"What's that?" Harry idly stroked Orlando's back, glanced down at the white sheets tangled around their legs. Made a nice contrast to pleasantly flushed skin. "This." Harry could feel, rather than see, Orlando's grin, and his own lips curved upwards. "You were a better breakfast, anyway. I'm allergic to eggs." Orlando's head popped up, and he stared at Harry for a split second before bursting into laughter. "Fuck me...I had no idea." "I know." Harry lifted his head for another sliding, sweet kiss, this time tasting laughter and joy. Cookie dough ice cream with chocolate sprinkles. "Alright, what else don't I know?" Orlando asked, licking his lips, eyes bright with mirth as he sat up, snuggling against Harry's chest. "Plenty, I would imagine," Harry shrugged, propping his back with one of the crushed pillows. "But you know the important things." "I do?" "Yeah." Harry curled his fingers around the back of Orlando's neck, nuzzled the warm skin just under his jawline -- tasted traces of soap, sweat and something sharp that might've been aftershave. Underneath it all was the heady, golden taste of Orlando -- indescribable and addictive. Orlando tilted his head, lashes fluttering over impossibly beautiful eyes. Harry wondered if they would taste like fairy dust on his tongue. "What do I know?" Orlando whispered, his hands burning where they rested on Harry's bare hips. "You know how I like my coffee." Harry smiled, leaning back, watching as Orlando opened his eyes, focused on him. "And you know the right words." Orlando's smile was slow, soft, speared straight into Harry's soul. "You were worth the wait." "Took me long enough, though, didn't it?" Harry didn't wait for an answer, just swung his legs to the floor, tugged one of the sheets around his waist, and held out his hand. "Come on. I'll teach you to make my famous cinnamon-strawberry waffles. Decadence on a plate. Least, that's how Karl describes them." "Sounds delicious." Orlando wrapped the other sheet around his hips, leaned in for another slow kiss. Earl grey tea laced liberally with honey. Funny that Harry could taste something completely different each time Orlando's lips touched his -- and it still tasted exactly like Orlando. Harry pulled Orlando flush against him, leaned his forehead against Orlando's, took a deep breath. Tasted the difference in the air, in himself, in his world. "Thank you for waking me up." Orlando twined one of his hands with Harry's, rested the other on his shoulder. And his answer was simple, soft, true. "Thank you for letting me stay." Onto Glow
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