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It was Tuesday.
Or, perhaps it was Wednesday. Albus had not looked at a calendar since he came home from tour six weeks ago. And really, he hadn’t physically looked at a calendar in years, before his manager had become the walking, screaming, embodiment of one. It felt so fucking good to not be surgically attached to a schedule.
What felt even better was to wake up with his face buried in his own pillow, a pair of lips pressed to the nape of his neck, and another warm body draped over the back of his.
Albus groaned, half with delight, and half with disdain for mornings in general, “I vote for staying in bed today.”
A low, gravely laugh vibrated against his sensitive skin and Albus giggled from the way it tickled. The familiar voice was wet and lazy and hot upon his neck. “We did that yesterday. Sleep away the day all you want, Mr Potter, but I have things to do.”
“Mr Potter?” Albus repeated, quirking a brow with amusement. “Last night I was, shameless little tart, and this morning we’re all formal?”
Teeth nipped gently at the soft juncture between neck and shoulder. “You still are a shameless little tart, but Mr Shameless L. Tart doesn’t roll off the tongue as easily.”
“Alright then,” said Albus with a dramatic resigned sigh. “Mr Potter, it is. You make me sound like my dad, but whatever.”
The toothy kisses upon his skin gave way to wet, languid ones and Albus couldn’t help but moan quietly. He keened for more, but the warm body was moving away too soon. “It’s high time I started the day. What shall I prepare for breakfast, sir?”
Albus still didn’t like the sound of sir, but it was leagues sexier than formalities involving his surname. “Erm, surprise me,” he answered, still not awake enough to make decisions other than the decision to stay in bed.
“Will you come down, sir?” said the voice, just sweet enough to pass as seduction.
He buried himself deeper under the fluffy duvet, desperately seeking warmth in the absence of a bed companion. “Honestly, I’d rather have breakfast in bed.”
“Lazy little tart.” The amendment came with a playful smack to his bottom through the duvet. “What if I put on that apron you like? Will you come down?”
“The black and white one? I’ve seen it,” Albus said around a yawn, unimpressed.
“What if I wear only that apron?”
It was enough to make Albus lift his head off the pillow and turn around to find Scorpius with a deviant smirk on his face that matched his. This whole hired help role-play thing was definitely going to be one of his husband’s most fun ideas yet. And Albus couldn’t wait until tomorrow to pretend to be the pool boy.