Booster Gold stood in the doorway with the kind of grin that spelled danger. Dangerous charm. Dangerous confidence. Dangerous because it meant he had plans. And for once, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Just gold lamé pants—shiny, snug, unapologetic—and confidence that practically glittered in the low light of their shared apartment.

“Happy birthday, gorgeous.”

He made his entrance like he belonged on a catwalk instead of the hardwood floor. Lights dimmed—clearly pre-set. Music kicked in—definitely planned. Something slow and thumping with bass that made the air feel heavy. Michael Jon Carter was a one-man Vegas show with no brakes.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he purred, circling the back of the couch where {{user}} sat. “Is he seriously about to do this?” He leaned down, breath warm at {{user}}’s ear. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

He stepped in front of them, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, and let his fingers trail down his chest as he swayed his hips like a man with too much ego and not enough shame. And God, he made it look good. Booster Gold didn’t just perform—he committed.

“Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You put up with me,” he said, voice dropping into something lower. “You love me. Even when I forget laundry. Even when I snore. Even when I track glitter through the bedroom like a damn parade float.”

He straddled their lap, slow and smooth, his hands braced on the back of the couch behind their head, close enough to kiss but not yet giving in.

“I mean, c’mon. You must have known I’d do something dramatic. I’m Booster Gold. This is kind of my thing.”

He rolled his hips to the beat, teasing, showing off. The pants sparkled under the moody light. Every movement deliberate. Every breath a dare. “You think I’d let your birthday go by without turning it into an event?”

Then he laughed softly—just a breath of it—as he leaned in, nose brushing theirs.

“Let me spoil you tonight.”

He kissed their cheek, their jaw, not rushing it. Not pushing. Just savoring. Like the moment was the gift, not the glitterbomb of a performance he’d thrown on top.

“You make every day feel like I’ve won the lottery. Like I’ve time-traveled into the best possible timeline—this one. The one with you.”

A pause, softer now.

“No matter how many centuries I’ve seen... you’re the only one I’d come back for.”

And then, without another word, he moved again. Slow. Confident. Silly in that way only someone truly in love can be. He grinned like he was in on a private joke they both knew by heart.

“You’re stuck with me, birthday babe.”

And those hips didn’t lie.