#hpxkhr

Usually, she slept until Fon woke her with sweet kisses and coaxed her to sit down. He’d comb her hair and that, along with the gentle circles he’d press on her lower back, was enough to wake her up. It was more effective than coffee and a hell lot more effective than tea.

By some sorcery, she’d woken up a scant few minutes after Fon that day. He’d gone out to do his usual calisthenics, naked save for the pair of silk trousers and slipping on his cloth slippers. Harry had wanted to roll back to bed when she’d seen the absolute lack of sunlight, but something urged her to get up.

And by Merlin, was she glad she’d gotten up.

She hadn’t ever really thought of human bodies as beautiful. She could objectively say one person had nice arms or a pretty interesting eye color. But in a magical world where anything interesting was usually because they had an inhuman ancestor, she didn’t place much value in looks. She’d seen incredibly beautiful people and knew that the stories they had were more interesting than their faces.

While Fon’s face had drawn her in, she fell in love with his calm rationality and the way he could lay out an argument without shouting.

And while she and Fon had lain with each other for upwards to two months and she’d seen him naked in the hot springs more times than she can count, seeing him exercise was different.

There was an economy to his movements. It was clean and confident, nothing wasted as he moved his limbs and his body in twists and turns. Then he did a slow upward stroke that flexed his back muscles, making her tummy clench and Harry bit back a gasp. When he folded over, hugging his knees for five seconds, Harry clutched the doorway at the way it made his ass flex.

“Good morning, Harry,” he greeted her, flipping over on a handstand with his braided hair coiled around his neck. “This is a nice surprise.”

Morgana bless him and his intense focus. He didn’t notice that she was about to faint from her face going so red. Harry was so glad.

“Good morning,” she said, not at all strangled and sounding like a normal person. She checked for drool. “I have no idea what woke me.”

He then did a move that she knew, a downward dog that was just one hundred percent showing off right now. He wasn’t even sweating!

Harry wished, very fervently, that she knew how to write poetry. Or to draw. Poems should be written about the way the faintest light of dawn brushed across Fon’s muscles. Art should be drawn about that beautiful face closed in concentration, at the play of light and dark over his cheekbones. Instead, she was stuck admiring him with no way to immortalize the moment. Harry cursed her past self for thinking of art as boring.

Unwittingly, she whispered, “Full many a glorious morning have I seen,” A quiet whisper that should not be heard, except Fon had excellent hearing.

He fell out of his pose with a blush. “Harry!” he exclaimed, flustered.

This man. Harry had heard him say the dirtiest things. She’d shared a naked bath with him. She had done a lot of unspeakable things to him and with him. Fon was unfazed and coy, the teasing man.

But recite poetry and he blushed!

Harry had to laugh. “You should see dawn’s light touch you, Fon. It almost makes me jealous, the way it caresses you,” she mused, raking her eyes over his bare torso.

Fon rushed to kiss her, shutting her up.

But Harry realized, as she clutched at his shoulders when he carried her in his arms that yes, she can write poetry. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just heartfelt. Fon clearly appreciated it.