"Illya, wake up." Napoleon propped himself up on his elbow and gently shook his lover's shoulder. He received no answer.
"Illya."
"Illya!"
A low growl emanated from underneath the covers. "What?"
"We missed wishing Veronica happy birthday on Friday!"
Sleep-glazed blue eyes blinked up from underneath long lashes. "Who?"
"Veronica! You know, one of those strange female writers who always writes us in bed together."
"Oh yes, her. Hmmph." Illya buried his head in the pillow again.
"What's the 'hmmph' for, Illya? She writes great love scenes for us!"
"Yes, but she interrupted the last one and still hasn't finished it! And why does it matter that we missed her birthday? No one ever cares if they miss my birthday. Or if I have a miserable birthday. Have I ever gotten to have a happy birthday? No. So why should I wish anyone else a happy birthday? Hmmmph."
Napoleon's voice dropped lower, taking on the husky sounds that always presaged a rather vigorous bout of love-making. "But, Illya, I always remember your birthday."
A feral smile was barely visible on Illya's face, positioned as it was between pillow and covers. "Hmmm, yes, you do." Strong fingers danced their way along Napoleon's smooth chest, firmly grasping the growing erection that was his destination. "I just wish these strange women would remember it as well. And that they'd make it a happy birthday."
"Well, how about a very merry un-birthday, then? Would that be satisfactory? We can belatedly—oh yes—celebrate Veronica's birthday for her. Ooooh, do that again!"
"That, my dear Polya, sounds like a marvelous plan. Come here under the blankets so they can't see us."
"O-okay." Napoleon's dark head disappeared as he squirmed happily beneath the heavy covers.
Illya smiled a wicked and knowing smile just before whispering a short phrase into the darkness.
"Happy birthday, Veronica. And thank you."
A very merry un-birthday to the best friend and writing partner a girl could have. *vbg* Happy birthday, sunshine!
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