Happy Birthday, riaam! I'm giving you this rambling little bit of fluff made with characters who technically aren't mine to give.

He had to say something. He knew she thought he was being too quiet by the sideways glances she kept tossing over to him. He shifted uncomfortably and resisted the urge to tug at his collar. He hated wearing a tuxedo.

They were nearing the theater. The partition was up, so he heard the security guard in the front passenger seat announcing through his earpiece that they were coming up on their destination. He liked classical music, but he was in the mood for something different. Jazz, maybe. Simple stuff. A trio with a piano and a bass and some drums. He sighed wistfully. So many things he wanted, but couldn't have...

It was the sigh that did it.

"Are you alright, Joseph?"

He cleared his throat and gave her a tight smile. "Fine. Why?"

"You've been awfully quiet."

"Have I?"

"Yes. Something bothering you?"

He thought back to her suite. He'd known when she came into the sitting room because of her light step and the scent of her signature perfume floating around her. He had turned to ask her what had taken so long, planning some sarcastic remark, but he'd stopped at the sight of her. After all, one couldn't talk when one was breathless. It wasn't just something that happened in corny movies, and it wasn't as romantic as it sounded either. He had actually had trouble remembering how to breathe.

She was a vision in emerald green satin. The dress was simple, really, but it tastefully accentuated every curve. A slit, uncharacteristically high for her, stopped in the middle of her lovely thigh. Diamonds adorned her ears, and a cluster of diamonds and emeralds nestled in the delectable hollow in between her collarbones.

If she belonged to him, he wouldn't have cared that she'd left the doors to her bedroom open; that her ladies' maids, bustling about to tidy up and prepare the room for when she returned home for the evening, would have a direct view of them. He would have pulled her to him and shown her all the things she made him feel, but could not say because his breath had left him.

She had taken his silence then as a compliment, smiling her thanks almost shyly. Then she had approached him with her wrap in her outstretched arms, and when she turned, his breath caught again. The dress plunged to the middle of her back, exposing an unexpected amount of perfect skin. He had entertained a thousand fantasies in the time it took to drape the filmy wrap over her shoulders.

"Joseph?"

"Sorry," he said. He realized now that he had been staring at her, his eyes following the line of her shoulder as it curved gracefully into her neck. He caught another whiff of her perfume, and wondered how it made her skin taste.

She cocked her head as she considered his mood. The car was slowing down, merging into the traffic in front of the theater.

"You're not looking forward to this evening, are you?"

He shrugged. "I like the Pyrus Symphony Orchestra."

"But not tonight."

He looked out the window, part of his mind racing ahead to the scene they would encounter. He wished he were her husband. That he could put the screen down and tell the driver to keep going. They would find some small venue with an authentic atmosphere. No trendy drinks at the bar. No posturing celebrities. Just musicians playing jazz for the love of it, small tables, cigar smoke, a bottle of wine. No one would be paying attention to them. He could loosen his tie and undo the top button of his shirt. The music would stir something in her, and she would shiver as he leaned over and whispered things in her ear and trailed his fingers lazily along the slit in her dress.

"No," he said. "Not tonight."

She nodded. "I understand."

And he knew she did. Her words had a throaty sound to them when her emotions got tangled up - like his did. When they were happy to be together, but sad because they weren't really together. One of them always came up with something to break the tension. A little joke usually. It would have to be her tonight. He was coming dangerously close to wanting to wallow.

Suddenly, she gave him a mischievous smile. "I'm wearing your favorite color."

"Green is not my favorite color." He allowed his gaze to slip down her form and wander back up to her eyes. He made a breathy little sound of appreciation. "But it might be after tonight."

The car came to a stop. He dragged his eyes away from her and stared out the window.

"I meant black. Isn't black your favorite color?"

"Yes," he replied, distracted as someone else spoke into his ear at the same time. He threw a quick look back in her direction. "But I don't see a speck of it..." He trailed off as he turned to face her again. She arched a saucy brow as the meaning of her words sunk in.

"Of course, you can't see it. But I am wearing it."

Just then, the door swung open, and the guard from the front seat was offering his arm to help her out onto the sidewalk. He watched her stand on delicate heels, and grinned in spite of himself.

It was going to be a long evening. But ah! what dreams he would have tonight...