He yawned, rubbed the side of his face, and glanced at the alarm clock. 7am. Ugh. No. Just...no. Far too early to be up. No place to be until much later -- he'd just go back to sleep. He snuggled under his comforter -- freshly washed, lingering scent of lemon -- and closed his eyes, sighing in contentment. Then his eyes flew open. Coffee and bacon. And he wasn't in the kitchen. Which meant that someone else was. Someone not him. And, unless he attracted the type of burglar that liked to cook, it was probably someone he knew. Which still didn't explain why they were in his kitchen and not their own. Or why they were here at 7am, cooking. In his kitchen. He grumbled as he rolled out of his nice, warm bed, promising it in dark undertones that he'd be back soon, and pulled on a pair of ragged jogging pants before following the smells -- stronger now, tantalizing, reminding his body that yeah, food would be really nice, thanks -- to the kitchen. Orlando turned from the stove with a bright grin, waving a spatula at him. "You're up." Which was a debatable statement, but Orlando didn't wait for an answer. He stepped forward, brushed his lips across Harry's slack lips -- faint whiff of Drakkar aftershave and coffee -- and stepped back to the stove, humming quietly, baggy track pants riding low across his hips. "Coffee?" "Yeah," Harry mumbled, absently scratching his bare chest as he sat down at the kitchen table. "Um -- did I miss something?" Like an invitation for you to cook breakfast at my house, maybe? "I don't think so," Orlando replied cheerfully. He set a mug in front of Harry, and the sharp scent hit him again, pungent and sweet. Yeah, coffee sounded very good. Harry took a tentative sip, blowing across the liquid to cool it, and widened his eyes in surprise. "This is...um..." "I hope I remembered correctly." Orlando smiled -- tiny half-grin -- twisting his shirt in his hands. "Two sugars, very strong, right?" "Yeah." Harry warmed his hands on the mug, looked into nervous brown eyes. "It's perfect. How'd you know?" "I pay attention." Quick brush of lips on Harry's forehead, and Orlando walked back to the stove. Harry sat in silence for a few long moments, sipping his coffee, and watched in amusement as Orlando cheerfully cracked eggs, mixing them into a bowl with milk, cheese and mushrooms -- something else Harry didn't remember having in the house. Watched as Orlando poured the mixture into a skillet, caught the heavy scent of melted butter mixed in with the bacon cooling on a rack. Smells of lazy Sunday mornings, of home. "Orlando, how did you get here?" "You left your keys in my car last night." Orlando expertly flipped the omelet in the skillet, glanced at Harry through lowered lashes. "And I felt like breakfast." "Right." Because, yeah, that made perfect sense. Somewhere. To someone. Harry shook his head and continued to sip his coffee. Explanations could wait until he was awake. Onto Morning: Touch
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