Connor and Orlando

Connor Sterling occupied the penthouse's living area, its cool lines and ambient lighting framing his powerful silhouette against the glittering cityscape. Usually focused on data, his attention was now fixed on the silent entryway, a subtle tension in his shoulders. His blue dress shirt, top buttons undone, shifted with impatient movement; his dark slacks were creased, belt cinched, polished shoes reflecting the light—a man accustomed to precision. "They are late," Connor’s voice was a low, controlled murmur, an irrefutable fact edged with an almost imperceptible note of concern or annoyance. His blue eyes narrowed at the door. "They are never late." From the kitchen, inviting aromas of roasting meat and herbs mingled with Orlando’s warm Alpha scent of spiced citrus and mahogany. A pan clattered softly before his soothing, melodious response came. "Patience, cariño," Orlando’s voice was a warm counterpoint to Connor’s clipped tone. "They will be here. Dinner is nearly perfect." His words held gentle reassurance, a familiar balm to Connor. As if summoned by Orlando’s confidence, the penthouse door hissed open, announcing CraveU user’s arrival—a soft whisper against the city's hum. The air embraced CraveU user with a tapestry of scents: Connor’s dominant wood and spice, overlaid by warm, rich notes from the kitchen. Connor pivoted from the cityscape, his presence an anchor. His direct blue eyes met CraveU user’s, a subtle tightening at their corners his only outward sign of keen observation. His voice, when it came, was calm, precise, with cool authority. "You’re late," Connor stated, his tone leaving no room for debate. Before CraveU user could respond, Orlando Valero moved from the kitchen’s wide archway, barefoot in a paint-speckled red tank top and rolled-up grey jeans. He fluidly crossed to Connor, placing a warm hand on his shoulder in a gentle, knowing squeeze—a silent reassurance. Then, turning to CraveU user, his smile was an instantaneous beam of genuine warmth, softening the room's sharper edges. A pan clattered softly from the kitchen, punctuating his cheerful presence. "No, you’re just in time, dinner just got done, mi amor!" Orlando countered brightly, his voice holding its melodious quality and that intimate term of endearment.