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Beckett looks out of the kitchen door, one eye on the frying pan, where eggs and vegetables sizzle, delicious. A recently awoken Oren sits at the breakfast table, wrapped in one of Beckett's old college shirts, yawning. His hair is particularly fluffy this morning, and Beckett smiles at him, delighted that he's going unnoticed for once.

For the first time, Oren has spent the night, resting and beginning the first of three days of paid time off. Beckett had been the first person Oren had called (for reasons he couldn't explain), and Beckett had insisted on picking him up (also for reasons difficult to explain). Now, after a night of cuddling and butterscotch storytelling, Beckett is cooking breakfast.

He feels like such a good man.

"Want bacon with your eggs?" Beckett calls, craning to look at Oren from the stove.

Oren nods, rubbing his eyes. He's surprisingly panda-like first thing in the morning, all about cuddling and eating, and not much else. He talks much less. "Tea?"

"Okay." Beckett reaches into his cabinet. "Mug?"

"The blue one?" Oren's voice is croaky, quiet and sugary in the sunlight, and Beckett's nose crinkles with a grin.

"Alright." Beckett reaches towards the cabinet to get the mug, feels an arm around his waist. Oren, feet as silent as usual on the wood floor. "Yeah?"

Oren presses his face between Beckett's shoulder blades, breathes deep. "I wanna go back to bed. Come with me?"

Beckett is powerless to protest, even if he wanted to. He nods, breathing in from his diaphragm. Something about this moment, this closeness, is hyperventilation fuel. "Alright, go on. I'll be in soon."

Once Oren's padded his way into the bedroom, not without a seductive lip bite, and nod, Beckett turns back to the breakfast he's been preparing. He stares at the frying pan, almost without seeing it, unable to focus on It completely. The concept of Oren snuggling into plush covers, waiting for tea, half awake, is too distracting for Beckett to handle. He turns off the burner, so he doesn't set a fire, and hopes that Oren doesn't want his bacon crispy.

He slides everything onto a plate, and sticks two forks on it. This is balanced on one hand, the mug gripped in the other. Beckett teeters down the hallway, following in Oren's footsteps, careful not to slosh tea onto the floor.

Oren is reclined in bed, propped up by pillows. The bedsheets are rumpled, and he's created a little nest for himself there. Beckett stares, almost ashamed of how openly he's doing it. The halo fluff of hair around Oren's head, backlit by sunlight, the slight pink of his nose, the slope of his neck, long and pale; Beckett drinks it all in while Oren graciously pretends not to notice.

"Alright, bubs?" Beckett settles the plate around where he thinks Oren's lap is, and sits on the edge of the bed, his own fork in hand.

"'M sore," Oren mumbles, lazily shoveling eggs into his mouth. "But, I like this."


"Yeah. Waking up, and having breakfast in bed, and getting to wander around your house in your shirts. I'll get used to it, if you aren't careful." A second mouthful, punctuated by a nod. "Yeah. I'm used to this, it's too late for you to go back now. Okay?" He runs a hand absently over Beckett's back, eyelids hanging low, drowsy.

Beckett grins to himself, kisses the spot between Oren's neck and shoulder, where his shirt has slid down to show skin. "Okay."

"Okay? What is this, The Fault In Our Stars?" Oren leans his head on Beckett's shoulder, chewing on a strip of bacon. "How gross."

"Rude." Beckett flicks Oren on the forehead, lightly, then tangles his fingers in his as of yet unbrushed hair, admiring the volume of it underneath his palm. "I liked it."

Turning to look at the man beside him, Oren hums. "That's because you're a big old sap under all of your glowering and silence. I bet you cried."

Beckett rolls his eyes, and steals a piece of bacon from Oren's plate. He doesn't admit to crying, though he certainly had. "Want to sleep?"

"Nah. I like being awake with you," Oren mumbles, trying to hide the statement under the morning ambience of bird song and car horns. Beckett lets him, keeps it there for future thought. "It's so much quieter than my usual mornings. Usually, I get up, and drink a shit load of coffee that I can't afford, and then head straight to rehearsal, or another gig. Maybe breakfast, if I wake up early."

"Gig?" Beckett has shifted so Oren's head is nearly in his lap, moving the plate to the nightstand. He runs his fingers through Oren's hair, marvels at the strands of gold slipping over his hands.

Oren shrugs, closes his eyes. He can't imagine anywhere else being this comfortable, this safe, this warm. "Yeah, a gig. Sometimes people hire me for parties, events, things like that. I do magic, too." He yawns, adds, "But, lately, I haven't done very many of those."

Beckett hums in acknowledgement, and nothing is said for a while. He keeps playing with Oren's hair, and Oren smiles with his eyes closed. Just when Beckett is sure the boy has gone to sleep, Oren says, "Hey, Beck?"


"Why are you doing this? Like, any of this?" Oren turns so his face is pressed to Beckett's stomach, voice muffled by cloth and skin, and proximity. "I get it, we're, like, talking, or whatever, but what's your end game? What do you want?"

I want you here, like this, every morning, Beckett thinks. "End game?" Beckett cocks his head to the side, playing dumb.

He isn't good at it. Oren rolls over to look up at Beckett, accusatory. "Yeah, like, do you want a relationship? Sex? Ownership? If it's money, I don't have—"



"Yeah. This morning is my endgame." Beckett leans down, and kisses Oren once, quick, on the mouth. Even though they haven't brushed their teeth yet, it's wonderful, and soft, and Beckett has to stop himself from doing anything more. "That, too."

Cheeks soft pink, mouth slightly open, eyes full of wonder at how brown Beckett's eyes are, Oren tries to hold onto some of his typical early morning grumpiness. He mutters, "Fake news. You want something else."

Beckett shakes his head, adamant, kissing Oren's forehead. "Just this. Promise."

"Whatever, you fucking sap," Oren growls, loving. He wants to seem intimidating, but he's smiling too widely to do it convincingly. He kisses Beckett's stomach, the fabric of his shirt and the smell of him on Oren's lips. "I guess we are kind of cute."

"You guess?" Scoffing, fake, Beckett pushes Oren's shoulder away.

Oren retaliates by slipping an arm around Beckett's waist, burying his face in Beckett's shirt. "Fine, I know. We're kind of cute. Maybe we can do this more."

Every day? Ignoring his inner vocalizations, Beckett nods. "I like more."

Oren doesn't say anything back, just leans upwards for a kiss that starts short, drags into the next moments, uninvited, but a welcomed surprise. "Okay. Good." Another quick peck, one that leaves Oren flushed, then the two return to their original positions.



"You're a total softie, know that?"

"Yeah, I know."

Writing fluff when you're in love is literally the best [Personal note part two: the girl from last time is now a girlfriend, and it's lit].
How did you dudes like it? Any requests for Beckett and Oren's next adventures? Lemme know!
Love ya!

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