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Birthday Wishes	By : Yakkorat Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 2199 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Orlando Bloom. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Birthday Wishes
- 1
Birthday Wishes
Friday, November 12, 2004
It was a typical day for Rachel, despite the fact that it was her birthday. Her beautiful dog, Landon, was groomed to perfection for a show the next morning. And Sunday she and her horse, Ginger, would be competing for another set of blue ribbons. Sure, it was her birthday, but she was a busy girl. So it was off to the barn for a quick ride if the courses had dried off enough from the morning rain, and then home to bed for some serious shuteye.
Besides, it wasn’t like she hadn’t celebrated her birthday. Mel had brought her a cake at lunch, and Rusty had surreptitiously hidden a wrapped gift - a beautiful flogger with lashes so soft that touching them made her skin tingle - in her bookbag while she was blowing out her candles. There was a promised shopping spree with JC the next weekend, and her mom had put together a birthday dinner for late that night, after she’d had her ride. All in all, it had been a great birthday, though there was one friend she hadn’t heard from.
Not like Julie-Rae to forget my birthday, she thought. Maybe I should call her and see if she’s okay.
But then she was at the barn and heading towards her horse and the opportunity was gone. Later, she promised herself, when I’m on my way home.
“Hey, Christine,” she said, waving to a friend on her way out to the pasture.
“Rachel,” Christine called, “hang on a minute.” The woman jogged up to her. “I got most of the horses back out into the pasture, but Ginger and a couple of others are still in their stalls. Sorry about that. Things got kind of crazy. Also, speaking of crazy, there are a couple of weird guys out by Ginger’s stall waiting for you.”
“For me?” Rachel’s brow furrowed, and a tingle of uneasiness slipped down her back. Christine nodded, and Rachel started to move towards her end of the barn. She didn’t exactly relish the thought of facing off against ‘weird guys,’ but she sure as hell wasn’t going to leave them loitering around Ginger. No one, but no one, would hurt that horse while she was around.
With the silent steps that come from years of martial arts training, Rachel crept closer to Ginger’s stall. Sure enough, as she neared her horse she could just make out two figures in the shadows, hunched together and talking quietly.
“Hey,” she called, falling automatically into a defensive stance, “get away from my horse!”
The two men looked up abruptly. Rachel knew her form was perfect, that she looked lithe and lean, compact and even feline: a cat ready to pounce if either of them made a sudden move towards her or the animal she loved.
“You must be Rachel,” the slimmer of the two said.
God, there was something familiar about that voice. Coupled with that silhouette, it could almost be…
No way. Not possible. Absolutely not.
“Come into the light,” she demanded, her voice low and even.
Slowly, the two men stepped out of the darkness. Oh shit! Oh shit shit shit! This was just not happening. Her hands fell to her sides, and she drew her knees together to keep them from buckling. Nope. Impossible. She was NOT standing in front of Ginger’s stall and staring open-mouthed at Orlando Bloom and Viggo Mortensen. What on earth were they… Why would they be… And wait a minute! They had said her name!
Snapping her gaping mouth shut, Rachel struggled for a sentence that didn’t begin with ‘oh my God.’
“Oh my God…” Well, there goes that idea. “You… Oh, God. You’re not here to sue me, are you?”
“Sue you?” Orlando chuckled. God, this is Orlando Bloom. ORLANDO BLOOM! “For what?”
Rachel blurted out the answer before she could stop herself. “The stories. About you guys.”
At that, Viggo let out a deep-bellied laugh that set the light dancing in his eyes. Orlando was likewise sniggering, and Rachel fought the urge to cross her arms petulantly. “What?”
“Remind me, Viggo. Which one did she write?”
“The one with the cancer.”
“Oh,” he said, sobering. “That one was very poignant.”
Rachel’s mouth dropped open again. “Wait a minute. You’ve read my stories?”
“You’d be amazed how much more creative our relationship has become since we started reading what other people think we’re already doing.”
“So you are a couple?”
Viggo turned a tiny smile on his partner. “Well, not to the public. At least not yet.”
“But that hasn’t stopped you lot from figuring it out, now has it?” Orlando smiled.
“Um, no. No, it hasn’t.” Rachel bit back a smile. “You can’t keep it a secret. Anyone with eyes can see the way you look at each other.”
Orlando smiled again. “Amusingly enough, that’s exactly what your friend said.”
“My friend?”
“You haven’t told her yet, Orli.” Viggo’s voice was chiding but indulgent, exactly the tone Rachel would have expected the older man to use on his British lover. A thrill swept down her spine as she realized again: this was Orlando Bloom and Viggo Mortensen. Aragorn and Legolas were standing outside her horse’s stall. God, she was having trouble wrapping her brain around all of this.
“I needed to distract Viggo after that God-awful election,” Orlando man explained. As if to punctuate how he felt about the election results, the older actor growled low in his throat. “I took him to Disneyworld. To be quite honest, I thought we looked perfectly inconspicuous, completely in disguise. But it didn’t get past this one strange girl at Epcot. In her defense, she was really nice about it. Didn’t call attention to us. Just kept saying how wonderful it was to see us out together--”
“And holding hands,” Viggo interjected.
“And holding hands,” Orlando continued as if there had been no interruption. “She cried about that. And she kept saying how much she wished her friend could be there to see it. She babbled on for a bit about how you never relax and you’re so busy all the time and that today was going to be your birthday and you were barely setting a minute aside for yourself. Well, she seemed to care so very much - and really, we so appreciate the silent support for our relationship, even though it’s not out there publicly yet - that I suggested we might drop by for a visit.”
“And so here we are.”
Rachel’s mind rushed to store all this away. Julie-Rae had sent them here. Julie-Rae’s inane babbling had led Orlando Bloom and Viggo Mortensen to her door.
“So owe her some serious gay porn,” she murmured distractedly.
Orlando laughed. “Something about us, perhaps? Go right ahead. See if it gives us any ideas. Though it needn’t be gay porn, strictly speaking. I mean really, who says we’re gay?”
“There have been men--”
“And women,” Orlando countered.
“And sometimes both together.”
Rachel heard a choked squeak and reddened to realize that it had come from her. Orlando and Viggo offered her a pair of broad grins, and then turned their attention to one another.
“But most of the time it’s just us,” Viggo said, smiling into his lover’s eyes.
“Two silly sods so in love with each other that it’s hard to breathe if the other isn't around.”
Their arms came up to encircle one another as if moving of their own volition, as if draped about the other's shoulders, they were precisely where they were meant to be. There was something profound in that embrace, something that spoke of belonging, of sanctuary, of coming home. And then the two men brought themselves closer still, and their lips met in a searing kiss.
Rachel knew that she should look away. It was a private, tender moment. But she was captivated by their simple passion, the gentleness with which they seemed to revere each other. In truth, she was absolutely certain that she had never seen anything so beautiful.
With a look of longing she couldn’t have contained even if she had known it was there, she watched as they broke from their kiss, their foreheads touching, their hands holding each other’s faces, their eyes only for one another. In that moment, they were the only two people in the whole world, and Rachel envied them more than she could ever find words to express.
Finally, the two handsome actors remembered their audience, and they moved back to look at her in one motion. God, they’re symmetrical. She smiled shyly at them, knowing that since they had only had eyes for one another, there was no way they could have seen her watching. But from the mischievous look Orlando shot her way, Rachel could tell that he knew anyway.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Orlando said, smirking slyly. “Did you want to join us?”
“Well, it is her birthday…” Viggo offered.
“And that young lady at Disney--what was her name?”
“Julie-Rae.”
“Julie-Rae did say something about way too much tension and not even relaxing on her birthday.”
Rachel felt her eyes widen. Were they…? Are they coming on to me? Oh my God. Rachel furrowed her brow, overwhelmed by the very idea. These men were consummate, respected, gorgeous actors. And the fact that it was these two celebrities in particular set her mind reeling. After all, they had been among the subjects of her fantasies since the first Lord of the Rings film had been released. And now they were here - I just can’t get over this! - and it seemed too much like a dream to be real.
But they were real, their fingers intertwined and their free hands reaching out for her.
“Do you want to? Join us?” Orlando leered and Viggo arched a single brow.
Already Rachel’s heart was beating wildly. Her knees were trembling, but she managed the few steps towards them and placed her fingers into their palms. Viggo pulled her close and tipped her head back to meet her lips with his own. He tasted of cinnamon, sweet and musky as the tip of his tongue flitted between her lips. Circling her slender arms around his neck, she opened to him, taking in the darting muscle and matching it, curling her own tongue around it.
While Rachel lost herself in Viggo’s kiss, Orlando latched onto her neck, mouthing at the area below her ear, drawing into the mouth and suckling intently. Then he grazed his teeth lightly over the newly sensitive spot until she mewled into Viggo’s mouth.
“My turn,” Orlando said, and slowly spun her to face him. He took hold of her hands and slipped them under his shirt.
The second her fingers touched the lithe muscles of his abdomen, Rachel felt a new thrill skim down her spine. God, he’s incredible. They’re both incredible. And then he was kissing her, and the ability to think at all became a distant memory.
Momentarily unoccupied, Viggo took the opportunity to peel the shirt from his body. He laid it on the floor to cover a pile of hay. “Orli,” he said gently.
Orlando took the cue and led Rachel back, pulling his own shirt over his head and toeing off his shoes as he did. Her eyes drank in his upper body and she bit her lip appreciatively. God, there was no part of him that wasn’t perfect. Orlando was nothing if not compact. Lean, spare, and strong, he captivated her senses, a perfect embodiment of inspiration. He dropped fluidly onto his elbows, landing on the shirt Viggo had laid out, and Rachel laughed.
“Now that had to be a Legolas move,” she said, kicking off her own shoes, “because you are not that graceful.”
“She knows you, love.”
“Both of you, sod off.” But he was smiling, and reaching again for Rachel. She gave him her hands and he pulled her down to her kneel over his thighs. Threading his fingers through her hair, he raised up to meet her in a kiss.
The hay beneath them pinched her knees even through her jeans, but she leaned forward, greedily drinking in Orlando’s lips. Viggo grabbed the bottom of her shirt and Rachel was forced to release his lover’s lips long enough for him to pull it up over her head. As soon as she was free, however, she bent back to her task, eager for more of the kisses she never dreamed she’d be allowed to give.
Viggo’s hands smoothed over her back, running up and down in hot, heavy trails that lingered long after his palms had sought new paths. His younger lover reached forward impatiently and unfastened Rachel’s jeans with deft adroitness. Returning the favor, Rachel sat up and fumbled with the zipper of Orlando’s jeans. She felt Viggo kneel behind her. While Orlando stroked up her arms, Viggo reached around to slip a hand into her pants and sink his finger into the hidden recess of her body. Rachel breathed in deeply and gave a quiet shudder. She arched against him, pressing her back to his chest. Turning her head, she captured Viggo’s lips and moaned when his tongue swept into her mouth.
While she was otherwise occupied, Orlando began to wriggle out of his jeans. Without breaking the kiss, Rachel lifted herself on strong legs, rising up enough for Orlando to slip his pants past his hips. With a smile, Viggo broke away from Rachel and rose to rid himself of his jeans as well. Avidly and with equal fascination, Rachel and Orlando watched. Viggo noticed their attention and grinned, swaying his hips in an impromptu striptease.
And then Viggo was naked and stepping back to his place behind Rachel. Before he could return to his knees, Orlando was sitting up, his left hand cupping Rachel’s buttocks through her jeans and his right sliding up Viggo’s bare leg and coming to rest on the firm swell of the artist's seat. He used his hold on Viggo to push the older man’s hips forward, and in one sure stroke, he swallowed his lover’s erection.
Rachel laid her forehead in the crux of Orlando’s neck, reveling in the sight, the soft suckling sound, the heady scent of sex. That has to be the hottest thing I have ever seen. Viggo took hold of her shoulders, steadying himself as his lover’s attentions threatened to buckle his knees. Pressed between Orlando’s muscled chest and Viggo’s near-trembling thighs, Rachel allowed her hands to play over the younger man’s back and up into the thick mane of his hair.
“Not yet,” Viggo whimpered. “Orli, not yet.”
With a final kiss to the engorged head, Orlando pulled away. Viggo moved his hands under Rachel’s arms and urged her to her feet. The weeping tip of his arousal left a moist trail up her back. Hooking his thumbs over the waistband of both jeans and panties, Orlando slipped Rachel’s jeans down over her hips. Bracing herself on his shoulders, she stepped out of them. The slim actor tossed her pants into the corner and took her hands. Pulling gently, he drew her back down to him, her bare knees brushing up against his thighs. When the velvet skin of his arousal slid between the silken lips of her nether region, Rachel couldn’t hold back a keening moan. Orlando’s hips rose to meet her, creating a delicious friction that made stars explode behind her eyes.
The fading light streamed in through the cracks in the wooden barn walls, bathing the man beneath her in a soft orange glow. It gleamed over the glaze of moisture on his skin and wove through his hair, seeming to flicker like firelight when he moved. For a moment, all she could manage to do was stare. She was struck again by his beauty, the sheer and utter magnificence that drove men to desperation and women to tears. In fact, she was so caught up in contemplation that she missed completely the impish look that passed between the two men.
Without warning, Orlando rolled them over so that Rachel was lying on her back on the second t-shirt - his t-shirt, which Viggo had apparently managed to lay out in the few seconds since Orlando had released him.
Orlando locked gazes with Rachel, holding her eyes as he kissed a tantalizing line between her breasts and down her stomach. Each point of contact buzzed under the barest hint of his lips and he brushed them over her skin until her whole body quivered. Stopping finally to press his face into the nest of dark curls, an act which caused her to breath to flutter in her chest, Orlando inhaled deeply and sighed.
“Women smell different,” he said simply, by way of explanation, and then brought his thumbs to spread her open.
With fingers and tongue, and even teeth nibbling on the hardening nub of her clitoris, he prepared her, raising her arousal until she could scarcely bear it, until even the feel of Viggo’s sandy hair tickling her breasts, even the tiniest breeze when Orlando exhaled, set her nerves on fire.
Rachel fought to keep herself still, to keep the fist she held around Viggo’s impressive length moving in a steady cadence, but what Orlando was doing was too distracting. Still, Viggo didn’t seem to mind, suckling happily at one breast while a callused hand massaged the other.
When Orlando reached out of Rachel’s line of sight, presumably for a condom, his whole body elongated. The motion made the sleek muscles in his flanks bunch and pull like the stretch of a jungle cat. My God, he’s too beautiful to be human.
Sighing regretfully, Viggo removed himself from Rachel’s grip. She whimpered at the loss of contact, even as she watched the younger man don the contraceptive that was a promise of delectable things to come.
“Shh,” Viggo said, lacing his fingers through hers. “Let me watch you.”
The words sent a rush of warmth straight to her groin, and the plaintive whimper became a lust-dazed groan.
As Orlando positioned himself and began to press inside, Viggo squeezed her hand supportively and, making sure she could see it from her place beneath his lover, sustained his erection with long, easy strokes.
Orlando entered her carefully, breaching her maidenhood with so little pain that Rachel didn’t even think they’d guess she had never done this before. She felt her body yield to Orlando's, felt it welcome him inside, felt him pause for a moment and then begin to thrust, and she smiled happily. When friends in college asked her how she lost her virginity, no one would ever believe the truth.
Seeing her smile, Orlando wrapped his arms around her shoulders, gave Viggo a look, and then rolled them again, putting Rachel back where she had started: straddling his hips with room for Viggo behind her. As soon as they had reclaimed the position, Viggo was flush against her back, the fullness of him snug in her cleft as he moved with them, rubbing against her.
Orlando reached past Rachel to run his hand down Viggo’s chest and bring it to rest on his hip. The poet ran appreciative fingers down the proffered arm and held his balance with a grip around Rachel’s body. His fingers teased and pinched her nipples, and she squeezed Orlando’s hand in pleasure.
Viggo’s thrusts became harder behind her, pushing Rachel further onto Orlando and plunging him deeper within her. “Oh, God,” she breathed, feeling the pressure of orgasm beginning to grow.
“I want in,” Viggo growled by her ear, his voice resonating a hum in her chest.
It was Orlando who answered him, letting out a laugh. “You are in, you great gorgeous git.”
“No,” Viggo said, nudging up against Rachel’s crease. “I want in.”
When she realized what he was asking, it sent a shiver ghosting along her spine. Feeling her reaction, Orlando smiled up at her. Then he stilled himself and caught her eyes, suddenly very serious.
“Have you ever?”
She shook her head.
“Oh,” Viggo said. He sounded surprised. Probably because of the stories. “Are you sure you’re up for it?” he asked gently.
Was he kidding? She didn’t even have to take a second to think. “Oh, God, yes!” she whispered.
Both men flashed her dazzling smiles. “That’s my girl,” Orlando said quietly. He pulled her down into a kiss, laying her body flush against him, his throbbing flesh still buried within her. They rested there for a moment, Orlando allowing Rachel to adjust to the new position. Just when she was beginning to relax, a warm, wet pressure laved down the cleft of her buttocks and over the rosebud opening hidden within. Rachel gasped, her back arching. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, Orlando held tightly, helping her to be still and enjoy the new sensation.
Skilled and sure, Viggo’s tongue bathed the area surrounding her entrance and thrust itself inside. As Rachel’s muscles stretched to accommodate the welcome invasion, she gasped and Orlando kissed her forehead.
“Oh my God,” she breathed.
“He’s really something, isn’t he?” Orlando whispered conspiratorially.
Rachel just grinned. Orlando took her face in both of his hands and kissed her gently.
“Brace yourself,” she heard from behind her as the older man rubbed a soothing hand down her back. Then his finger, cold and liberally slicked, was pressing its way inside. She gasped. The feeling of that digit moving inside her, alongside the rigidness that was Orlando, pinched and burned, but soon, it was drowning her in sensation. His free hand was resting on the small of her back, sending heat all the way through her. When he withdrew and came back with a second finger, she felt her whole body tense against the pressure.
“Shh,” Orlando whispered between nibbles on her earlobe, his fingertips ghostly soft on her cheek. “It’s all right. You have to relax, and you’re doing so well.” His breath was warm and moist against her neck.
Viggo began to scissor his fingers. It hurt. Oh God, did it hurt. But Orlando held her closely, surrounding her in the certainty of sinewy arms. His whispered words calmed her, urged her to relax, to open herself to the man who was stretching her with the utmost of worry and care.
Finally, the larger man was ready. Rachel felt his fingers withdraw, and then their presence was replaced by the blunt pressure of Viggo’s tumescent member. He was wearing a condom, though she couldn’t be sure of when he had managed to put it on. Slowly, Viggo slid himself inside, and he must have been watching her closely because whenever her breath hitched – and it did often – he would pause. It was a solid, steady burn, a stretch even after the older man’s careful preparation, and she could actually feel her innards pushing to accommodate him. The sensation was like nothing she had ever experienced before, as if she was filled completely from the waist down. Despite her best efforts to remain still, her entire body shook and trembled with exertion. Her breath quickened though she fought to quiet it. It was too much. Too much. And it overcame her senses.
When Viggo was embedded completely within her, she stopped fighting the fluttering convulsions and gave herself over to them, for a moment letting them run their course. Then, to calm herself, she concentrated on the feel of Orlando’s cheek against hers, the sound of his breathy voice in her ear as he whispered words of encouragement and praise, and the heavy heat of Viggo’s hand on her back.
For what seemed like an eternity, they did not stir, Orlando showing remarkable restraint while sheathed inside her, Viggo giving her time to adjust to this new intrusion. They remained unmoving, the only sound in the night air the heaviness of their breathing and the occasional whickering of horses that reminded them that they were not, in fact, alone.
Still they were, and still they remained, until the compulsion to act was a reckless obsession, until to deny such an urge would drive them mad. And when they could stand it no more, then, as one, they began to move.
Together, they found a rhythm, thrusting forward and back, catching Rachel on the verge of an ecstasy so overwhelming that it threatened to overthrow sense, reason, logic…
Orlando reached up, cupping her breasts in his hands and running his thumbs over the peaked pink of her nipples. Her head reared back in pleasure only to find itself resting on Viggo’s sturdy shoulder. He reached around her and covered his lover’s hands with his own, twenty strong fingers kneading, squeezing with bruising passion. Viggo leaned forward, craning his neck to capture Orlando’s lips. It put his throat within reach of Rachel’s questing lips and she mouthed along his pulse, licking and tasting and finally latching onto the skin and pulling a red blossom to the surface. Above her, Viggo moaned into his lover’s mouth. The sound reverberated through Rachel’s entire body and she trembled with the intimacy of it. Orlando caught the shiver as if it had traveled from Viggo, through her, and to him, and he gave a matching moan, breaking from the kiss, letting his lips fall open.
The flush of arousal was deep upon them all and Rachel felt the mounting pleasure of impending orgasm. It was building to an unstoppable crescendo, and she threw her head back against Viggo.
Orlando drew her forward, nuzzling the hollow of her throat. Viggo leaned down to mirror him. Without warning, both men sank their teeth into her flesh – Orlando over the pulse point on her left, Viggo at the junction of neck and shoulder on her right. Rachel shrieked and shuddered, the ever-intensifying coil of fire erupting like a geyser and saturating her skin. Groaning his arousal, Viggo grasped her shaking hips and steadied her while she rode out the orgasm.
“Oh, God,” she moaned.
Orlando chuckled, and it made his penis jump within her, pulling another gasp from her lips.
“We’re not finished yet,” Viggo rumbled into her ear.
Still trembling in the aftershocks, Rachel’s head lolled back weakly, sagging again against Viggo, who brought his face down to kiss her gently. Lips met lips, impossibly soft, like a perfect prayer, like one of Viggo’s poems.
Pulling himself back to a sitting position, the corded muscles of his thighs rippling under the sensitive skin between her legs, Orlando took her breast in his mouth, his tongue circling around the pebbling nipple. Her hand ghosted over the younger actor’s cheek and found its way into the waving mass of his hair, tangling her fingers in the silken tresses. She followed his head up as he kissed his way in an impassioned trail over her clavicle and up her throat. Eagerly, and yet with much reluctance, Rachel relinquished Viggo’s mouth to find Orlando’s.
As the older man’s fingers wound themselves in fistfuls of her hair, she crushed Orlando’s lips with her own, then pressed him down to the hay, attacking his nipples in turn. He tasted of sweat and spice – vanilla with a hint of nutmeg – and she felt his breath catch in his throat as she laved over nubs that tightened into peaks beneath her tongue. Her chest heaving, she rose above him. Suddenly four hands traced over her ribs, touching from front and back, gliding over her skin from hip to breast. While Viggo’s hands traveled up to rest on her shoulders, Orlando’s remained under her arms, his long slender thumbs brushing over the swells of her breasts. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth as she moaned, the urgency escalating once again.
Rachel dug her fingers into the supple flesh of the younger man’s biceps to brace herself as she rocked – forward onto Orlando, back into Viggo – every inch of her body tingling, her every nerve poised on the edge of a knife. The pressure was swiftly ascending toward a second, tsunamic rapture. Viggo’s hands slid over her hips, one arm snaking around her waist to hold her to him, the other sliding down farther, reaching the velvet heart of her core. Gliding his fingertips in circular motions, he found the rose head of her pleasure center and teased. Assaulted by every sense, on every side, Rachel took up a rhythm of passioned cries, a moaning litany she couldn’t have stopped if she tried.
Beneath her, Orlando began to stiffen with a moan. The hands on her thighs tightened to bruising grips. As the most intense orgasm of her life washed through her, a searing heat flooded her lower body, and suddenly it came from both fore and aft as both of her lovers climaxed in tandem. Viggo’s hand dropped to her thigh and immediately Orlando latched onto it. Palm to palm, the two lovers connected around her, through her, even as the last tremors of their lovemaking traveled through them all.
Rachel collapsed against Viggo’s heaving chest, her hair plastered to her face. After a moment, Viggo withdrew, holding her tightly to keep her still so that there was no pain. He even lifted her to make it easier for Orlando to do the same. Then, he gently lowered her to the ground and lay down beside her. She ended up half on and half off one of the t-shirts and felt the hay prickling at her back. It didn’t matter. She was lying, blissfully exhausted and wrapped in two living blankets, between Viggo Mortensen and Orlando Bloom. It was a crazy, crazy world. But in this moment, all life was good.
“We gave your horse quite a show,” Orlando said, breaking the silence.
Rachel giggled. “We did. God, I have to let her out of the stall.”
“I don’t think you’re going to be riding her any time soon,” the older man chuckled.
Rachel – inasmuch as she was capable of coherent thought, which admittedly wasn’t much – was only grateful that it was a dog show she had the next day.
Orlando turned and met her eyes, concern pouring from his gaze. “You’re going to be sore.”
“I know,” she said with a smile and a liquid, absolutely satiated sigh. “But happy birthday to me.”

*****
Rachel woke up pleasantly exhausted, as if she hadn’t slept very well, but for some reason didn’t mind at all. Her cell phone was ringing, and grudgingly she reached over to answer it.
“Hello,” she answered groggily.
“Happy birthday, ke’chara! Did you get it?”
It was Julie-Rae. Why was she calling so damned early? “Get what?”
“Tell me you didn’t have a very, very nice dream last night.”
Rachel sat up straight in her bed and winced. Then she smiled. Hard to be upset about pain when it had such a pleasant cause. For a moment, she allowed herself to be lost in the memory. Then she returned her languid attention to her phone call. “Dream?” she mumbled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “What dream?” She glanced distractedly at her clock, her calendar. It was Friday. Friday the twelfth. Her birthday. She wrinkled her brow. Why did she feel like it had already happened? Oh, the dream. Oh, the dream!
“Yes, I got it,” she said, a little more awake now. “It was lovely.” Truthfully, lovely didn’t even begin to cover it. Rachel knew she still sounded groggy, but Julie-Rae would know her well enough to hear the smile in her voice. “Thank you.”
“You are entirely welcome. Now go get ready for school. I have a feeling you’re going to need a few extra minutes this morning.” A few extra minutes? What was she talking about? “I love you, ke’chara.”
“Love you, ashke,” she replied. “Talk to you tonight. I have a rehearsal dinner to go to, but I can call you later.”
“Sure, sweetie. I love you very much. And happy birthday.”
“Thanks, Julie. I’ll talk to you tonight.”
“Bye, honey.”
“Bye.”
Reluctantly, Rachel pulled the warm blankets from her body and dropped her feet to the floor. God, she was sore. Wait a minute. Sore from a dream?
Suddenly very awake, she raced to the bathroom and flipped on the light. She pulled her hair aside and stared. There, on her neck just below her ear, was the remnants of a hickey. She blinked once. Twice. And then shrugged. Too tired to argue with logic, or the lack thereof, she decided to simply accept it as a quirky side effect of being friends with a sometimes psychic with a penchant for beautiful boys.
Though she winced as she bent to get her makeup from under the sink, when she looked back in the mirror she had to smile. A few extra minutes indeed. If she didn’t cover that, she would never hear the end of it.
As she applied the foundation, she gave a thought to the weekend she had planned. Starting with the dream that somehow wasn’t a dream this morning… It was shaping up to be a very happy birthday indeed.

~FIN~
Author’s Note: This was awful. I know it was. But it was my first threesome, the first het I’ve written in years (and the most detailed I’ve ever written), and I never do well writing for a deadline. The sex read like stereo instructions. But it’s the thought that counts, right? I’m sorry it couldn’t be better for you. You deserve it, ashke.
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Birthday Wishes