Heir Apparent

Covent Garden

Ander couldn't recall the last time he'd woken up naturally, but between the pizza (which arrived around midnight) and the conversation (which ended around two in the morning) and the sex (which happened several more times between the pizza and conversation), he'd forgotten to set the alarm on his phone, and only woke up when a stripe of sunlight landed on his face.

In the process of stretching out sore limbs, he became aware of a few things, each of which lead into the next:

The first, that there was a dull throb over his Adam's apple. He lifted one hand to it, fingertips gingerly tracing the bond bite.

The second, oh, right, the bond bite.

It lead directly into the third: Francis.

Ander looked over. He wasn't awake yet. The sheer Egyptian cotton sheets were bunched around his waist, laying bare the expanse of his chest, the dark hair down his pelvis, the slow rise and fall of his breath. Seeing him like this, Ander couldn't be sure which reaction welled stronger in him, the surge of desire or the flutter of affection. He could still barely believe last night was real; Francis was as a lover precisely as he was a person, thoughtful and considerate, warm and deliberate, and talented in ways that caught Ander by surprise.

God, what was Francis doing slumming it with him?

Behind him on the nightstand, Ander's phone buzzed.

"Fuck," he muttered, turning. He'd forgot to charge it the night before, between – well, between everything. He scooted across the bed to grab it, a movement which seemed to wake Francis up.

Yeah, his phone was at 12%. That was going to set him back a few hours if they had any morning plans. And he had a bunch of notifications for Instagram and Twitter for some reason.

"Mmhhmn," Francis muttered, drawing Ander's attention away. "Ander?"

He grinned. Francis was cute when he was sleepy. "Good morning," he said.

When Francis's eyes focused, they found Ander before anything else. A tired smile tugged up at the corner of Francis's mouth. "It is a good morning," he said. His hand found Ander's on the bed and brought it up to kiss the knuckle. Ander laughed despite himself. "How did you sleep?"

"Like a log," Ander said, then amended: "A log who quite recently had five orgasms."

Francis laughed. "You stretch your similes to their breaking point, my darling."

"I forgot to charge my phone," Ander said, finally sitting up properly rather than on his elbows. "We don't have anything to do this morning, right?"

"Mm, no, I don't think so," Francis said. "Most of our tickets are evening shows." He yawned. "What time is it?"

Ander looked down at his phone. "Nearly eleven," he said, and his eyes trailed lower. He hadn't really seen it on the first glance, but his notifications for Twitter and Instagram were truly ridiculous. "How did – why do I have two hundred new Twitter followers?"

Francis at last threw off the sheets, rolling his back. "Two hundred what?"

It wasn't just followers. He'd gotten fifty-six direct messages, too, over a hundred mentions, and eighty-nine new followers on Instagram. "What the hell?"

Ander had never been particularly good at social media. His Instagam was mostly glamour shots of New York City or his dog, and his Twitter was mostly dumb political memes. He'd never cracked triple digits on either follower count. But now...

"Ander? Everything all right?"

So is @anderbennet_nyc the Other Omega? The new Camilla? Check out everything @noblewire knows in the link below! #theslap