And, for awhile -- a long while of lazy kisses and warm hands on skin -- he did. But reality intruded on everything sooner or later. No matter how much one would wish otherwise. And so, eventually, kisses slowed, then stopped; hands gentled, then stilled. And Karl finally opened his eyes, encountered warm ones staring back at him. At least this was real. He was here. Orlando was here. And maybe...just maybe...it could be enough. "What do you want?" "I..." Orlando licked his lips, the motion unconsciously erotic. And Karl's entire life waited in the balance. Planets were born, died; civilizations rose, crumbled; stars went nova and time stilled. "I want you to stay." And, finally, Karl allowed himself to hope. "For how long?" Unsteady fingers grazed Karl's cheeks. "I don't know. I can't make any promises." That wasn't what Karl wanted. Promises, assurances...lies, all of them. Nobody could promise, no one could assure. Life was infinite and long and took too many paths. And most of them were unpleasant, most of them took you someplace you didn't want to be. No, Karl wasn't looking for a promise. "I don't want a promise, Orlando," he finally said aloud. Orlando nodded solemnly. "Everybody breaks them." "Exactly." And Karl should have known, should have remembered that Orlando would understand. Orlando had always understood. "What do you want, then?" Orlando asked. "I want to know that the line doesn't matter anymore." "There is no line, Karl." And Orlando's smile was bittersweet. "There never was one with you." And that was also true. The line of people waiting to fuck him, fuck Orlando -- the masses that couldn't see behind the surface, didn't know the truth, weren't interested in reality. The ones who wanted the beautiful shell, wanted the package...but didn't want them. Karl had always refused to stand in Orlando's line. And Orlando had walked through Karl's like it hadn't even existed. Orlando kissed his chest, smiled up at him. "I love you." And maybe...God, maybe it really meant what Karl thought it did. He caught the humming seconds later as it reverberated through them. Soft kiss on Orlando's jaw, soft smile. "What song is it?" "You know." Orlando sank into the cradle of Karl's arms, laid his head on Karl's chest. Yeah, he knew. Karl kissed Orlando's hair, started to sing in a low voice. "Who knows how long I've loved you, you know I love you still --" "Skip the next line," Orlando interrupted, whispering. "I want the ending." And it didn't hammer Karl, didn't hit him like a ton of bricks. There was no fanfare, no grand epiphany. Just the world slip-sliding back into place, focus finally shifting until the fates were aligned. The next words sung -- whispered -- breathed -- against Orlando's hair were easy. Simple. True. And sung right back to him, voice mingling with his own. A fragile beginning, yes. But there.
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