, I think we were discussing breeds of bird. Oh, no--" Charlie looked up and his head swam a little, but he smiled again anyway. "I remember." Charlie's glass was still in his hand when he reached up to wrap his arms around Baz's neck to draw him more to Charlie's level. Only a little bit of the rum sloshed out of the glass and onto the floor as Charlie moved in to kiss him. The motion might have been a little hasty, but that was only because honestly he was starting to get just a little impatient, okay? Just a little.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Intas 21, 2720

Baz's flat, late evening.

Baz gave a soft chuckle as Charlie mentioned birds again. Any other time, he would have been happy to chat all about them, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Baz was more than happy to allow himself to be pulled down to Charlie’s level, closing the distance between them and meeting his lips in a kiss. If the movement was rushed or sloppy, Baz didn’t seem to mind. He hooked one arm around Charlie’s waist, pulling him closer, while his other hand reached up and gently took the glass from his hand, lest rum be spilled on more than just the floor. He pulled back after a moment, looking down at Charlie and smiling warmly.

“Right,” he said, “Of course. I remember now.”

He pulled away only briefly to set the glass he had taken from Charlie down safely on a side table before returning to him. There had been enough talking and distractions. Having rum spilled down his back was one more that he’d like to avoid, even though he really didn’t think either of them would be wearing shirts for much longer. Or much else, for that matter. He brushed his hand along Charlie’s cheek once more before pulling him into another kiss, this one a bit deeper and heavier than the last.

[Charlie Ewing]

Intas 21, 2720 - Evening
Baz's Flat, Old Rose Harbor

Kissing was nice. Someone he was sleeping with once had expressed surprise that Charlie felt that way, like he was some prostitute in a cheap novel waiting for her true love. Charlie had asked if the person in question really thought his kisses were so good that Charlie would make himself sick longing for them. They hadn't slept together since, and every time the man saw him now he felt compelled to make some kind of rude gesture. Some people, Charlie thought, just got too attached.

That was not a problem Charlie had, and kissing was nice, so he was happy to do it. That Baz pulled him in by the waist when their mouths met was even better. He let the other man take the drink out of his hand and set it Alioe only knew where. Charlie quite honestly did not give a fuck. Other than the doing so made him pull away briefly, which was irritating but necessary. Not even Charlie thought rum was quite as appealing when it was poured all over fabric.

When Baz came back Charlie was rewarded for his extremely mild patience with a deeper kiss than before. It was very difficult for Charlie not to act like a greedy little thing. So, he didn't bother. Charlie arched up against Baz like a cat, moving his mouth to that square jaw and working his way down. One hand came to Baz's hip, attempting to pull his shirt up and slide up underneath the hem.

"I," he said into the warm skin of Baz's neck, "am going to make sure this is a birthday to remember." That was a Charlie Ewing guarantee.