Fic: Hallmark Moments
Title: Hallmark Moments
Rating: Mostly PG-13. Some bad language and allusions to sex.
Word Count: 3,817
Pairing: Peter/Claude
Spoilers: Through the end of season 4. Still ignoring "Once Upon a Time in Texas" and its butchering of the timeline.
Summary: Claude declares he hates greeting cards. Of course, Peter doesn't listen.
A/N: Except for the very last one, these are all real cards! The greeting cards were at Target, though I didn't look at who put them out. And the two e-cards are from this site.
Also, this story is in the same verse as Down by the Fire and Date Night, and it takes place between the two. (For those who are curious, Date Night takes place in late September 2008 and Down by the Fire takes place in early March 2009. This fic occurs throughout January 2009 and up to February 2, 2009. Yeah, I worked out a timeline.) Fills the "Greeting Card" prompt at Plaude Bingo!
"Your birthday's coming up in a few weeks," Peter murmurs, his face pressed down against Claude's bare shoulder so the words are almost entirely muffled. If it were any other time Claude would pretend he didn't hear or that he was asleep. But his mind is still fogged over slightly from orgasm, body sated as the echo of endorphins makes him groggy. This basically causes a three to five minute period immediately after sex where Claude is pretty sure he turns into a complete idiot. He almost swears that Peter only screws him just for these moments, just to get to these short minutes where Claude will open up about Shit He Doesn't Want to Talk About. Things like his birthday, and bloody hell, he never should have let Pete see his driver's license.
Still, because Claude's stupid for the next three minutes, rather than tell Peter to bugger off and go to sleep, he runs a hand along Peter's spine and says, "Yeah, mate."
Christ, he's a moron.
"I'm so gonna bake you a cake," Peter says, letting out a low laugh that can only come from the truly well-sexed and trailing kisses along Claude's throat and collarbone.
"Yeah? You gonna jump out of it for me too?"
"You don't need me to jump out of a cake to get me naked and lick the frosting off wherever you want."
Well, there is that. "All right then." This is already shaping up to be a fantastic birthday.
"What else do you want to do? Other then, you know, eat cake off each other."
That's when the alarm bells go off and Claude's senses snap back into place. Because yeah, he really hates birthdays. And he hates doing things for his birthday-- unless "things" is defined as pretending it's not taking place. "Nothin'," he says quickly, pulling Peter against him and carding fingers through the boy's hair. "Just forget it other than the cake, yeah?"
"God, Claude. I know better than to throw you a party."
There's slight relief at that. Not that he thought Peter would actually do it, but there's always the horrifying chance. "Not only just the party. Don't want any presents, and especially don't want any of those crap birthday cards."
Peter snorts, his hand starting to trail lightly along Claude's side, and Claude barely stops himself from squirming because that actually feels nice. "What do you have against birthday cards?"
"It's the sentiment, mate. Can't control myself when I open up an envelope and see a giant mass-produced paper birthday cake with pre-printed wishes and declarations of love on the inside. 'S enough to make me emotional," he deadpans, poking Peter on the shoulder before resuming the strokes through his hair.
"It's just a card," Peter murmurs. "Come on. Is it so completely awful to see someone was at least thinking about you?"
"They're only thinking about you because they've gotta be."
Peter chuckles. "That makes no sense. Either someone remembers your birthday or they don't. So what, it wouldn't bother you then to just like, receive a card on a random day?"
"Wouldn't know, because nobody ever does that. They only buy cards on the specific days they think they have to."
"Forget it. It's way too late for me to listen to a rant about consumerism and occasions invented by the greeting card companies," Peter says suddenly, huffing out a small laugh against Claude's shoulder. "I was kind of hoping for some cuddling and then at least seven hours of sleep instead."
"Wasn't gonna rant," Claude dismisses, his hand now stroking down Peter's back, indulging the request for some post-sex affection. Not that he would do anything less by this point. He knew what he was getting into when he decided that dating Peter Petrelli wasn't a completely awful idea, and it sure as hell wasn't a series of completely emotionless shags. "But no cards. And go to sleep," he says.
"Okay," Peter agrees, eyes already falling shut as he starts to drift off.
***
They don't talk about Hallmark in the morning. But apparently Peter didn't forget the conversation. That's the only explanation Claude can come up with for walking into his apartment after work and finding an obnoxiously pink colored envelope stuck to his refrigerator, "Claude" written across the front in Peter's handwriting.
He gives the boy a key and this is what it's used for.
Still, he yanks the envelope off the door and tears it open. Unsurprisingly there's a greeting card inside. The front is nothing but a picture of gray haired lab puppy, all floppy ears and big brown eyes. Claude snorts, because he's pretty sure Peter has that exact same expression.
There's not much when he actually opens the card. The left panel is completely white, and the right panel just has a small bit of text.
See...
The more grey hair you have,
the cuter you look!
Happy Birthday!
Except Peter took a red pen to the word "Birthday" and wrote "pre-Birthday" instead. Fantastic.
Pulling out his phone, he immediately hits Peter's number on the speed dial. It's six-thirty, so his shift should be over, and it's probably better for Claude not to analyze why he even knows things like that. Sure enough, the phone is picked up right after one ring.
"Hey."
"I'm changin' the locks to my apartment," Claude says, trying to fight back the smile tugging at his lips.
Peter apparently doesn't buy it either, because he laughs. "Did you like it?"
"You know, mate, somewhere in New York City, a person died today because you were too busy taping a crappy card to my refrigerator door."
"It was my lunch break! The only emergency I would have been responding to is if Hesam started choking on his sandwich."
"Yeah, well, if he died it would've been your fault," Claude teases. "Also appreciate how you chose a birthday card that reminded me I'm getting old."
"I thought the dog was appropriate," he says, and Claude can hear the grin in his voice.
"Was appropriate. For a second I thought you had taped a picture of yourself to the front. Had to do a double take."
"You're an ass."
"You broke into my apartment and wasted," he flips the card over, "$2.99."
"It wasn't a waste, and I didn't break in. You're the one who gave me a key."
Claude chuckles, finally walking over to his couch and dropping back onto it. "Must be goin' out of my head then. Think I should have a medical professional come over here and inspect me."
There's a pause, and Claude is sure it's because Peter is smiling. "Oh yeah? Lucky for you I'll be out of here in ten minutes."
"Suppose that is lucky for me. See, I actually want you here. Gotta be that my disease is progressing. 'Cause after gettin' that card the only thing I should want is to throw you off a building again."
"You're so romantic," Peter deadpans, and Claude grins brightly, even if the boy can't see. "You want me to bring take-out?"
"Yeah, stop and get anything that isn't pizza."
"Okay. I'll use my key to let myself in."
"Not if I've already changed the locks."
"Goodbye, Claude," Peter says, mock annoyance obvious in his voice.
"Goodbye, Pete," he echoes, tossing the phone next to him on the couch. The greeting card is still in his hand, and Claude stares down at it, unsure of what to do. He should probably throw it out. But the idiot did spend $2.99 on it. Those puppy eyes gaze up at him from the front and Claude huffs, getting up and shoving it into a desk drawer and out of sight. He better not hear a word about it when Peter actually gets here.
***
Claude's in a meeting when his phone buzzes. It's just a quick vibration in his pocket, but he decides to pull it out anyway. This is probably the most boring meeting of all time, and he's not even taking part in it. The department just recruited some new agents from the FBI for its law enforcement unit, and six of them are currently getting a Welcome to the Department of Special Human Development lecture. Claude's supposed to observe in the back, but they're on the science part of the meeting, and Christ it's mind-numbing. He's almost tempted to run up there and start flickering in and out of sight just to liven it up.
It's so bad, he's actually hoping this email will be a request from Bennet to stop by his office. Which is a scary thought, because apparently spending time with Noah is more appealing than listening to a talk on DNA.
Except when he checks his inbox the email is registering to his private address and not his work. Then when he sees the subject line he almost groans: Peter has sent you an ecard!
And there's two of them.
At least he's not wasting money now on useless pieces of paper, and instead of opening the cards, Claude decides to text Peter.
Haven't read them, but don't you have better things to do?
It's only a few seconds before Peter's response pops up. No... don't u?
Claude snorts, looking up at the power point presentation currently going on and then back down to his phone. No. Also, I'm dumping you if you don't write in proper English.
You always say that. But Claude notices everything is written out this time and he smirks. Then his phone buzzes again. Anyway... was just thinking of you. Read them. Just got a call. Bye!
He closes down the messaging without a response, flicking back over to his email. The two cards are still there and Claude almost rolls his eyes. He'd thought Peter had forgotten about this after the last one. But apparently not.
This card better not have graphics with exploding hearts. Otherwise Claude really is automatically deleting it.
He goes for the one that arrived in his inbox first, bracing himself for unicorns and rainbows and a shower of birthday candles. But instead it's just a small, thankfully-not-animated card with a picture of two people drawn onto it. Then in simple, black font it reads: You would have loved the gift I didn't bother getting you.
"Birthday" is on the top, right above the card, and on the bottom is a note from Peter.
Two more weeks!
This time he actually does let out a quiet snort. He also can't help but wonder if this means Peter really isn't getting him a gift, but then, he doesn't even want to consider caring about that so he shuts down that line of thought before he can really get started.
He also decides to let the email stay in his inbox.
Since there wasn't any sappy crap in the first card, Claude is holding out hope for the second. Though with his luck, Peter is just lulling him into a false sense of security, so when he opens the second one he won't be expecting an elaborate birthday cake set to "Endless Love". But when he clicks on the link, it's in the same simple style as the first.
This time "Thinking of You" is on the top. The picture is of some ancient looking workers, and when Claude finally reads the text of the card he almost chokes.
FYI, I'm building a shrine to your cock.
His eyes dart to the personalized message on the bottom, which starts with a stupid looking smile: :) But since you don't want me to get you a birthday gift, you're never going to see the shrine. You should print this out and put it on your coffee table next to the dog one.
This time his snort of laughter is slightly too loud, and one of the recruits turns around to look at him. Claude doesn't care though, he just stares until the guy turns back around to explore the wonders of biology.
He decides not to delete this card either.
***
When Peter hands him an envelope a week later, Claude figures he really shouldn't be surprised. He's over at Peter's apartment, waiting for the boy to join him on the couch so they can watch a movie when a blue envelope is dropped in his lap. Peter quickly sits down and sidles up next to him, dropping a kiss to his cheek. "I saw this one today and thought of you," he says, and Claude can hear the tease in his voice.
"How much did you waste this time?" he asks, finger already sliding under the back flap of the envelope to tear it open.
"Not telling. Just open it."
After the last card, Claude isn't sure whether to expect something sappy or something pornographic. What he pulls out instead is an oddly thick card that's a really ugly shade of lime green. With a giant cartoon grim reaper on the front.
"Hilarious," Claude says, ignoring Peter's snickers and the kisses to his jaw.
The cartoon grim reaper has a blue speech bubble over it. Oh relax, everybody. I'm just here for some cake.
It says Happy 40th birthday... on the bottom, though Peter was nice enough to cross out the 40th and change it to 100th. Claude pokes Peter at reading that, though it doesn't make much of a difference since he still looks way too pleased with himself.
It only gets worse, or better if you're Peter, when Claude finally opens the card. The thing is almost flat when music starts floating up. It's a familiar progression of chords with some cowbell in the background, and Claude doesn't even bother to read what's inside before snapping the card shut.
"Christ, it plays music."
Peter's finally broken down into actual laughter, head resting against Claude's shoulder. He takes the card away from Claude and tugs it open, once again starting up the beginning of "Don't Fear the Reaper".
Claude can't help a small chuckle as he pulls the card back. "That's the worst thing you've ever bought. Just want you to know," he says, holding the thing above his head when Peter tries to snatch it away again. "And you've got a lot of terrible things in this apartment."
"I think that one's my favorite of the cards so far."
"It would be," Claude says, finally tossing it on the coffee table and letting Peter climb on top of him. "I can't wait for my birthday to end, just so I don't have to get cards anymore."
Peter smiles, eyes wide and bright with pleasure, and Claude thinks he's turning sappy enough to admit he loves that expression on Peter's face. It's one he's started to see more and more these past few months. "Admit it. You love my cards."
"Can't stand 'em," Claude murmurs, pulling Peter closer and in for another kiss.
"Yeah, you say that now. But just wait until next week when I send a singing telegram to your apartment."
Claude stares. "I really will throw you off a building again, mate. That'll be the end."
"Liar," Peter says, laughing as he pushes Claude back on the couch. The DVDs lay forgotten next to the grim reaper on Peter's coffee table, and when Peter pulls off his shirt and presses himself against Claude, he can admit that maybe he'd find a way to make it work after the singing telegram.
At least for the sake of the sex.
***
Claude's birthday falls on a Monday, but he still ends up with the day off. Supposedly it's an office policy. But Claude really thinks it's a conspiracy by Noah to make sure the entire department knows when his birthday is. He can just picture them all now, passing around a card to sign and planning on which cake to buy him for tomorrow. Government offices shouldn't be allowed to have social committees.
The first thing he smells when he wakes up is bacon, and he lets out a low groan because there are few things he loves as much as a big, home cooked breakfast. And knowing Peter that's exactly what he's getting, probably served to him in bed.
Sure enough, less than five minutes later, the boy is carrying in a tray stacked with food. Claude doesn't even know where it all came from, because his refrigerator was near barren and he definitely doesn't own that breakfast-in-bed tray.
"I went shopping this morning," Peter says, probably seeing the confusion on Claude's face. "And I brought the tray over a few days ago when you weren't home and hid it in your closet."
The food looks fantastic-- eggs, potatoes, bacon, toast, butter, jam, and a tall glass of orange juice. Claude scoots up in bed, letting Peter settle the tray over his legs, and looks up with raised eyebrows. "You're not gonna pamper me all day, yeah?"
Peter laughs. "You're the only person in existence who would complain about that."
Claude shrugs. "Just wanna act like it's a normal day until we get to the cake later. Don't need anyone doin' anything for me."
"Guess I should cancel dinner reservations and the couple's massage," Peter says, kissing Claude on the cheek before stealing a piece of bacon.
"Oi! Get your own."
Peter ignores him and takes another. "Don't worry. I don't have anything planned other than your cake, and I got you a small present."
Claude stares. He thinks he's fine with the gift. Deep down. But he isn't going to admit it. "Told you that you didn't have to."
"You got me a gift for my birthday," Peter reasons, finally leaving Claude's plate alone and curling next to him in bed.
"Because you like all that crap. Didn't wanna watch you cry because I lumped your birthday in with Christmas."
"Shut up," Peter says, smacking him lightly on the chest. "Just let me do nice things for you and stop complaining."
He barely bites back the remark that he doesn't need or want people to do nice things for him. That would've sounded like the pinnacle of emotional health. Plus, he's the one who decided to be in a relationship with Peter. So he can't really complain when Peter acts like a boyfriend or partner or whatever the hell he wants to call it.
"Fine," he mutters, planning on ending this part of the conversation by taking a really long sip of orange juice. Except when he lifts the glass, he notices a beige envelope pushed to the back of the tray, corner sticking out from underneath a napkin and placed away from all the food. "Oh Christ, another one?"
"Another what?" Peter mutters, and when Claude looks over he sees Peter's eyes are closed. It's 9:30 now, and he suddenly wonders how early the boy got up to cook for him.
"Another card," Claude finally clarifies, pulling it off the tray and whacking Peter on the head with it. "Gotten more cards from you this past month than I have in my life." Which isn't entirely true, but it's close.
"What happened to letting me do things for you and not complaining?"
"There's fine print there. Stupid cards don't count," he says, tearing the envelope open anyway. It's a nicer paper than the others, textured and thicker, and when Claude reaches inside he realizes it's because this isn't a greeting card. Folded up in the envelope is a matching piece of paper, also of high quality. The whole thing looks like it's from a stationary set, and somehow it really doesn't surprise Claude that Peter owns one. "What the hell is this?"
"Your birthday card," Peter mutters, eyes still closed. "You don't like Hallmark so I made it myself."
When Claude looks down, he notices a birthday cake drawn onto the front flap of the folded up paper. In crayon.
Before Claude can even ask, Peter explains, "I made it in the kid's ward of the hospital. I know you're going to tease me."
"Maybe later," he says, stroking a hand through Peter hair and snickering at the carefully drawn cake design. Unfortunately the art ends there, and Claude doesn't know what he was hoping for, but the inside of the card is blank save for some writing. It's a small paragraph in black pen, all handwritten by Peter, and Claude thinks it's okay to smile. Peter isn't looking anyway.
Claude,
I know you don't want cards or much attention or anything romantic. You put up with a lot for me-- my issues and my family and all of my baggage-- so the least you deserve is a card and to know that I'm grateful you're sticking around. Don't worry, we don't have to talk about this or anything. You can even throw it away with the others. But I wanted to give it to you anyway.
So happy birthday.
-- Peter
Oh.
No wonder Peter's feigning sleep down there. Claude stares down at him, not quite sure what to say. He finally settles on shoving the homemade card into his bedside drawer and kissing Peter on the forehead. "Didn't throw the others away, you know."
"Hmm?" Peter asks, blinking up at him, and maybe he wasn't completely faking the sleep thing.
"The other cards. Didn't throw 'em out. Even printed out your stupid internet cards."
"Even the cock one?" he asks, somehow managing to say that with a straight face, expression all pleased and earnest.
Claude snorts. "Yeah. Even the cock one."
"Oh. Okay then," he says, scooting even closer and throwing an arm around Claude's waist. "Happy birthday, Claude."
Claude smiles, somehow infinitely more comfortable than before when Peter decides to use his thigh as a pillow. "Yeah, mate," he finally murmurs, leaning down and giving Peter a quick kiss. "Thanks."
He still hates greeting cards. But he thinks that maybe if Peter wants to give him one, he can finally manage not to complain.
*
Rating: Mostly PG-13. Some bad language and allusions to sex.
Word Count: 3,817
Pairing: Peter/Claude
Spoilers: Through the end of season 4. Still ignoring "Once Upon a Time in Texas" and its butchering of the timeline.
Summary: Claude declares he hates greeting cards. Of course, Peter doesn't listen.
A/N: Except for the very last one, these are all real cards! The greeting cards were at Target, though I didn't look at who put them out. And the two e-cards are from this site.
Also, this story is in the same verse as Down by the Fire and Date Night, and it takes place between the two. (For those who are curious, Date Night takes place in late September 2008 and Down by the Fire takes place in early March 2009. This fic occurs throughout January 2009 and up to February 2, 2009. Yeah, I worked out a timeline.) Fills the "Greeting Card" prompt at Plaude Bingo!
"Your birthday's coming up in a few weeks," Peter murmurs, his face pressed down against Claude's bare shoulder so the words are almost entirely muffled. If it were any other time Claude would pretend he didn't hear or that he was asleep. But his mind is still fogged over slightly from orgasm, body sated as the echo of endorphins makes him groggy. This basically causes a three to five minute period immediately after sex where Claude is pretty sure he turns into a complete idiot. He almost swears that Peter only screws him just for these moments, just to get to these short minutes where Claude will open up about Shit He Doesn't Want to Talk About. Things like his birthday, and bloody hell, he never should have let Pete see his driver's license.
Still, because Claude's stupid for the next three minutes, rather than tell Peter to bugger off and go to sleep, he runs a hand along Peter's spine and says, "Yeah, mate."
Christ, he's a moron.
"I'm so gonna bake you a cake," Peter says, letting out a low laugh that can only come from the truly well-sexed and trailing kisses along Claude's throat and collarbone.
"Yeah? You gonna jump out of it for me too?"
"You don't need me to jump out of a cake to get me naked and lick the frosting off wherever you want."
Well, there is that. "All right then." This is already shaping up to be a fantastic birthday.
"What else do you want to do? Other then, you know, eat cake off each other."
That's when the alarm bells go off and Claude's senses snap back into place. Because yeah, he really hates birthdays. And he hates doing things for his birthday-- unless "things" is defined as pretending it's not taking place. "Nothin'," he says quickly, pulling Peter against him and carding fingers through the boy's hair. "Just forget it other than the cake, yeah?"
"God, Claude. I know better than to throw you a party."
There's slight relief at that. Not that he thought Peter would actually do it, but there's always the horrifying chance. "Not only just the party. Don't want any presents, and especially don't want any of those crap birthday cards."
Peter snorts, his hand starting to trail lightly along Claude's side, and Claude barely stops himself from squirming because that actually feels nice. "What do you have against birthday cards?"
"It's the sentiment, mate. Can't control myself when I open up an envelope and see a giant mass-produced paper birthday cake with pre-printed wishes and declarations of love on the inside. 'S enough to make me emotional," he deadpans, poking Peter on the shoulder before resuming the strokes through his hair.
"It's just a card," Peter murmurs. "Come on. Is it so completely awful to see someone was at least thinking about you?"
"They're only thinking about you because they've gotta be."
Peter chuckles. "That makes no sense. Either someone remembers your birthday or they don't. So what, it wouldn't bother you then to just like, receive a card on a random day?"
"Wouldn't know, because nobody ever does that. They only buy cards on the specific days they think they have to."
"Forget it. It's way too late for me to listen to a rant about consumerism and occasions invented by the greeting card companies," Peter says suddenly, huffing out a small laugh against Claude's shoulder. "I was kind of hoping for some cuddling and then at least seven hours of sleep instead."
"Wasn't gonna rant," Claude dismisses, his hand now stroking down Peter's back, indulging the request for some post-sex affection. Not that he would do anything less by this point. He knew what he was getting into when he decided that dating Peter Petrelli wasn't a completely awful idea, and it sure as hell wasn't a series of completely emotionless shags. "But no cards. And go to sleep," he says.
"Okay," Peter agrees, eyes already falling shut as he starts to drift off.
***
They don't talk about Hallmark in the morning. But apparently Peter didn't forget the conversation. That's the only explanation Claude can come up with for walking into his apartment after work and finding an obnoxiously pink colored envelope stuck to his refrigerator, "Claude" written across the front in Peter's handwriting.
He gives the boy a key and this is what it's used for.
Still, he yanks the envelope off the door and tears it open. Unsurprisingly there's a greeting card inside. The front is nothing but a picture of gray haired lab puppy, all floppy ears and big brown eyes. Claude snorts, because he's pretty sure Peter has that exact same expression.
There's not much when he actually opens the card. The left panel is completely white, and the right panel just has a small bit of text.
See...
The more grey hair you have,
the cuter you look!
Happy Birthday!
Except Peter took a red pen to the word "Birthday" and wrote "pre-Birthday" instead. Fantastic.
Pulling out his phone, he immediately hits Peter's number on the speed dial. It's six-thirty, so his shift should be over, and it's probably better for Claude not to analyze why he even knows things like that. Sure enough, the phone is picked up right after one ring.
"Hey."
"I'm changin' the locks to my apartment," Claude says, trying to fight back the smile tugging at his lips.
Peter apparently doesn't buy it either, because he laughs. "Did you like it?"
"You know, mate, somewhere in New York City, a person died today because you were too busy taping a crappy card to my refrigerator door."
"It was my lunch break! The only emergency I would have been responding to is if Hesam started choking on his sandwich."
"Yeah, well, if he died it would've been your fault," Claude teases. "Also appreciate how you chose a birthday card that reminded me I'm getting old."
"I thought the dog was appropriate," he says, and Claude can hear the grin in his voice.
"Was appropriate. For a second I thought you had taped a picture of yourself to the front. Had to do a double take."
"You're an ass."
"You broke into my apartment and wasted," he flips the card over, "$2.99."
"It wasn't a waste, and I didn't break in. You're the one who gave me a key."
Claude chuckles, finally walking over to his couch and dropping back onto it. "Must be goin' out of my head then. Think I should have a medical professional come over here and inspect me."
There's a pause, and Claude is sure it's because Peter is smiling. "Oh yeah? Lucky for you I'll be out of here in ten minutes."
"Suppose that is lucky for me. See, I actually want you here. Gotta be that my disease is progressing. 'Cause after gettin' that card the only thing I should want is to throw you off a building again."
"You're so romantic," Peter deadpans, and Claude grins brightly, even if the boy can't see. "You want me to bring take-out?"
"Yeah, stop and get anything that isn't pizza."
"Okay. I'll use my key to let myself in."
"Not if I've already changed the locks."
"Goodbye, Claude," Peter says, mock annoyance obvious in his voice.
"Goodbye, Pete," he echoes, tossing the phone next to him on the couch. The greeting card is still in his hand, and Claude stares down at it, unsure of what to do. He should probably throw it out. But the idiot did spend $2.99 on it. Those puppy eyes gaze up at him from the front and Claude huffs, getting up and shoving it into a desk drawer and out of sight. He better not hear a word about it when Peter actually gets here.
***
Claude's in a meeting when his phone buzzes. It's just a quick vibration in his pocket, but he decides to pull it out anyway. This is probably the most boring meeting of all time, and he's not even taking part in it. The department just recruited some new agents from the FBI for its law enforcement unit, and six of them are currently getting a Welcome to the Department of Special Human Development lecture. Claude's supposed to observe in the back, but they're on the science part of the meeting, and Christ it's mind-numbing. He's almost tempted to run up there and start flickering in and out of sight just to liven it up.
It's so bad, he's actually hoping this email will be a request from Bennet to stop by his office. Which is a scary thought, because apparently spending time with Noah is more appealing than listening to a talk on DNA.
Except when he checks his inbox the email is registering to his private address and not his work. Then when he sees the subject line he almost groans: Peter has sent you an ecard!
And there's two of them.
At least he's not wasting money now on useless pieces of paper, and instead of opening the cards, Claude decides to text Peter.
Haven't read them, but don't you have better things to do?
It's only a few seconds before Peter's response pops up. No... don't u?
Claude snorts, looking up at the power point presentation currently going on and then back down to his phone. No. Also, I'm dumping you if you don't write in proper English.
You always say that. But Claude notices everything is written out this time and he smirks. Then his phone buzzes again. Anyway... was just thinking of you. Read them. Just got a call. Bye!
He closes down the messaging without a response, flicking back over to his email. The two cards are still there and Claude almost rolls his eyes. He'd thought Peter had forgotten about this after the last one. But apparently not.
This card better not have graphics with exploding hearts. Otherwise Claude really is automatically deleting it.
He goes for the one that arrived in his inbox first, bracing himself for unicorns and rainbows and a shower of birthday candles. But instead it's just a small, thankfully-not-animated card with a picture of two people drawn onto it. Then in simple, black font it reads: You would have loved the gift I didn't bother getting you.
"Birthday" is on the top, right above the card, and on the bottom is a note from Peter.
Two more weeks!
This time he actually does let out a quiet snort. He also can't help but wonder if this means Peter really isn't getting him a gift, but then, he doesn't even want to consider caring about that so he shuts down that line of thought before he can really get started.
He also decides to let the email stay in his inbox.
Since there wasn't any sappy crap in the first card, Claude is holding out hope for the second. Though with his luck, Peter is just lulling him into a false sense of security, so when he opens the second one he won't be expecting an elaborate birthday cake set to "Endless Love". But when he clicks on the link, it's in the same simple style as the first.
This time "Thinking of You" is on the top. The picture is of some ancient looking workers, and when Claude finally reads the text of the card he almost chokes.
FYI, I'm building a shrine to your cock.
His eyes dart to the personalized message on the bottom, which starts with a stupid looking smile: :) But since you don't want me to get you a birthday gift, you're never going to see the shrine. You should print this out and put it on your coffee table next to the dog one.
This time his snort of laughter is slightly too loud, and one of the recruits turns around to look at him. Claude doesn't care though, he just stares until the guy turns back around to explore the wonders of biology.
He decides not to delete this card either.
***
When Peter hands him an envelope a week later, Claude figures he really shouldn't be surprised. He's over at Peter's apartment, waiting for the boy to join him on the couch so they can watch a movie when a blue envelope is dropped in his lap. Peter quickly sits down and sidles up next to him, dropping a kiss to his cheek. "I saw this one today and thought of you," he says, and Claude can hear the tease in his voice.
"How much did you waste this time?" he asks, finger already sliding under the back flap of the envelope to tear it open.
"Not telling. Just open it."
After the last card, Claude isn't sure whether to expect something sappy or something pornographic. What he pulls out instead is an oddly thick card that's a really ugly shade of lime green. With a giant cartoon grim reaper on the front.
"Hilarious," Claude says, ignoring Peter's snickers and the kisses to his jaw.
The cartoon grim reaper has a blue speech bubble over it. Oh relax, everybody. I'm just here for some cake.
It says Happy 40th birthday... on the bottom, though Peter was nice enough to cross out the 40th and change it to 100th. Claude pokes Peter at reading that, though it doesn't make much of a difference since he still looks way too pleased with himself.
It only gets worse, or better if you're Peter, when Claude finally opens the card. The thing is almost flat when music starts floating up. It's a familiar progression of chords with some cowbell in the background, and Claude doesn't even bother to read what's inside before snapping the card shut.
"Christ, it plays music."
Peter's finally broken down into actual laughter, head resting against Claude's shoulder. He takes the card away from Claude and tugs it open, once again starting up the beginning of "Don't Fear the Reaper".
Claude can't help a small chuckle as he pulls the card back. "That's the worst thing you've ever bought. Just want you to know," he says, holding the thing above his head when Peter tries to snatch it away again. "And you've got a lot of terrible things in this apartment."
"I think that one's my favorite of the cards so far."
"It would be," Claude says, finally tossing it on the coffee table and letting Peter climb on top of him. "I can't wait for my birthday to end, just so I don't have to get cards anymore."
Peter smiles, eyes wide and bright with pleasure, and Claude thinks he's turning sappy enough to admit he loves that expression on Peter's face. It's one he's started to see more and more these past few months. "Admit it. You love my cards."
"Can't stand 'em," Claude murmurs, pulling Peter closer and in for another kiss.
"Yeah, you say that now. But just wait until next week when I send a singing telegram to your apartment."
Claude stares. "I really will throw you off a building again, mate. That'll be the end."
"Liar," Peter says, laughing as he pushes Claude back on the couch. The DVDs lay forgotten next to the grim reaper on Peter's coffee table, and when Peter pulls off his shirt and presses himself against Claude, he can admit that maybe he'd find a way to make it work after the singing telegram.
At least for the sake of the sex.
***
Claude's birthday falls on a Monday, but he still ends up with the day off. Supposedly it's an office policy. But Claude really thinks it's a conspiracy by Noah to make sure the entire department knows when his birthday is. He can just picture them all now, passing around a card to sign and planning on which cake to buy him for tomorrow. Government offices shouldn't be allowed to have social committees.
The first thing he smells when he wakes up is bacon, and he lets out a low groan because there are few things he loves as much as a big, home cooked breakfast. And knowing Peter that's exactly what he's getting, probably served to him in bed.
Sure enough, less than five minutes later, the boy is carrying in a tray stacked with food. Claude doesn't even know where it all came from, because his refrigerator was near barren and he definitely doesn't own that breakfast-in-bed tray.
"I went shopping this morning," Peter says, probably seeing the confusion on Claude's face. "And I brought the tray over a few days ago when you weren't home and hid it in your closet."
The food looks fantastic-- eggs, potatoes, bacon, toast, butter, jam, and a tall glass of orange juice. Claude scoots up in bed, letting Peter settle the tray over his legs, and looks up with raised eyebrows. "You're not gonna pamper me all day, yeah?"
Peter laughs. "You're the only person in existence who would complain about that."
Claude shrugs. "Just wanna act like it's a normal day until we get to the cake later. Don't need anyone doin' anything for me."
"Guess I should cancel dinner reservations and the couple's massage," Peter says, kissing Claude on the cheek before stealing a piece of bacon.
"Oi! Get your own."
Peter ignores him and takes another. "Don't worry. I don't have anything planned other than your cake, and I got you a small present."
Claude stares. He thinks he's fine with the gift. Deep down. But he isn't going to admit it. "Told you that you didn't have to."
"You got me a gift for my birthday," Peter reasons, finally leaving Claude's plate alone and curling next to him in bed.
"Because you like all that crap. Didn't wanna watch you cry because I lumped your birthday in with Christmas."
"Shut up," Peter says, smacking him lightly on the chest. "Just let me do nice things for you and stop complaining."
He barely bites back the remark that he doesn't need or want people to do nice things for him. That would've sounded like the pinnacle of emotional health. Plus, he's the one who decided to be in a relationship with Peter. So he can't really complain when Peter acts like a boyfriend or partner or whatever the hell he wants to call it.
"Fine," he mutters, planning on ending this part of the conversation by taking a really long sip of orange juice. Except when he lifts the glass, he notices a beige envelope pushed to the back of the tray, corner sticking out from underneath a napkin and placed away from all the food. "Oh Christ, another one?"
"Another what?" Peter mutters, and when Claude looks over he sees Peter's eyes are closed. It's 9:30 now, and he suddenly wonders how early the boy got up to cook for him.
"Another card," Claude finally clarifies, pulling it off the tray and whacking Peter on the head with it. "Gotten more cards from you this past month than I have in my life." Which isn't entirely true, but it's close.
"What happened to letting me do things for you and not complaining?"
"There's fine print there. Stupid cards don't count," he says, tearing the envelope open anyway. It's a nicer paper than the others, textured and thicker, and when Claude reaches inside he realizes it's because this isn't a greeting card. Folded up in the envelope is a matching piece of paper, also of high quality. The whole thing looks like it's from a stationary set, and somehow it really doesn't surprise Claude that Peter owns one. "What the hell is this?"
"Your birthday card," Peter mutters, eyes still closed. "You don't like Hallmark so I made it myself."
When Claude looks down, he notices a birthday cake drawn onto the front flap of the folded up paper. In crayon.
Before Claude can even ask, Peter explains, "I made it in the kid's ward of the hospital. I know you're going to tease me."
"Maybe later," he says, stroking a hand through Peter hair and snickering at the carefully drawn cake design. Unfortunately the art ends there, and Claude doesn't know what he was hoping for, but the inside of the card is blank save for some writing. It's a small paragraph in black pen, all handwritten by Peter, and Claude thinks it's okay to smile. Peter isn't looking anyway.
Claude,
I know you don't want cards or much attention or anything romantic. You put up with a lot for me-- my issues and my family and all of my baggage-- so the least you deserve is a card and to know that I'm grateful you're sticking around. Don't worry, we don't have to talk about this or anything. You can even throw it away with the others. But I wanted to give it to you anyway.
So happy birthday.
-- Peter
Oh.
No wonder Peter's feigning sleep down there. Claude stares down at him, not quite sure what to say. He finally settles on shoving the homemade card into his bedside drawer and kissing Peter on the forehead. "Didn't throw the others away, you know."
"Hmm?" Peter asks, blinking up at him, and maybe he wasn't completely faking the sleep thing.
"The other cards. Didn't throw 'em out. Even printed out your stupid internet cards."
"Even the cock one?" he asks, somehow managing to say that with a straight face, expression all pleased and earnest.
Claude snorts. "Yeah. Even the cock one."
"Oh. Okay then," he says, scooting even closer and throwing an arm around Claude's waist. "Happy birthday, Claude."
Claude smiles, somehow infinitely more comfortable than before when Peter decides to use his thigh as a pillow. "Yeah, mate," he finally murmurs, leaning down and giving Peter a quick kiss. "Thanks."
He still hates greeting cards. But he thinks that maybe if Peter wants to give him one, he can finally manage not to complain.
*