Karl didn't say a word, just opened his arms, and stepping into the lengthy embrace felt like freedom, like a cool drink on a hot summer's day, like maybe Orlando could finally breathe again. For the first time in longer than Orlando could remember, there wasn't anyone shrieking his name, no one hurling unanswerable questions his way, no one snapping photos of his every move, taking his soul one flash at a time. Karl held onto him, held him like they were alone, like they were the only two people in the world. Karl held him like they'd been apart a lifetime, like they'd never been apart at all. Orlando clutched at Karl's shoulders, shuddering, hating himself for the weakness, but unable to stop. He buried his nose in Karl's neck, inhaled Karl's scent, woodsy and dark, inhaled Karl's strength. Inhaled Karl, and everything he'd come to New Zealand to remember. I'm sorry, he wanted to say, but he wasn't sure why. Karl wouldn't have accepted it anyway, even if he had known. Apologies weren't part of Karl's vocabulary. But then, he'd never needed them. "So," Karl said, keeping a hold on Orlando's shoulders even as he stepped back. His once-over was quick, thorough, and warm. Orlando felt absolved by it, cleansed. "I hear you're unemployed now." "Yeah." The smile was watery, genuine, the most genuine thing Orlando could remember in months. "Yeah, I am." When Karl grinned, Orlando counted the new laugh lines around his mouth. He wanted to lick them one by one. Wanted to taste Karl's smile from the inside, wanted to crawl inside it and get lost for awhile. "Feels good, dunnit, not knowing what you're doing?" Karl asked. "Fucking brilliant, actually," Orlando replied, relieved, and rejuvenated. And all before he'd left the airport. He made a show of looking around, even though he knew the answer to his next question. "Where's the better half?" "Home, where else?" "Still anti-social?" "Only to the world." Karl jerked his head in the direction of baggage claim. His hands slid away from Orlando's shoulders, down his arms, until their fingertips brushed in a slight caress that promised more later. "C'mon, let's get your gear, get home." Home. It sounded so simple when Karl said it. *** Harry greeted them at the door, barefoot as always, wearing a pair of frayed, indecently short cut-offs and nothing else. He was still leanly muscled with broad shoulders and strong thighs. His closely-shorn hair had more grey in it than the last time Orlando'd seen him (he was too ashamed to admit, even to himself, how long it had been), but his eyes still crinkled the same way when he smiled. Orlando was pathetically grateful for the welcome in it. "Found him wandering about at the airport," Karl said in greeting, and brushed his lips across Harry's as he handed off Orlando's bag. "Alright if I keep him?" Harry shrugged, pursed his lips in thought as he dropped Orlando's bag on the worn sofa – still the same plaid monstrosity from days gone by. Orlando looked around, remembering every evening he'd ever spent within these walls. He could hear the echo of laughter and moans, of ghost-voices whispering, mingling together in a strange sort of symphony. He wondered if either Harry or Karl ever plastered over the hole in the spare room door. If the warped back door still stuck on rainy days. If the sheets on their bed still smelled of citrus. "He housetrained?" Harry asked, when Karl came back in the living room and handed him a beer. Karl slapped a cold bottle into Orlando's palm. "You housetrained?" "Mostly." Karl took a sip from his beer and returned the shrug. "He says he is." "I dunno." Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully, rasping over a thin layer of stubble. Orlando could smell the charcoal from the grill outside, wasn't sure if his mouth was watering from the thought of steak for dinner or Harry after. "You know keeping someone's a lot of responsibility." Karl put his head on Harry's shoulder and batted his eyelashes. "I promise not to ask for the pony if you let me have him." Harry laughed. "Oh, alright, go on then." Karl reached out, pulled Orlando to them, the space between them opening, enveloping him like he'd never left. Orlando squeezed Karl's hand even as Harry met him halfway, the kiss aching and brief, tasting of malt and a sharper flavor under. "'Bout time you made it back," Harry said simply, when he lifted his head. Orlando could only nod, throat clogged, heart full. Thank fuck I came. *** They ate dinner on the patio, surrounded by the wild weeds in the back yard Harry claimed he was 'cultivating'. In the distance, Orlando could hear the crash of the waves, smelled brine and the sea even over the scent of freshly-seared steak. Do I dare, and do I dare, he thought, and closed his eyes, letting the cool breeze wash over him. He couldn't remember the poem or the poet, just those words, fragmented and plaintive. Does anyone really dare, he wondered, and caught Karl swatting Harry's ass when Harry moved past him to go back into the kitchen for more beer. He was here. It was dare enough. "Stop thinking." Orlando started guiltily, then laughed. "Am I so transparent?" "Like glass, mate," Karl replied, and speared a bite of potato with his fork. "But you've gotten better at hiding." Orlando didn't know why that thought depressed him. After dinner, they moved to the chaise lounges, Harry pulling Karl on top of him to share one, Orlando on the other, pulled as close together as possible. "So, what are your grand plans, then?" Harry asked, after they'd watched the sunset, enjoyed the silence, enjoyed each other. Orlando had forgotten just how beautiful New Zealand sunsets were. He'd forgotten a lot of things he'd once vowed to remember always. No one to blame but himself, really. But he'd remembered the most important thing. "Hadn't thought about it, really," Orlando replied, squinting as he mulled over his options. Endless days, endless possibilities, the world his oyster, his prize for years of sloughing about. And yet, here he was, in a smallish house near the beach in the middle of a tiny country, far from his obligations, far from his life. Far from everything, except what mattered most. "Got a few weeks before publicity starts for 'Pirates'." "Good." Harry shifted under Karl, tightened strong arms around him, forearms bunching with the movement. Orlando watched with greedy eyes, felt the collateral imprint of Harry's hands on him. "It'll give us time to catch up." As easy as that, after all this time. "You mean it?" Karl shook his head sadly, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that made Orlando's breath catch. "Sure we do. Good houseboys are hard to come by in this day and age." "You'll earn your keep," Harry continued, the promise in his voice unmistakable. *** "Stop squirming," Karl muttered, voice thick with irritation and lust, and Orlando laughed, surprising himself with the sound, breathless and high-pitched though it was. "Kidding, yeah?" he managed, as Karl's nails scraped across the backs of his knees, and bit back a moan when Harry's lips skimmed over the scar on his back. Karl's lips slanting over his was answer enough, all of the answer Orlando needed. He'd led them back into the bedroom with every intention of gratitude, of dividing his time between them. Of maybe watching, if given the chance. He should have known better, should have remembered that there wasn't any room for sitting on the sidelines with the two of them. It was never about inviting anyone into their circle, never about experimenting or taking turns. They'd tumbled to the bed seamlessly, one entity, and it was like pressing play after a long pause. Everything snapped into place, and Orlando found his place in the clear, sharp taste of Harry's skin, the feel of Karl's soft lips on his body. In watching Harry and Karl rise above him, sharing breath and heat, pink tongues gliding together in their kiss. It was like he'd never left, like some part of him had stayed right here in this room, only waiting for him to come back. Later, with two sets of hands running over his sweat-slick body, with Karl's low voice in his ear and Harry's cock pushing deep inside him, Orlando murmured a prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening that this was still his. That they were still his. *** "I was sorry to hear about you and Kate." Karl's soft words were the first spoken in over an hour. Orlando had thought he was the only one awake. "Yeah." Orlando drew out the word. His hand found Karl's, even though they were all tangled together as close as they could get, loose-limbed and sated. "Yeah, it was a shame we couldn't make a go of it." "She was a nice girl," Harry said, lips light as they brushed over the space between Orlando's brows. Yeah, Orlando thought, and lifted his head enough so that he could fit his mouth over Harry's. She was the best of girls, really. He'd given her everything he had, hadn't realized, until it was too late, that the most important part of him he had to give was still here on this island. Kate was a joy and he was so proud of her, prouder still that he could call himself her friend. But she wasn't this. "You know, I almost didn't call," he finally said, giving voice to doubt, inertia, fear. Do I dare, and do I dare, he thought again, and wondered if either Harry or Karl would know the lines or the poem, or if the poetry they made between the two of them was all they needed. "Why not?" Karl asked, twisting to his side and propping himself up. Even in the dark, Orlando could read the concern in his eyes. "Been awhile, hasn't it." A lifetime, no time, really, when he reflected on it. "Wasn't sure if there...if there was room for me here." "Orlando..." There was a wealth of meaning in Harry's voice. "You've always been welcome." "Yeah." Orlando let out a slow, cleansing breath. "I guess so, huh."
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