"Caleb!" You exclaim, surprise and sudden embarrassment seeping into your voice. You hope he doesn't hear it, but you know he does. Caleb always does. "What're you doing? You're supposed to be sleeping!"

He hums then. A low, sleep-littered rumble from his chest, full of amusement and affection that makes your knees weak.

"Am I?" He chuckles warmly, "I couldn't help but wake up when I heard a little busy bee in my kitchen. What's got you up so early, pipsqueak?"

You clear your throat suddenly, playing off with a nonchalant roll of your shoulders, "Why can't I? Is it so surprising that I can wake up before you?"

Caleb smiles teasingly, eyes glinting with mirth. And you can't possibly find it in yourself to be bitter when you suddenly notice how perfect he looks.

Sunlight filters through his kitchen windows and spills over the counters and walls, a rare break in Skyhaven's cloudy weather, but perfect for his summery birthday. The golden light blankets the mahogany strands of his hair, still mussed from sleep, and washes his shirtless form in its warm amber effect—effortlessly handsome that it would almost make you mad if it wasn't the sight you woke up to. It's like the sun itself has made its utmost effort to be part of the day of Caleb's birth.

For him, it’s fitting.

“Gonna tell me what this is all about?” Caleb leans in close; you can smell the mint on his tongue; you remember tasting it last night too.

“This is… nothing.” You say quickly, too quickly. “It’s not for you.”

But Caleb only smiles, setting the cream cheese down and glancing at the recipe with an amused glint in his eye.

“I think I can figure it out.” He reaches for the recipe on the counter before you can get to it, holding it high above your heads to read it out of your reach. “Let’s see here… caramel apple crumble cake? Sounds pretty fancy, since when did you become such a baker?”

You sigh, crossing your arms before grumbling, “It’s just a hobby.” Internally, you know it’s over.

“‘Use Asiatic apples, Caleb’s favorite type.’” The man laughs a bit, soft and gentle and so loving, setting the paper down now. He leans in, mouth finding the shell of your ear, voice husky and low when he speaks, “Not for me, huh? I’m gettin' a different impression.”

The gentle tremor of his words shivers through your body, and you find yourself tensing against the counter he’s cornered you against. But then you sigh in defeat, a pout tugging at your lips as you roll your eyes at him. “Can’t you play along? I wanted to surprise you, but you woke up…”

Caleb only shakes his head affectionately, wrapping his arms around you, cocooning you into his tender embrace that seems to melt all your defenses. He’s always been good at that—too good.

“Sorry, pipsqueak,” his voice is anything but apologetic, pressing a tender kiss to your burning ears, “guess I was too focused on the fact that you left me in bed. Bit rude to leave the birthday boy alone, don’t you think?”

You don't follow with a retort when large hands cup your cheeks, turning your face to him—like a flower unfurling itself to the sun's bright embrace. And his eyes meet yours—soft indigo, accented with flecks of gold—it's easy to lose yourself in him. It always has been. Caleb always makes it easy to let go.

"But you know…" He trails off, tenderly trailing his lips from your ear to the apples of your cheeks, "I think I can forgive you if we bake this cake together. It's my birthday after all; we should spend all day with one another."

"Is… is that what you want?" Your words tremble when his lips ghost against yours, a lingering phantom touch as he pulls away with a cheeky grin, reading over the recipe again.

"Of course. I always want to be with you." And he sounds so sure about it. Confident like it's the most obvious thing in the world. As positive in his answer as if he's telling you the sun will rise tomorrow, and he will be by your side. You believe it. Because it's Caleb who has never broken a promise to you, as true to his words as his love is to you. "Now then, let's get started on this cream cheese frosting, chef."

Soon enough, Caleb’s shirtless form is right behind you again. On the outside looking in, you assume it's a picturesque scene. A vision with ambient light filling the crevices of your bodies, synced silhouettes stretched across the kitchen floors, seeping in love and careful devotion—it's perfect. But it serves to mostly distract you instead.

His chest is broad, bracketing you with a single hand on your waist and the other hand curling around yours, assisting you in beating the cream cheese and butter together. An act you could do alone, but Caleb, as always, insists. Pressed close like the slightest space between your bodies will decimate him completely. And he smells good too—dark honey and warm apples, even the lingering scent of leather from his constant wear of uniforms—you get lost in the cadence of domesticity. In him.

"Yeah, cream it together, just like that…" Your face burns at his words; he has no right to sound that good this early in the morning, or maybe your mind just meanders into the gutters. Mainly, his warm body that would be even warmer if it was inside you, how you can feel the muscles and ridges of his torso against your back. His hands, gentle around yours, were just pistoning in you a few weeks ago as he worshiped you with his tongue too. But now, he's efficient in his movements, voice soft, body comforting and anchored to you like a shadow thats taken its own form—and you can't help the heat pulsing through you.

"—now powered sugar."

A quick swipe on your cheek is what brings you out of your stupor, blinking back to Caleb's charming, entertained grin.

"Wha—Caleb! Did you wipe something on my face again!" With an annoyed glare his way, or as annoyed as you can muster, you reach up to your cheek where his fingers had just been, feeling wisps of something powdery. And when you pull your hands back, the pads of your fingers are dusted white—powdered sugar.

"Caleb! You—"

"You're so distracted, pips." He leans in suddenly, nose brushing against your cheek in a playful nuzzle, not caring that he dirties himself in the act, and his voice drops dangerously into that tone that makes your heart flutter and stumble over its own beat, "Careful with what you're thinking about, I'll get jealous if you don't pay attention to me, you know?"

Caleb presses closer to you, his thumb brushing your bottom lip, smearing more sugar onto the soft flesh. And he watches you closely with the same devotion he has always dedicated solely to you. Caleb looks at you like he can read your mind or measure the hammering paces of your heart—you know that he could—he's everything to you, after all, like you are to him. It never fails to make you warm inside—feels like he coddles you with the weight of his affection.

"Stupid Caleb," You mutter then, dipping your own hands into the sugar and then flinging it his way. The white specks land in his hair when he doesn't bother to dodge the flurried attack, laughing instead—bright and clear, so very Caleb.

Of course, he retaliates. Soon enough, the kitchen is doused in sweet ivory snow, and the dusty fight that ensues brings you back to the distant past when you both were just mere children who had one another. From school's draining days, catching bugs and playing at the park, or picking apples in the height of summer's sun—it was always you and Caleb.

And now, on the day of Caleb's birth—it is still just you and Caleb.

"Okay, okay!" You exclaim, laughing as you cover your face from the power, "I give up! You win, birthday boy!"

Beside you, Caleb happily relents too, bringing you into his arms. Your ear presses against his bare chest, and you can feel the strong beat of his heart pounding—not erratic, but low and happy. And as messy as everything is now—you don't think you've ever felt your heart so full either.

"Naturally, I won." He teases, curling a hand to your back.

"Don't get cocky, I let you win."

Caleb only smiles, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "Will you tell me what you're thinking about? You looked dazed earlier."

"Does it bother you that much?" You hum. In all honesty, you're a little anxious to tell him that you were daydreaming about him—Caleb's warm body, strong hands, gentle guidance. And the other part of you is sure he knows what you were thinking about too.

"It does." He cups your cheeks, bringing your eyes to his—a piqued glint in his eye. He just wants to hear you say it. "I won't be able to focus on anything else until you tell me."

It doesn't take much time for you to give in this time, sighing as you bury your face into his chest so your voice comes out muffled, "I was just thinking about you, so don't get jealous."

"Me?" Caleb muses, "What about me?"

This time, you hesitate, blinking owlishly at him.

"You won't tell me?" It's quite the opposite, there's no point in telling him if he already knows the thoughts in your heart. After all, you both are two apples of the same tree, lotuses of the same stem—what you think, he thinks. Bending down, he ghosts his lips against your temple, grinning impishly. "Even if it's my birthday? What if I say please?"

"It's embarrassing," you mumble, walking back until your back finds the counter. Caleb follows you, hands around yours.

"Would it help if I told you something embarrassing about me then?"

"Don't I already know everything about you?" You question, drawing little shapes into the powder on his chest.

And Caleb only laughs—neither agreeing nor disagreeing—taking your wrist into his fingers before he leans down, meeting your eyes with a sultry look that you know well. His words are soft but a quiet, strained tremor: "I woke up because I had a dream about you."

That makes you blink in surprise, raising a brow. Caleb has many dreams—some, he'll tell you about in the middle of the night when he wakes in cold sweat and curls around you in grounding presence. And the others you know he keeps from you because he doesn't want you to worry. It is a little surprising that he tells you about this one now.

"What kind of dream?"

Caleb only smiles, but it's different now as he crowds you against the counter, pressing his mouth to the hollow of your throat, causing little vibrations when he answers.

"A nice one, I almost didn't want to wake up." You shiver beneath him, instinctively tilting your head to give him more space; he takes it eagerly, mapping his lips across your pulse, kissing along your veins. "Can you guess what it was about?"

You gulp, Caleb feels the bobbing against his throat. You, in fact, can take a very good guess about what his dream was about. But instead of speaking, you curl your arms around his shoulder, drawing his face back in front of yours.

His breath is warm against your mouth, inching closer before you speak, "I was thinking about you… fucking me." Your blood rushes through you, and you can hear your heart thrumming in your ears. No matter how many times you've been intimate with Caleb, voicing your desire is embarrassing, always brings anticipation because you know Caleb. You know he'll always make you feel good after you say your filthy words—a promise he never fails to keep, "You're so warm, Caleb… and I want you. All the time."

Caleb's eyes seem to dilate, a little huff escaping his lungs into the small space between your lips.

"We really are alike, aren't we?"

You only nod, anticipation boiling in your veins.

"Should I show you what I was dreaming about then?"

You nod again.

Caleb smiles, and in a single breath, he wanes the gap between you two and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is sweet—quite so. The sugar dissolves on your taste buds, mingling with Caleb's taste as his tongue breaches into your mouth, curling with knowing touch and want. He presses you against the counter, hands grasping the back of your thighs and pushing you up until you're perched pretty on the cool countertops. Still kissing insistently like you need it more than oxygen.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he steps into the space, hands already curling demandingly around his shirt.

"Caleb…" You whine against his mouth.

"You said my name like that in my dream too, so pretty." He breaks the kiss, licking up the powder sugar on your body. Laving his tongue along the sweetness as he makes his way down your jaw and neck before sliding your shirt off and discarding it onto the floor, then moving down to the valley of your breasts, open-mouthed kisses littered along the way. "So messy…"

His words are cooed but so, so affectionate. The tone that makes you whine and flush hot with anticipation, slick tackiness building in your panties with every kiss upon you.

When you call him name again, Caleb grants you mercy and takes a pert nipple into his mouth, groping and teasing the other with his powdered, deft fingers.

You arch into his touch when he suckles on your breasts, aching with the wave of fresh bruises. His other hand glides down your body to find the already damp fabric of your panties, smiling when he feels it against his palm.

Always just as eager as him, Caleb thinks.

“It's messy down here too,” he grins as he cups the wetness, palming you through the slick-laden cotton. Your cunt is hot and ready beneath his hand, heel of his palm just barely brushing your sensitive clit, and he presses a kiss against your temple when you cry his name, “I know, I know, I hear you, pretty girl. Don’t worry, I’ll clean you up.”

True to his word, Caleb kisses down your body. Kisses and slides his tongue down and down and down until he’s onto his knees in front of you, making space for himself between your thighs when you part way for him. Your easy compliance makes him smile, leaning in until his breath flares hot on your puffy cunt.

You shiver, unsure if it’s because of his breath, the eagerness pumping through you, or maybe it’s just Caleb. Maybe it’s just the way Caleb stares so ardently at you, lavender eyes half-lidded and hungry—like a hound eager for its call to hunt. Maybe it’s the reverent voracity in his gaze when he turns his head, mouth latching to the fat of your inner thigh to suck sloppy love bites into one before printing more on the other.

There’s always something about Caleb when he gets like this—feverish with want that makes the apples of his cheeks and tips of his ears a stark crimson against alabaster skin. But it's a nice view he gives you. It's never a bad view with him like this—never a bad time when Caleb gets on his knees because you he'll make you feel good.

And then, Caleb presses his nose deep against your clothed core, and just breathes.

Inhales the scent of you at your most intimate place. Nosing into your flesh to etch your scent into his body before his tongue finally laves a wet stripe up your pussy.

He groans at the taste, eyes flickering as his lips suction around your puffy clit, sucking the wetness from your panties with vigor like a bee to nectar, an instinctive action that comes naturally to him. You buck helplessly into the touch, anchoring yourself by tugging at his hair when the tip of his tongue teases and drools, hot and wet globs of saliva ruining the fabric even further as Caleb takes what his dream provided.

Your panties stick to you, soaked and ruined when he rolls them down, tossing them to the floor. Then his hands come to your folds, thumb parting your lips to reveal tender flesh to his gaze. You twitch under the attention, clit pulsing as he draws closer, devoted in his touch and gaze.

Then he takes you into his mouth. And it sparks white-hot pleasure through your veins.

He starts slowly at first, a simple taste and savoring. Drags the flat of his tongue along the gooey entrance of your hole, licks and licks, suckles and teases between your dripping hole and sensitive clit until you’re greeted with the familiar warmth pooling in your belly, and it feels as if it melts you from the inside out. Like sugar simmering into sweet caramel or ambrosia blooming on Caleb's tongue that he swallows persistently.

In the hazy mist of lewd slurps and feverish bodies, Caleb moves his left arm from around your thigh, bringing it to join where his mouth is suctioned. For a bit, he just runs his fingers through the mess of slick and spit, toying the blunt pressure of his fingers at your entrance—barely there then gone, and it makes you whine in anticipation.

"Caleb, don't tease, please." Your voice is unrecognizable to yourself, hoarse and riddled with want. "'M so close… just hurry…"

He only smiles pitifully at your words, nuzzling into your thigh as you try and buck into his fingers, chasing the delicious pressure that'll come with it. But he holds you down, hands splaying across your belly like a kitten held by the scruff of its neck. Pins you down and keeps you spread open for him.

"I've spoiled you too much," is all he says before easing a single finger into your fluttering hole.

Caleb's finger is long. Long and thick and tender when it fills you up, and an even more pleasurable squeeze comes with it when he adds another that eases in just as smoothly with a wet sound that embarrasses you.

You're so wet. So wet and aroused and warm when he gets his fingers knuckle-deep, silky and squelching with every little movement that it makes him feel a flicker of pride kindling in his chest because he's the one to reduce you to this state. It's a tender feeling in his heart—one that even the toring chip couldn't rewire in his mind.

And then he begins to arch his fingers. Gliding along your walls and easily finding that velvety spot that makes you keen and cant against his palm.

“Feel good?” He murmurs against your clit, laving it tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves while he works you open.

You can’t find any notion of a response besides a broken moan. It doesn’t matter though, really. Caleb knows it feels good. He knows more than anyone else what feels good and what doesn’t feel good for you. He’s dedicated himself to it with vigor and ardor—the bone-red kind of devotion one could only find in someone who has loved so deeply and dedicatedly.

Just as Caleb has done for you.

He knows from the way you twitch. The way you whine, every pitch in your broken moans and spasm of your thighs closing around his head. How you draw him in closer with every fiber of your being like you want to reach into him and merge as one.

It’d be nice, he thinks. If it was like that, he could be everything to you, for you, with you.

And even though it’s his birthday, there are some things that Caleb won’t get to have. But he’ll settle with this for now. Settle with your hands weeding through his hair and his name quivering on your lips. It's a blessing enough that he gets to be on his knees for you, watch you from below as you grow closer and closer to the the edge.

“Ff-fuck, ‘m close.” Your voice wavers, fingers weeding tighter into his hair. Every synapse shoots with pleasure into the next, hot indulgence that grows molten with heat, melting into the euphoric bliss swirling through you.

You’re sweeter on his tongue when you cum. Cunt spasming around his fingers as you crash and fall apart like a comet breaking through a galaxy’s orbit. But Caleb doesn’t stop. In tandem, his fingers and mouth continue their assault on you, wringing out every wet gush of sweetness until you collapse limply on the counter.

Even when ruined, Caleb knows you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“This is better than my dream,” you hear Caleb mumble against your pussy, “was this a surprise for me too?”

You nod before you can even process his words, though you didn’t truly plan this, it’s a surprise for you, too. A very welcome surprise as you tug him back up by his hair, and your voice is breathless when you speak,

“Mhm… f’you.” Your fingers fidget into the hem of his sweats, drawing him between your legs. “I was thinking about you, cause I wanted you… wanted you to fuck me…”

Caleb’s breath hitches at your words—so open with want and desire. A shiver, akin to static glitching through a system wrecks him when you nuzzle into his neck, pressing sloppy but soft kisses against the pale, hollow curve of his throat. For you, he tilts his head to offer more—like a prey to predator, welcoming demise. If it’s from you, Caleb will take it without complaint.

He hisses when your hand glides over his body, warm and steady beneath your palms. Your kisses are redirected to his chest, peppering gentle touches to his collarbone then down to where his heart beats steadily, lips pecked across his chiseled muscles—deceptively gentle before you sink your teeth dangerously close to the dusky pink of his nipples.

It makes him gasp first, then smile in what feels like satisfaction that he’s your target for such vicious love, affection unfurling in his chest despite it all. The sting lingers, but it’s quickly soothed when your tongue, wet and smooth, lathers over it. An apology of sorts that's not needed at all to him—if anything, he feels like he should thank you for claiming him so thoroughly, loving him in whole.

“Fuck me, Caleb… please? Wanna make you feel good too.” Your words are mumbled into his chest, eyes blinking owlishly up at him with need, and your legs curl around his hips, moving him closer until the warm bulge in his pants bleeds into the mess between your legs. It soaks him, but neither of you seem to care much, not when there's so much more to consider.

It’s cute, Caleb thinks to himself. He thinks you’re always cute when you need him so badly. And luckily for you, he’s well accustomed to granting your wishes.

“You want me?” He says lowly, almost teasing. “Well, it is my birthday, and I always feel generous when it comes to you.”

With that, Caleb makes quick work of his sweats, tugging the fabric down just enough for his cock to bob free.

The sight, no matter how many times you've seen it, makes your mouth go dry and your head spin. Caleb's cock is thick, burly. Pretty in color and intimidating in size. Your breath catches as he presses close to you, simply rubbing the thick length of him up and down your cunt, catching the strings of wetness as pearls of pre mix together with your slick. It makes a lewd noise, obscene with your cunt spread around him, and makes embarrassment burn through you.

"Caleb…"

Your voice stumbles as the blunt head notches against you, your heart jumps to your throat, anticipation tears through you completely. And is immediately overpowered by the pressure as Caleb sinks in inch by inch.

Your entire body reacts to the intrusion with a filthy squelch, and Caleb is no better off. His face burns red, buried in the crook of your neck as he whines your name—needy syllables rolling off his tongue, dripped with want. His hands grab at the fat of your thighs, holding you open, and slowly, he gives a single, thorough roll of his hips.

"O-oh, fuck," The shallow thrust makes you keen around him immediately. Feels like it punches the air from your lungs as he fucks you, softly at first. Just letting the length of his cock drag along your walls, mapping out the space it knows so intimately, heavy and thick but gentle in its motion.

And Caleb isn’t any better. His eyes stay trained—hypnotized—on the way your cunt swallows his cock, clit twitching, and puffy folds stretched wide around the girth, coating it in slick and cum as he fucks and fuck and fucks you until you’re clinging helplessly onto him like you need him. Snaps his hips into you until the space floods with nothing but breathless whispers of names and skin and skin.

And the sound.

God, the sound echoes throughout his kitchen, sex reverberating through the walls. It’s a filthy, slick, wet sound—vulgar and carnal. Perfectly mirrors the want in his actions. Matches the way your pussy flutters and squeezes him just right.

His voice sounds as wrecked as you when he talks, “Y-you—ngh, fuck—pussy’s so greedy,” he almost laughs, a strained sound above the squelching noises, “wh-who taught you to be so greedy, hm?”

His words make you moan, maybe frustration or pure pleasure scoring its way through your veins. It's him. Of course it's him. Caleb, the man who has been by your side for years, through childhood and into the future. The man whose back you've always seen as a steady wall, present and unyielding—it's no wonder that no one has ever measured up to him.

It's his fault. This greed that eats you alive is because of Caleb. Because he's the one encouraging your greed, throwing gasoline into the consuming fire you have because there's nothing in this world that Caleb wouldn't give to you—it's only right that he takes responsibility for what he's taught you.

And you, in turn, have always taken what Caleb has given. His lust. His desires. His want. What Caleb gives, you take. It's always been like that, this push and pull you both have fallen into throughout your entire lives.

So you lay limp, pliant under the pleasure he generously gives, and let him fuck you. Fast and hard and steady through the fog of pleasure clouding your thoughts. You let his fingers roll on your clit, threading you closer to the feather-thin precipice of cumming.

It hits you in powerful waves, convulsing muscles as you choke on a moan that comes out as Caleb's name. Pulls you under the utopia of bliss, and you barely register the stuttering motions of Caleb's hips or the way he moans your name in whiny pitch.

“Sh-shit, feels s'good," Caleb chokes on groans, burying his head into the space where your shoulder meets your neck. It really does feel good. It feels loving—pure, unadulterated love. You make Caleb feel loved. And you do it so thoroughly. In a way where all doubts of who he is or where he'll be in the future fade away because all that matters is that he's with you and you're with him in this moment.

It’s that love, that devotion, the redamancy of it all that has him pulling you impossibly closer until he can’t tell where you end and he starts. The pleasure of your fluttering walls that makes his hips break in its rhythm and his cock throb and pulse inside of you.

“I love you,” Caleb utters, says it over and over against your lips in fervent promise, groans your name brokenly—desperate—before he trembles, cumming suddenly. It’s thick and warm, ivory ribbons spillling inside you. He cums so much that you shudder.

And like everything else in your life, you take what Caleb gives you, and he takes what you give.

It’s a full feeling; everywhere feels filled. Satisfied. The sun still beams through the blinds, frosting and cake forgotten; the kitchen is a mess but lived in, and Caleb is here—with you.

It’s another year of his life flickering through the endless circle of time. Another sunrise that will rise from the east and a sunset that will fall on the west, and when it casts shadows upon you both, yours will be right there alongside Caleb’s.

“Caleb,” your voice comes out no more than a little whisper, but he hums anyway, pressing his lips to your sweaty temple, “Happy birthday. I love you.”

Against you, Caleb stills, then he pulls back to look at you, bringing his hands to cup your face before kissing you. Tender, patient.

“I love you.” He answers in kind, “This is a perfect start to the day.”

You smile at that, tugging him down for another kiss. Caleb is right—anywhere is perfect as long as the two of you are together.

Distantly, outside the quiet intimacy of your bubble, the oven dings.