🖤 Ardent's Birthday 🖤

(This month is Ardent and M's birthday month. So, not only will you be getting a little birthday drabble of them but the poly snippet will release next week. The 16th for penthouse tier, and 20th for studio-suite.)

You didn’t plan for your first night with Ardent to fall on the eve of his birthday—it just worked out that way. The goal had been simple: give him his gift early, a ticket to Greece for a weekend with his mom. Little did you know, he’d already bought tickets for the two of you to go together.

When he saw the tickets, he pulled you into a kiss. It was everything Ardent claimed he wasn’t—tender, romantic, consuming. One thing led to another, his fingertips left a trail of fire along your skin until the only remedy for the ache inside you was him. It was perfect, intimate, the very moment felt as if you were frozen in time. That is, if you ignored the casualty of your new top.

Had you known how passionate Ardent would get, you’d have worn something old. But the sheepish look on his face when he realized the damage—and his promise of a shopping spree before your trip—made it worth it.

As you lay together, his thumb softly strokes your shoulder, lips pressing feather light kisses along your freshly marked skin. His touch, so careful now, feels like he’s trying to soothe every ache he might have caused.

He holds you as though you’re something precious. Even his voice, usually gruff and teasing, is soft when he whispers, “How are you feeling?”

It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open, but when you do, the adoration in his gaze makes it worthwhile. “I’m actually kind of hungry,” you admit, part truth, part excuse to get up before sleep claims you.

You press a kiss to his scarred forearm that rests against your abdomen before sliding out of his embrace. Grabbing his discarded shirt, you slide it on, and Ardent gasps.

“Shit.” His hand comes up to cover the grin spreading across his face.

“What?”

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, his eyes roaming over you. Tousled hair, swollen lips, and the soft purple marks along your skin—it’s as though seeing you like this, wearing his shirt, roots him in a way nothing else could.

“You should keep it,” he mutters, his voice a little rough. His accent slips through just enough to make you want to hear it again.

“Well, you do owe me,” you tease, a grin tugging at your lips.

Ardent groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you reply, laughing as his mock glare meets your amused one.

Counting this, that’s two shirts he owes you now. Three if you count the one ruined during your first meeting—which, of course, you do. He was an ass that day, and you’re determined never to let him forget it.

Ardent mutters something about cooking, but you wave him off. “Relax. I’ll find a snack.”

The cold hardwood under your feet sends a shiver through you as you head to the kitchen. For someone who lives alone, his place is remarkably clean. Even after three months of dating, it’s still surprising to see your presence here: your jacket on the coat rack, your umbrella in the corner, a dish of your favorite candy on the counter. Almond milk in the fridge, because he remembered your dairy allergy.

It’s impossible not to smile at his consideration, harder still to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks as your fingers brush over the bite mark he left on your neck.

Pulling open the fridge, you glance at the clock. 12:02 a.m. It’s officially his birthday.

Shoving aside some containers, you retrieve the cake you’d hidden earlier: Pistachio Raspberry Rose. You’re not sure if he’ll like it, but after how long it took to make, you’re hopeful.

The sound of his footsteps grows closer as you pull the cake from its container, stick candles in, and light them.

“Μωρό, it’s cold. Get back in bed, and I’ll heat you some—” His voice cuts off when he steps into the kitchen, his eyes widening as they land on you with the cake.

Your thoughts race, recalling the phrase his uncle taught you over the past week. What was it again? Ah.

“Χρόνια πολλά,” you say, watching his brows furrow before his expression softens. When he realizes what you’ve said, his lips part in surprise, and a grin spreads across his face, soft and unguarded.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, stepping closer.

“Χρόνια πολλά,” you repeat, and his hand lifts to rake through his hair, tugging slightly at the strands.

“Did I say it wrong?”

His voice drops, almost shy. “No… I liked it.”

Wait. Is Ardent Pine…blushing? Oh. Oh, this is going to be fun.

You step closer, leaning in to press your lips softly to his. “Ardent…”

Suspicion flickers in his gaze as your voice takes on a teasing lilt.

You whisper the phrase again, reveling in the flush spreading across his face. His groan muffled by the hand he drags over it.

“God, you’re going to be the death me,” he mutters, his voice filled with exasperation—and something deeper you can’t help but treasure.