AN: Just a cute little oneshot. All rights to BBC.
Please read and review.
GB xox
Happy Birthday
She hears the floorboards creaking above her and she drops the lighter, flies towards the stairs, slippers drifting across the tiled floor as she swings her self around the base of the stairs.
"Wait! Don't come down here!"
Charles freezes on the top step of the grand staircase, eyes wide as Molly charges for him, arms splayed wide to block his path, taking two steps at a time.
"Go back to bed," she orders when she reaches the step below him, shoves his bare chest gently.
"Molly, what's going on?" Charles asks, brow furrowing as he tries to see past the bobbing woman before him, assess the situation. All seems clear. "Is everything okay?"
"It's fine," she nods frantically, pushing against solid muscle, again. "Just go back."
"Okay," he nods slowly, the word drawn out, watches her as if he's waiting for her to explode, as if he thinks the realities of the past two tours in Afghanistan have finally hit home, as if she's having some sort of mental breakdown. He takes a slow step back onto the landing, retreating as instructed, as Molly makes a shooing gesture with her hands.
"Go," she orders, hops up the three steps to the landing, physically grabs hold of James' arms and turns him herself, before giving one, final, firm shove towards his – their – bedroom.
"Okay, okay, I'm going," he says, hands raised in surrender as he cautiously heads back for the room, throwing the occasional worried glance over his shoulder. Molly waits until he's disappeared down the hall and into their bedroom before turning on her heel and hurrying back down the stairs, passes the grand living room and spacious dining room on her way to the large, white kitchen. She picks the lighter up from the floor, drops it on the tray she'd spent an hour preparing, before leaving the kitchen with it; the mess can wait.
"Are you back in bed?" she yells from the foot of the stairs, heavy tray balancing in her small hands, only proceeds to climb the steps when she hears him yell back, slightly exasperated,
"Yes, Dawes!"
"Okay, close your eyes," she issues another order as she reaches the hallway, carefully placing one foot in front of the other, her shoulders tense and back straight as she tries not to spill anything or drop something, or trip over, or anything else that could ruin this perfectly thought out plan.
"What's going on, Molly?" His voice, still tense with puzzlement gets louder as she closes in on him, and she stops, just short of the doorway, out of sight.
"Are they closed?"
"Yeah, they're closed," he sighs, like he doesn't want to play along, but he does anyway.
"Okay," she peeps around the frame, just to double check, before stepping over the threshold and waiting. "Open!" she commands from her spot in the doorway. He does as she says, slowly peels back his lids, finds her eyes instantly, before he trails his gaze down to her wide, toothy grin, and then down to the tray in her hands. "Happy Birthday!"
"Oh, Mols," he groans, tossing the sheets back so he can swing his legs out of bed.
"Oh no you don't!" Molly snaps, covering the distance between them in three, long strides, places the tray on the night stand, makes sure the weight is balanced perfectly to avoid any unwanted spillages, before she pushes Charles back against the plump pillows, slides her feet out of her fluffy slipper, moves on top and straddles him, thighs squeezing to make sure he can't escape.
"Dawes -"
"Shh," she hushes, before leaning over and grabbing the plate of pancakes from the tray. Charles rolls his eyes at the mound of fried batter smothered in whipped cream and chocolate sauce, topped with sprinkles and - at least – fresh raspberries. "Hold," she orders, and he does as he's instructed, takes the plate from her grasp, lets her be in charge for once. She leans back to the tray, grabs a lone, silver candle and the lighter she'd previously dropped. "Okay," she shifts on his lap, takes the plate back from him, sticks the candle on the top of the stack, and grins mischievously before clicking the button on the lighter, and holding the flame to the candle's wick.
"Woah," he jumps as the candle erupts into a dance of flying sparks; his very own personal firework display. He looks up into the wide, eager eyes, proud of herself for pulling this whole thing off.
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday to Charrrrrles, happy birthday to you," she grins, edging the plate closer, the sparks warmth heating his face. "Make a wish."
"Dawes, I don't -"
"I said make a wish," she insists, shoving the plate even closer, makes him lean back to avoid getting any hairs singed. He watches her, face glowing with enthusiasm, her West Ham shirt drowning her body, brown hair loose around her shoulders, eyes bright.
"Fine," he gives in before taking in a deep breath.
"Wait," she stops him before he can release the lungful of air. "You have to close your eyes, or it wont come true." She looks at him, as if he should just know this, like it's something she does every day of her life, like it's some written law. "Hurry, before the candle burns out." He humours her, does as he's told, closes his eyes and pictures Molly at home, surrounded by her family and friends as they bring her cake, signing and laughing, the promise of living forever in their eyes even as another year passes. He smiles, takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and blows, watches as the sparks disappear in a puff of air, only to reignite again.
"Got ya!" Molly laughs, light and airy, face crinkling softly as she licks her forefinger and thumb, pinches the wick to extinguish the candle properly. Charles can't help but laugh with her, decides she's contagious, and he doesn't mind being infected. She tears her gaze from his, the admiration in his eyes enough to warm her cheeks, indicates to the tray. "I made you some sausage, bacon and eggs, and a mug of your favourite coffee – took me half hour how to suss out that machine you got. But birthday pancakes first."
"Look, thanks Dawes, but I don't eat -"
"You do today," she interrupts, eyes locking back onto his. "It's a family tradition." Charles smiles at that, something deep inside stirring, wonders if she'd inadvertently classed him as part of the family, if it was a slip of the tongue. He wont pull her up on it, though, will lock it away, somewhere safe. "Here, try some," she insists, drags her fingers through the cream and chocolate sauce, gathering a fair amount on her skin and holding up to his lips. "You'll love it."
He smirks at the invitation before he parts his lips, takes her finger into his mouth, gently sucks the cream from her skin, tongue sliding against her finger, watches as she bites her lip, her eyes darkening with desire.
"See?" she breathes when he finally releases her, her heart hammering as adrenaline pumps through her veins.
"I do," he nods, eyes sliding back to the tray of food. "If all of this is for me, what are you going to have?"
"I'll share your pancakes, d'uh," Molly rolls her eyes, as if it's that obvious, and Charles laughs, because he knows she knows he isn't going to eat them, that the sugary diet is more her thing than his. She leans across him, pushes the plate back on the tray, before straightening up, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning in for their first kiss of the day. She soft lips are gentle against his as she tangles her fingers in his hair, arches into his body so their chests brush. He wraps his hands around her waists, pulls her into him as he deepens the kiss, tongue flicking across her lip, requesting access, but she pulls back - too soon for Charles' liking. Hell, after a kiss like that, he'd hand over the whole damned tray.
"So, 'fess up. Who told you?" Charles asks, his voice gritty with desire, as he plays with the hem of her shirt, fingers brushing against the thighs, leaving trails of goosebumps at his touch. "Mum? Dad?" Molly laughs at that, shakes her head.
"Smurf." She feels him still below her at the sound of his name, his eyes searching hers, waits for the sorrow and grief to pass over her face, but it doesn't. "He told me on our tour together," she elaborates, reaches up to smooth the worry lines on his forehead, offers a reassuring smile – a promise that she isn't about to breakdown.
"And you remembered." It's not a question, more a statement of surprise, his eyes widening for only a quick second, before they smoulder again - with lust or love, Molly isn't sure.
"Of course I did, you Numpty," Molly grins, all teeth and dimples, before moving from his lap, flopping onto the bed beside him. "Now shut your hole and dig in, before it all goes cold. Took me an age to prepare all that."
Charles shifts onto his side, leans down and presses his lip, firmly, against Molly's; rough stubble against baby soft skin, tongues clashing as she grips his shoulders, pulls him closer, wraps her legs around him as he moves between them. They break apart for breath, his hand sliding up her thigh, under her shirt, his lips brushing against hers as he whispers,
"Thank you, Dawes."
"Any time, Captain," she breathes back, arches her body into him before their lips meet again, breakfast forgotten.
