slipshot | IC INBOX for FADE RIFT

Toeing off his loosened boots, Maxwell wriggled playfully - both to tease and to get more comfortable as Gavin shifted around him.

"Well it's traditional, isn't it? --Or traditionally for us, anyway. Humans." He amended, realizing he didn't actually know how the Dalish celebrated birthdays. "Cake for your birthday."

His head cocked to one side, looking back at Gavin.

"Is it different for the Dalish?"

"Birthday?" He asked, as if this was the first he'd heard about it, his ears pricking up and his head cocking slightly to the side.

"It's your birthday? Well then yes! We should have cake! We don't usually have cake exactly, but presents -- oh no, I didn't get you a present--"

"No, no!" Gavin's face wrinkled in thought and concern, and Maxwell rolled onto his belly, so he could face him. Reaching out he slipped his arms around him, wrapping the elf up in turn. "Well... not yet. It's a few weeks yet. Not that it means you need to get me anything, because you don't."

Though was a pause.

"I mean, there is something I would like, but it's not like that."

"Oh." He relaxed, somewhat, though he was a little confused, now.

"Of course I will get you something, Maxwell. But what is it that you want?"

He pulled back slightly, considering how to word it, his brow furrowing thoughtfully.

"It's... my first birthday away. From home, from my family. It feels like my first birthday, in a way. The first one that's really mine, anyway. I get to choose what I want to do, who I spend it with... I'd like to be you, if you can, and my other friends, too."

The slightly confused look shifted into a warm, fond smile, and he lay back to gaze up at Maxwell.

"Of course we should celebrate. Even if it wasn't your birthday, but especially when it is. Who would you like to come?"

He started to speak, drawing a breath... but then he laughed, and flopped to lay again.

"I'll make a list." He grinned. "But you still haven't given your thoughts on cake. Other than 'all.'"

"You are asking me to choose between favourite children. That's hardly fair." But he is grinning, and wiggles closer to him.

"I like the ones that have nuts in them, I suppose. And the ones that have more icing than cake. But it's your birthday, Maxwell. We should be eating whatever is your favourite."

"Icing," he agreed, smiling over Gavin's hip, his eyebrows jumping, "is very important."

Teasing, he nipped where cloth met flesh.

"The truth is, I've never picked my own cake either. Now, when I started thinking about it... well, there's a lot of options. So I'm open to recommendations."

Gavin laughed, and reached to ruffle Maxwell's hair fondly. It was perhaps not as full a laugh as it would have been, a year ago. But it was a laugh.

"If we were still in Orlais, I would say we should go to the Bakery and taste a bite of every single one. But alas, I fear your fate may be in the hands of the cook."

It was different. And he knew it was different. And it still hurt him to see it, to hear it - that shadow, that pause.

But, he knew just as well that there was nothing he could for it, other than to be there.

So he let himself be disheveled, and then playfully made a show of preening.

"Oh, she's not so bad. So long as you always keep your hands where she can see them, and pay upfront."

"If she asks to see my hands, it is because she is planning to smack them with a rolling pin." He gave a lopsided smile.

"You might be able to charm more icing out of her, but she'll still need to use what supplies we have."

"True." Giving up the ruse, he thought about it for a moment, running his palm over his hair idly. "...Perhaps something else then. Cookies? Petite fours?"

Maybe he hadn't really given his parents the credit they'd deserved. There was effort in the planning, if nothing else.

"I say we spend the time between buttering up the cook and seeing what she suggests. She would know far better than the rest of us, what she can make do with." He paused, and then grinned.

"Though maybe you should be the one to do the buttering up. You are very handsome."

"Or you should," Maxwell replied without missing a beat. "I can't tell the stories the way you do."

Or even had the stories, really. Whether they were true or not, Gavin made them real.

"I'd just open a tab at the Herald's Rest and be done with it, but I've seen how some people drink," Maxwell laughed lightly.

"You'd be paying it off for years," He agreed, wrapping an arm around Maxwell's waist.

"Mm, I guess we should think on it for a while. I can ask around, maybe. We should be throwing you the party, after all."

"Long after the Inquisition was gone, here I'd still be - washing dishes to pay my debt," he chuckled, unresistant as Gavin wound about him, even turning into the embrace and nuzzling against the elf's collarbone. "All pruned for my trouble. The horror."

Gavin chuckled, tilting his head to be able to smell Maxwell's hair. Look, it smelled good, okay?

"Definitely throwing you the party, then. I am not sure it would be easy to sleep with a prune..."

There was a deep laugh, and then another playful nip.

"And in thirty years when I'm a prune anyway?"

"Then I will be a prune, and our wrinkles will fit together nicely," He teased back, squeezing his side.

He wet his lips and the smile grew.

"Stop worrying about wrinkles and give me a kiss."

His head lifted, smiling warmly down at Gavin. His eyes glinting happily as he reached with one hand to gently touch his cheek.

"Good."

Finger sliding up into the copper silk of Gavin's hair, he leaned to touch his lips to the elf's. Light, almost chaste, playful, before melting into the heat of it.

Absolutely perfect.

IC INBOX for FADE RIFT

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