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The world wakes him slowly, his eyes moving behind his eyelids, still reluctant to greet the day.
Oliver feels comfortable in the soft cocoon of his bed. There’s warm, velvety skin touching his back, and fingers spasming briefly against his hip. He smiles.
His eyelids finally relent and fall open under the morning sun slipping through that one crack in the stubborn blinds. It refuses to let his room achieve a full black darkness. He’d get it fixed, but it doesn’t really bother him. It’s actually kind of nice that he gets that soft glow in his bedroom during full moon nights.
He takes a deep breath, chest expanding, and the hand by his hip spasms again, before dragging away from his skin and leaving a coldness behind.
Oliver’s feet touch the fluffy carpet on the floor. He yawns and stretches, making his way to the bathroom.
He rubs his eyes and puts on his glasses as he turns off the bathroom light and closes the door behind him.
For a second in time, everything stops. His body freezes right in front of his bed, his lungs take a short break, and he’s pretty sure that even his heart skips a beat.
The broken blinds brought him some perks. He’s glad he’s decided to let them be, or he would have missed this sight.
If he didn’t know better, he’d say the scene before him was staged. It almost doesn’t look natural, or real, even.
Connor lies in Oliver’s bed, fast asleep. The light coming from outside bathes his naked back with a warm yellow color, moving up and down along with his deep breathing, as if it were an extension of his body.
A smile curls on one side of Oliver’s face at the beautiful image before him: Connor lying on the blue sheets, sleeping peacefully, his face buried in a pillow.
Oliver watches the particles of dust dance to Connor’s breathing in the background, circling into the ray of light, before becoming once again lost in the shadows.
If there was a possible way to capture this moment and save it, he’d lock it in a box and always keep it with him.
As it is, he goes for the next best thing.
He slips quietly into the living room, opens a cupboard and gets his camera.
When he returns to his bedroom, he’s pleased to see that nothing in this perfect landscape changed.
He manages to take a couple of shots before Connor starts stirring slightly to the sound of the shutter.
Oliver watches with amusement as Connor’s eyes slowly blink awake at the same time his limbs stretch on the bed, seemingly of their own accord.
Part of him wants to approach the bed and run his fingers through that disheveled dark hair, but he doesn’t want to disturb the image. Instead, he stands there, snapping another picture when Connor’s right hand blindly searches for the warmth radiating from his recently vacated spot on the mattress.
Connor pauses, a frown growing between his eyebrows, and his head rises from the pillow, looking around the bedroom until he finds Oliver.
“What are you doing?” he asks in a groggy voice, and Oliver can’t help but grin at him and take another picture in response.
“Stop that,” Connor protests, hiding his head under his pillow. “What time is it?”
“Eight-ish,” Oliver guesses.
Connor says something else that Oliver doesn’t quite catch. He walks closer to the bed and asks the other man to repeat his muffled words.
He watches as Connor rolls onto his back, the pillow now back behind his head. He faces Oliver, a small sigh escaping his lips as he crosses his arms behind his head and under the pillow.
“I asked you why you’re taking pictures. And without my permission, too,” he adds when the clicking sound echoes in the room again.
“If I were to ask you first, I would have already ruined the picture.”
Connor closes his eyes for a second and rubs his scruffy jaw against the fluffy pillow. Turning his attention back to Oliver, he lets out a low chuckle at seeing the amused look on the other man’s face.
“So you decided to act like a big creep instead and take pictures of me while I’m sleeping? That’s even worse than staring at me until I wake up.”
“I never did that,” Oliver states in a defensive tone, pointing an accusing finger at Connor.
“Oh, no, you skipped that part and went straight for the pictures. I hope you’re proud of yourself for that. Creeper award is all yours, dude.”
“Shush.”
He places his camera on an empty space in the shelf behind him. He turns back to Connor, a lewd look on his face. He braces himself for the Walsh game being thrown his way.
“So you liked the view, huh?” Connor teases, one of his hands running down his chest and moving back up as soon as his fingertips reach the waistband of his black boxers.
Oliver shakes his head, approaching the bed again.
“I’m not going to start my day feeding your ego, thank you.”
“Ah, no, my friend. You started your day taking your paparazzi shots, remember?”
“It was mostly because of the light. It made the room look especially… photogenic,” he replies.
“The light, huh? So it had nothing to do with your sleeping house guest?” Connor asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“You’re the worst, you know that? How do people deal with you on a daily basis without going crazy?”
“Few are those who are lucky enough to be graced with my presence on a regular basis, and you know that.”
“I’m actually quite impressed with how eloquent you are so soon after waking up,” Oliver comments around a laugh.
“I’m a law student, Oliver. We live and breathe this sort of stuff. Anyway, you still haven’t told me what prompted your last minute photo-shoot on a Saturday morning. And, please, don’t tell me again that it was the light.”
“But it was,” he insists. “Well, part of it, at least. Everything was just… right. It was picture perfect, I guess. Pardon the pun,” he says when Connor looks at him, completely unimpressed.
He takes a deep breath.
“I don’t know how else to explain it, really. I wanted to capture that moment. Even if I already knew there was no way I could transfer every image, every sound, and every feeling into my camera, I wanted to have something I could be able to look back at and recall that moment, how those peaceful seconds felt like, where the outside world stayed outside, for once.”
He freezes momentarily. He’s said too much. This sounds too serious, too big for them. For this thing hanging in the air between them.
Oliver shrugs, embarrassed, and looks away.
From the corner of his eye, he can see Connor sliding backwards and into Oliver’s side of the bed, invitingly lifting the covers in front of him.
“Come here,” he says, his voice barely audible.
Oliver hesitates a little too long and Connor sighs deeply.
“I know I don’t come off as the touchy-feely romantic kind of guy. And while it’s true that you probably won’t ever hear me say something like that, it doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate it. It doesn’t mean I don’t like it. It feels good hearing that sort of thing, actually,” he confesses, in a soft voice, obviously not entirely comfortable with this situation so foreign to him.
Oliver’s chest feels lighter than before. Much like it felt when he returned from the bathroom earlier, only to be greeted by that peaceful image, now forever imprinted in his mind.
“You know,” Connor continues, his tone remaining fragile and unsure, “I think it would actually feel better to have you near me right now. I want to be able to touch you. To have you close.”
Oliver waits for Connor’s eyes to meet his again. When they do, a big smile breaks out on Oliver’s face, making Connor look back down to hide his matching grin.
It feels strange, like they’re back to being a couple of teenagers harboring secret crushes on one another, content in sending hopeful and embarrassed looks in the school halls. It makes him feel giddy, yet somewhat grounded, too. It makes it all the more real.
He almost goes back for the camera, but this moment could never be captured by it. It’s a bittersweet realization.
Oliver crawls back into bed, filling the empty space Connor left behind. He can feel the leftover warmth seep back into his body, like part of Connor is trying to reach deep inside him, wanting to rush through his veins and wrap around his bones. He closes his eyes and takes it all in.
He shivers when he feels soft fingertips drag against the skin of his arms. Not because it’s a new sensation, he thinks. They’ve done things slowly before, during cold nights filled with wine glasses and movies on TV.
No, it’s not the caring touch by itself that gets to Oliver. He thinks it’s a combination of things. The sun is bright, the planets are aligned, and he may be a little bit in love with Connor Walsh.
A small smile grows on his face.
It’s okay. It’s not scary anymore. Not when that hand curls around his side and gives it a light, questioning squeeze. He’ll cherish this moment for many years to come, but he knows it’ll have to be broken before it becomes too much for him to deal with right now.
“This is not an excuse for sex, is it?” he asks, opening his eyes and intentionally breaking the spell.
“Contrary to popular belief, my mind doesn’t always go there,” Connor answers simply.
Oliver makes a sound of disbelief and Connor swats at his arm.
“It’s a given that it’s usually on the back of my mind, especially with you around,” Connor amends in a sultry voice. He then moves away to avoid Oliver’s tickling fingers. “But if I’m thinking about it now, it’s only because you brought it up and I’m weak when you use your charms on me. I swear my mind hadn’t even gone there.”
The hand on Oliver’s side slides back to press against his spine, pulling him closer to Connor’s warm body.
“Is it that hard to believe that I just want to get a few more minutes to stay in this warm bed, on a Saturday morning, with an amazingly hot guy by my side?”
His tone is playful and flirty, but Oliver sees that sparkle in his eyes, the one that tells him that Connor means it.
“So…” Oliver starts, his fingers brushing against the hairs on Connor’s arm, “What you’re saying is that you want morning cuddles.”
“I didn’t say that…”
“That’s exactly what it sounded like. I mean, with the whole lying in this bed with –”
Connor moves forward and silences him with a biting kiss.
Oliver chuckles at first, but eventually lets himself get lost in the feel of it all. He gets lost in their little bubble, right here and now, where no one can touch them, where they are free to be themselves.
He sighs, wrapping his arms around Connor’s shoulders and lying back on the bed, pulling Connor with him.
Connor’s lips finally part from his after a few light pecks.
“This is nice,” he whispers in that low, yet sure voice against Oliver’s lips.
“Very nice,” Oliver replies, one of his hands drawing imaginary circles on Connor’s lower back.
They exchange small smiles and one last lingering kiss. They lie on their sides again, legs intertwined, letting sleep claim another couple of hours from them.