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Adam’s birthday usually ranges from one end of the party spectrum to the other – he either spends the day alone or with a few close friends, or there’s a massive party thrown to celebrate his turning one year older. This year, Blake is the one spearheading the plans, and from what Adam can tell, they are all so completely fucked.
“Well it IS the day after St. Patrick’s Day,” Blake reasons, making a list of all the booze he wants delivered to the house
“Neither of us is even Irish!” Exasperated, Adam glances at the list, which is at least 3 pages long; he wonders if Blake is planning on ordering another fridge to put it all in. He doesn’t really get the need for a theme, just like he doesn’t like the idea of sharing his birthday with another holiday; call it narcissistic but this was supposed to be his day, dammit!
“I’ve never known you to turn down a good excuse to get plastered,” Blake laughs. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine! Just let me plan everything.”
“And you expect me not to worry?”
Blake shuts him up with a kiss.
St. Patrick’s Day happens to be on a Saturday, which works out perfectly for all of their 9-5 friends, even if they are in rehearsal for most of the day. When they finally get home, Adam realizes that Blake’s had decorators and caterers in the whole day getting ready for the party. He’s about to ask why the hell he’s putting more effort in this party than he did for their anniversary, but then realizes it’s all that work done, and he can start drinking right now. Works for him.
“Seriously, did you buy every bottle of tequila in LA?” Adam asks
“Aren’t you proud?” Blake beams, and Adam can’t help but laugh and punch him on the arm before pulling him in for a kiss that is way more intense than it should be considering how many strangers are around, so Adam decides they should go and get ready.
Getting dressed for a party usually takes a couple of hours, right?
Their friends start showing up as the sun goes down, dressed in lurid shades of green and party favors. Adam didn’t ask for gifts (he’s got pretty much everything a guy could want, including a recording studio and a satisfying relationship with sex on the regular, what else does he need?), so his friends have either made him ridiculous homemade gifts (apparently Gene can knit now), or a donation in his name to charity (which is frankly a lot better than a 10 foot long scarf when you live in Southern California). Normally Adam would feel like a host, but he has to hand it to Blake, he’s taken care of everything – security at the front gates to let people in, staff to hand out food and pour drinks, including a special concoction called the “Shevine” – “vodquila” (a mixture of tequila and vodka, look it up), orange juice, and grenadine. It’s like a punch in the head and a warm hug all at the same time, which is pretty much exactly them.
“I thought everything had to be green?” Adam asks, sipping the bright red liquid. Blake waves off the question.
“Booze doesn’t count! Speaking of which,” Blake reaches around to pinch Adam in one of his more tender areas.
Adam yelps, “What the fuck was that for?!”
“Fun,” Blake grins. “Plus, no green!”
“It’s my fucking birthday!” Adam yells. “I thought I was exempt!”
“It’s not your birthday until midnight. Until then,” Blake goes in for another pinch, but Adam makes a run for it.
By the time 11:59 rolls around, Adam suspects Blake is up to something; he’s talking to Jesse and Mickey but can see Blake wandering around talking to everyone, whispering something to the staff. Adam mentally prepares himself for what’s about to come when finally the clock strikes midnight, and it’s like a fucking bomb goes off. Everyone yells “Happy Brithday!”, cheers…and then start to leave.
“What the fuck is going on?”
“Party’s over,” Blake says, coming up to him and stooping slightly to kiss his cheek playfully. “Well, the main party anyway.” He grins
Seeing Adam’s confused expression, Blake explained, “Every year you either do a party or alone time. This year, I wanted to give you both – huge party to start, little party of our own for your real birthday.”
As Adam processes, the idea, he couldn’t believe Blake had put in all the effort for a few hours, and no one was even passed out overnight in their living room. “You realize we now have ten bottles of tequila to drink on our own?” Adam asks.
“I figure we’re good for it,” Blake says with a smirk. “You wanna go a few more rounds?”
Adam doesn’t answer except to kiss Blake hard on the mouth, his lips pliant under Adam’s movement, allowing him to dip inside and taste the vodka he’d been drinking all night, a hint of the sweet grenadine still on his lips. As Blake pulls their bodies flush together, now balancing on the back of the sofa, Adam is suddenly very glad that the house is empty; it’s the perfect way to start his birthday.