Chapter Text
It’s early in the morning on Marty’s birthday. Too early to start the day, really. But Meryl’s got plans. And a peach silk robe “borrowed” from the set.
The morning light filters in through a gap in the curtains. Meryl is already up, or sort of. Hair all over the place, robe half on, carrying a mug and padding across the floor with a mischievous look on her face.
Marty’s still under the covers but is keeping one eye open all the same.
“Happy birthday, darling” she says in a stage whisper as she gets back onto the bed, settling on top of the covers beside him. Her robe opens just enough for him to notice. Which of course he does, even if he’s still half-asleep.
He sleepily props himself up on one elbow and takes the mug of coffee from her. He takes a sip before setting it down on the nightstand.
She runs her fingers across his bare chest, nails grazing him lightly. “How does 75 feel so far?”
“I’m not old, I’m classic, darling.” came the answer, in his best nasal Katharine Hepburn impression, making her snort with laughter. He beams at her reaction.
“That voice gets you out of trouble far too often.” She leans in, kissing the corner of his mouth, moving across to his jaw. Her hand wanders under the covers and she’s not checking for a pulse.
Marty breathes in sharply.
“Well, this is a nice surprise.”
Her mouth is against his ear now. “You have three options, birthday boy.”
“I’m listening.”
“Option one: you get your poached eggs.”
“Tempting but pass…for now”
“Option two: you get your presents.”
“Later”
“Option three… I do unspeakable things to you.”
“Mer, baby, if you don’t start right now, I’ll do Jiminy Glick during foreplay and kill the mood forever.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You… are the most… delicious… person I’ve ever met.”
This time, she howls with laughter and nearly falls off the bed, but when she recovers, she’s straddling him, giving him a look that means business.
“Happy birthday, you impossible man. I love you so much it’s ridiculous.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me before they climbed on top of me.”
He wraps his arms around her. What follows is slow, warm, almost reverent. They pause to laugh, to joke, to delight in what they’ve unexpectedly found in each other.
And when they finally lie back, breathless and sweaty -
“Next year… same thing, but followed by 2 perfectly poached eggs.”
Meryl kisses his chest. “Done. But only if you do Bette Davis next time.”
He’s already there with the voice. “I can’t wait.”
She groans. He grins. It’s a pretty great start to his year.