The Birthday Boy

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Katherine's laughter echoed through the air, a melody carried by the soft breeze as Zayn regaled her with the story of his first attempt at horseback riding. It was a tale of teenage hubris and a runaway horse, of a young Zayn being dragged along upside down, his leg caught in the stirrup, until a last-minute rescue saved him from a very embarrassing (and possibly fatal) situation.

"You know you shouldn't laugh," Zayn said, his voice tinged with mock indignation, though his eyes were crinkling at the corners with amusement. "I nearly died!"

Katherine wiped away a tear, a giggle escaping her lips. "I'm sorry! Did you eventually get the hang of riding horses?"

"A little bit over the years, after my grandfather passed away, I haven't really been able to practice as much." His smile faded a bit, the mention of his grandfather bringing a shadow to his eyes. 

"I'm sorry about your grandfather." Katherine whispered, her voice softer now. They had left the balcony, venturing into the tranquil garden at the back of the estate, and now sat on a bench overlooking the serene lake. 

Zayn took a long swallow of his bourbon, the amber liquid swirling in the glass as he lowered it. "It's alright, it was a long time ago." 

His hazel eyes, bathed in the soft moonlight, held a depth that Katherine couldn't quite read. There was a lingering sadness there, a quiet sorrow that seemed to whisper of a love lost, a life interrupted.

"I understand," Katherine murmured, her gaze dropping to her own glass. "After my father died… I’ve never really been able to focus on my designs as much."  She traced the rim of the glass with her finger, her voice barely above a whisper.  "Among other things."

The divorce, the three miscarriages, the backstabbing sister and husband, it had all been a whirlwind, a storm that had left her reeling,  her dreams washed away like sandcastles on the shore. Even the solace of the countryside, the quiet beauty of the rolling hills, hadn't ignited the spark of creativity within her.

"We'll get there one day," Zayn said, his gaze unwavering, his eyes holding hers as if he were looking into her very soul. "Forgive me for my abruptness, but can I ask you something?"

Katherine took another sip of her drink, the amber liquid warming her throat, and smacked her lips. "What?"

"Are you... seeing anyone?"

The question hung in the air, simple, straightforward, yet it caught Katherine off guard. A few seconds of silence stretched out, the only sound the gentle rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. Then she laughed, a nervous giggle that made her cover her lips with her hand. 

Zayn watched her with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. She had never been looked at like this before, not by any man, not even by Castiel.

"Seriously, Hogan?" she said, another giggle escaping her lips.

"Too early, huh?" Zayn's lips curved into a wry smile, but his gaze didn't waver, and Katherine sensed a flicker of self-reproach in his eyes.

"Yes, I suppose it is a bit too early. But no, I'm not seeing anyone." She peered into her drink, the amber liquid reflecting the moonlight, a fleeting image of the past, of a life she had once dreamed of, a life that seemed so distant now. "I haven't really been able to think about getting into a relationship."

"The divorce was that messy?" Zayn asked, his voice a gentle probe, and Katherine winced. Messy wasn't even the word for what she had gone through. It was a battlefield, a relentless assault on her heart and soul, leaving her bruised and battered. 

Silence descended once more, the only sound the gentle hum of crickets and the soft whooshing of the wind through the trees. "Cas and Caroline usually played it off like the divorce was mutual to everyone and the media," Zayn said, his voice laced with a hint of understanding. 

"I know... I saw the interviews and the magazines covering it back then," Katherine said, the bitterness seeping into her voice despite her efforts to keep it at bay. 

She thought back to the days in the countryside, her refuge from the storm, the relentless barrage of social media posts and tabloids. "They didn't hold back in trying to make me look like the bad guy."

"I'm sorry you went through all of that," Zayn said, his words carrying a genuine sympathy, a sincerity that she felt deep within her, a reassurance that she wasn't alone in this, that he understood her pain. 

"Not your fault," she responded, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, tilting her head to the side as she met his gaze. It was a look filled with vulnerability, with a hint of defiance, as if she were daring him to see her, to understand her, to acknowledge the wounds that she carried.  

"So what about you?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, but the question hung heavy in the air, a challenge, a daring invitation. 

"Me?" He echoed, his gaze flickering, a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

"Yeah," she said, a newfound boldness coursing through her, the alcohol loosening her inhibitions, fueling a desire she hadn't even realized was dormant within her. "Are you seeing anyone?"

She noticed the way his breathing hitched, his eyes widening ever so slightly, a silent acknowledgement of the unspoken tension between them. 

"...No." He said, the word a single syllable, yet it carried a weight that reverberated through the quiet garden.

"...Do you want to?" she asked, her voice a soft murmur, yet it held a power that seemed to draw him closer, to pull him into her orbit.  She reached out, her hand finding its way to his clothed shoulder, a gesture that was both bold and tentative, a declaration of her own desires, a challenge to his. 

She could feel his gaze upon her, a searing intensity that made her skin tingle, and she knew he wanted her, she could feel it, see it, a yearning reflected in the depths of his eyes. 

And she wanted him too. A primal desire, a thirst that had been dormant for years, awakened by his presence, by the look in his eyes, by the way he looked at her. 

"I'm not looking for a relationship," he said, his voice husky, a raw confession of his desires, "but, now I'm being tempted by a gorgeous goddess."

"A goddess, huh? That's a new one..." she whispered, her hand finding its way to his jaw, tracing the line of his cheek, her touch sending a shiver through him. The space between them was almost nonexistent, the air thick with unspoken desire, a silent symphony of longing and anticipation. 

Her heart was pounding, a frantic rhythm echoing the quickening beat of her desires, and she remembered that she hadn't kissed anyone in years, hadn't truly been with anyone, her world consumed by the chaos of her past.

And she had been thirsty for years, she realized, a thirst for connection, for passion, for something real, something raw.  And she hadn't even known.

"I suppose the question is..." He said, his gaze burning into her, his eyes filled with an intoxicating blend of want and lust.  "Does the goddess want me?" 

Her other hand found its way to his nape, gently pulling him closer, the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his skin against her hand, a heady combination that sent a rush of anticipation through her. "I suppose she does," she murmured, her voice barely audible, a confession of her desi

res, a surrender to the moment, to the intoxicating pull of his presence.