Chapter Text
Washington, D.C.
Henry knows one thing: Alex Claremont-Diaz is going to be the death of him. Alex is currently sitting in Henry’s lap, grinding down, his hand solidly gripping the back of Henry’s neck. Henry can still hardly believe the series of events that have led him to this moment tonight. He was convinced Alex was going to yell at him in the Red Room, and after Alex started shoving him, Henry thought for a horrible moment that Alex might actually punch him, but all Alex did was press him against the sideboard and kiss him senseless.
Now in Alex’s bedroom in the Residence, Henry wraps his arms around Alex’s waist and grinds up to meet him. Alex gasps against his mouth, and Henry becomes determined to make Alex sound like that again. Alex kisses with a ferocity that leaves Henry dizzy. His scent is all-consuming. Whatever hair products Alex uses, they’re sweet and fresh, and Henry can’t get enough of him. He reaches up to bury his fingers into the curls at the nape of Alex’s neck, and Alex breathes deeply through his nose and bends his neck back to better lean against Henry’s fingers without breaking the kiss, like a cat pressing up for more scratches. Henry smiles against Alex’s lips. He digs his fingers further into Alex’s hair before giving an experimental tug.
Alex groans. His pupils dilate.
Henry makes note of that particular reaction. Alex likes his hair pulled.
Henry isn’t sure how much time has passed since he got here, but he’s half hard and his lips feel raw. Alex starts tugging on Henry’s shirt impatiently, and Henry takes over unbuttoning it while Alex starts on his own. Henry’s eyes immediately land on his necklace when Alex's chest is bare. Henry knew that Alex wore a necklace, but he never knew what the pendant was. A silver key hangs on the end of it, settled nicely in his chest hair. There are two thin, faded lines of scarring on either side of the key. Henry has seen the scars a few times before, whenever Alex has had the audacity to send him photos of him shirtless in bed.
Alex meets Henry in another kiss.
Henry breaks off and murmurs against his mouth, “Let's take this to the bed?”
Alex’s eyes darken, and soon he’s beckoning Henry over with a snippy remark, and they eventually find themselves making out again on the mattress. Alex’s fingers are soon skating along the hem of Henry’s trousers.
Above him, with their noses nearly brushing, Alex says, “I’m going to take your pants off now.”
Christ, this is really happening. Henry is going to have to do his best not to transcend out of his body right this very second. If only nineteen-year-old Henry could see himself now. He’d be awfully jealous.
Henry doesn’t remember the majority of Rio. Depression and memory recall are not a stellar pair. But he does distinctly remember seeing a cute boy near him at the swimming finals, remembers feeling equal parts abject horror and giddy excitement when said boy started walking confidently over toward him, and then remembers feeling absolutely struck sideways with realization after the boy introduced himself as the son of Ellen Claremont, who was then running for the American presidency and whom Henry had spent a considerable amount of time reading up on because of the political controversy over her trans son. Henry kept incredibly close tabs on her presidential race. If she could win the presidency, then maybe the prospect of having an openly queer family member wouldn’t seem so impossible to the royal family. It was a pipe dream, really, but it gave Henry comfort back then.
Here in Alex’s bedroom, Alex brushes his fingertips over Henry’s abdomen, right above the waistband of Henry’s trousers. His eyebrow is quirked in question.
“Yes, good,” Henry eventually manages. He must be blushing quite a bit. “Carry on.”
Alex smiles again, and, God, if he isn’t completely devastating. Alex makes quick work of removing the rest of Henry’s clothes until he’s laying naked underneath Alex’s frame. The rest of what Alex does is slow and methodical: the way he kisses down Henry’s chest, teases his nipples with his tongue, rubs his thumbs in circles over the delicate skin between his waist and thighs. By the time Alex’s head is positioned above Henry’s cock, which is embarrassingly hard by this point, Henry is sure that he is going to lose his mind.
“I’ve, uh, never actually done this before,” Alex tells him. For the first time all evening, Alex looks nervous.
Henry reaches out and brushes a curl behind his ear. “Alex, you don’t have to. I—”
“No, no. I want to.” There’s a look of serious determination in his eyes.
“Do you want me to wear a condom, or…?”
“No. If that’s okay with you, I mean.”
Everything about Alex is earnest. He always has been earnest, his one-track mind impossible to derail once it has a goal in mind. Henry adores that about him.
Although Henry usually tries to stick with safer sex, he’s feeling reckless tonight in Alex’s bed. He hasn't felt this kind of pure, blind need since his most self-destructive days during the beginning of uni. Although Henry is incredibly reserved in most aspects of his life, sex is not one of them. The feeling of freedom—of self-actualization—that overwhelms him when he’s with someone is enough to get drunk on. He’s not Prince Henry when he’s in the arms of a man. He’s just Henry, and Henry likes sex.
Henry tested negative for everything at the beginning of the month in accordance with the routine tests he has to do while on PrEP. He may not know if Alex is clean or not, but he’s willing to throw caution to the wind right now. Henry feels like he has tunnel vision.
Henry finds himself nodding quickly and spreading his thighs further. “Definitely okay with me.”
Alex smiles. “Just tell me if it’s awful, alright?”
Henry is about to laugh, but without any warning, Alex wraps a fist around Henry’s base and takes him into his mouth.
Henry groans at the sudden contact. Alex doesn’t go down far, but his persistent focus on Henry’s head is enough to make Henry squirm. Alex’s attention is holistic. He isn’t just concerned with Henry’s cock but with his reactions, and he peaks up at Henry’s face regularly, clearly concentrating on trying to make sure Henry feels good. The sentiment turns Henry’s insides to mush. He’s gotten plenty of blowjobs before, and plenty from people more experienced, but the pure attentiveness of Alex right now is like none Henry has experienced before.
Henry is so utterly gone on him. He is so thoroughly fucked.
Henry squeezes his eyes shut, as if not being able to see Alex will alleviate the longing in his chest, but all that does is make Henry more aware of the warm feeling of Alex’s mouth on him. Henry whines and grips Alex’s shoulders.
Alex pulls off momentarily. Henry blinks his eyes open, needing to know if Alex is alright, but before Henry can verbally check in, Alex is already talking.
“You can pull my hair if you want,” he remarks offhandedly, and then he’s taking Henry into his mouth again.
Henry’s back arches off the bed at the flippant comment. Alex really is going to be the death of him.
Henry does as told, gently tugging on Alex’s curls until the movement elicits a low moan from Alex, and although Alex hasn’t taken Henry all the way down, Henry can still feel the vibrations against Alex’s palate.
Henry’s breaths are coming out in short, little bursts.
Alex is a stubborn bastard, so it does not surprise Henry one bit when Alex starts trying to deepen it. Alex does it a couple times, very briefly, which has Henry putting his hand over his mouth to keep from making noise. He can feel Alex’s spit running down his balls. When Alex finally relents his valiant effort of deepthroating, he wraps his hand back around Henry’s base and starts stroking him in time with the up-and-down ministrations of his head. The spit coating Alex’s hand makes everything feel absolutely heavenly.
Alex’s eyelashes are something else. They fan across his upper cheeks and glimmer in the low lamplight from the damp tears on his waterline.
“Oh god, Alex,” Henry whispers. “Fucking—eyelashes.”
Alex looks up at Henry through them. Without breaking eye contact, Alex cups Henry’s balls with his free hand and rolls them once before pressing his thumb against the tender, sensitive area of his perineum, and Henry is hit with the sudden realization that he is going to come.
“Fuck,” Henry pants. He tightens his hold in Alex’s hair with one hand and holds Alex’s face with the other. He can feel his dick underneath his palm, through Alex’s cheek. “I’m close.”
Alex doesn’t pull off. He just redoubles his efforts.
Henry is biting his lip when he comes. Alex has enough sense to only have the tip in his mouth when it happens, leaving enough room for Henry’s release without it hitting the back of his throat. Henry has been on the receiving end of that annoyance a number of times, and while he’s gotten quite skilled at taming his gag reflex over the years, there’s nothing like a surprise cumshot to ruin the mood.
Henry lays limply on the duvet while Alex kisses up his stomach. When Alex reaches Henry’s neck and starts giving attention to the spot behind Henry’s ear, Henry’s whole body shivers.
“Christ, Alex,” Henry murmurs.
“Not terrible?” Alex asks, and Henry can tell from his voice that he seems rather pleased with himself. Cheeky bastard.
Henry pinches Alex’s side and rolls them until he’s laying on top of Alex. He shifts his bare legs in between Alex’s clothed ones. Henry can tell the moment Alex feels the friction when Alex suddenly gasps and shifts downwards, rubbing up on Henry more. Henry leans his elbows on either side of Alex’s head.
“Definitely adequate,” Henry says. “You’ve never done that before?”
Alex blushes. Henry likes seeing him like this. “Er, I may or may not have exhausted the humble resources that are Cosmo and GQ for advice in preparation.”
Henry can’t help himself. He bursts into giggles, and he rests his forehead on Alex’s sternum as he tries to collect himself. Alex swats his hip and curses at him. When Henry looks back up, biting his lip firmly to keep himself from making fun of Alex more, he sees that Alex is smiling, too. Henry has never experienced something in bed like this before—the silliness, the laughter. With his past partners, it’s either been impersonal and stinted or blazing and rough, and while Henry doesn’t mind that, he cannot help but admit that this carefree temperament with Alex is exhilarating.
Henry gives a content sigh and kisses him. “Now let’s get these damned trousers off you.”
Alex nods. His already messed-up hair becomes even more disarrayed against the pillows. “Fuck, yeah.”
Henry smiles softly and runs his hands up Alex’s abdomen, letting his palms linger on the outside of his ribs as he brings his face down and kisses Alex’s clavicle, trailing down to his sternum. He takes one of Alex’s nipples in his mouth and laves his tongue lazily over it, and then he brings a hand up to brush his thumb against the other one. Above him, Alex lets out a small huff.
“I can’t feel that,” he says to Henry.
At first, Henry thinks it’s a challenge, that Alex wants him to try harder, but Alex must see the misunderstanding on Henry’s face because he quickly clarifies.
“Like, I literally don’t have any feeling there. Everywhere else is good, though.”
“Oh,” Henry says, and he feels a bit embarrassed. “Is this a good time to say that I haven’t done this before either, and that you should also tell me if it’s terrible?”
Alex lets out a quiet laugh. His cheeks are ruddy with pleasure, the way some people get flushed when they’ve been smiling a while. Henry wants to do everything in his power to make Alex laugh again. The sound is intoxicating.
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Alex says with an easy grin. “I’ll log any complaints accordingly.”
“You better. I want you to feel good.”
“Then get to work.”
Henry snorts and starts unzipping Alex’s trousers, and Alex lifts his hips off the bed to help get them off. His boxers have a noticeable wet spot on them. Henry reaches out to experimentally press a thumb against the damp fabric. The pad of his thumb is met with a hard bulge. Alex’s hips buck, and he curses.
“Fuck, Henry—just fucking—Jesus, just take my underwear off already.”
Alex starts taking matters into his own hands, trying to push down his own waistband, but Henry stops him, holding his hips down against the mattress. “I’ve got you,” Henry reassures him. He kisses his abdomen, right on his happy trail. The hair is dark and course. “I’m going to take my time with you.”
Alex’s expression goes a bit slack. His chest heaves up and down.
In reality, Henry does not actually want to waste any time at all. He plans on taking Alex apart as rigorously and wholly as possible. Henry is good at giving head. He’s fucking masterful at it, if he’s willing to dip his toes into the territory of bragging. But he cannot afford to fuck this up. He’s got to pull out all his special tricks for this one. He wants Alex to become putty in his hands, wants Alex to want to come back for more. Whatever this situation is between them, it’s something that Henry is not going to be able to survive without.
Henry wants to offer all of himself to Alex. Alex Claremont-Diaz is fucking holy.
Henry wraps his fingers around the waistband of Alex’s boxers, and after a small nod from Alex confirming that Henry can take them off, Henry pulls them down Alex’s thighs and lets Alex bend his knees at his chest to give him room to pull them off completely. After Henry tosses them to the side, he turns his attention back onto him. Alex’s thighs have fallen open again. The dark thatch of hair frames Alex nicely, and the pretty curls of his bush extend along his bum and up the inside of his thighs. Henry shifts downward and settles his stomach onto the mattress. He props himself up on his elbows.
Henry supposes in the back of his mind that he was expecting something more like what his schoolmates used to watch on their phones in the dormitories, shoving their screens in each other's faces and making crass, lewd comments.
Alex looks nothing like that.
Henry now understands exactly what it means when he was taught in school that the penis and the clitoris are anatomically homologous organs.
Alex is hard. There’s not any other way to describe it. His dark head peeks out from the thick, plump foreskin that surrounds it, and when Henry gently pulls his labia apart—his fingers already getting wet from Alex’s damp bush—he watches as the foreskin gets pushed back even further, revealing how long and engorged Alex really is. Henry’s mouth waters. He wants to suck on it.
But this isn’t Henry’s first time giving head, and he knows you can’t go right to the main event. You’ve got to tease them until they’re squirming for it, begging. With his thumbs still spreading Alex wide, Henry sets to work ghosting his lips over Alex’s thighs, occasionally biting down on the skin. He doesn’t leave marks, but he desperately wants to. Next time, maybe. They can have a conversation about wants, needs, and boundaries then.
There has to be a next time. Henry will simply die if there isn’t.
By the time Alex is cursing at Henry to hurry it up, his hole is clenching and leaking. Henry finally gives in, his need to taste Alex is just as powerful as Alex’s apparent need to get Henry’s mouth on him. With no other direction, Henry decides simple is best. He licks a stripe up Alex, bringing the wetness from his hole up to his long, hard clit.
Henry moans at the taste. He licks again, then wraps his lips around Alex’s hardness, tonguing at the head and sucking.
Above him, Alex lets out a guttural groan. His hand flies to the top of Henry’s crown and his thighs close tightly around Henry’s head, pinning him there for a few delicious seconds before finally releasing him, thighs trembling. Henry immediately misses the contact. Alex’s thighs are strong—runner’s thighs. They’re not nearly as thick as Henry’s, but they’ve got power behind them.
Henry does it a few more times before moving on to give the rest of the area attention. He wants to know what makes Alex tick. Alex favors one side over the other for stimulation, Henry quickly learns, and so he focuses his efforts there, testing whether he likes a flat tongue or a pointed one, which folds are most sensitive, what kind of pressure he likes best. Soon enough, Alex is rhythmically arching his back and fucking down on Henry’s flattened tongue. Henry opens his mouth wide and lets Alex use him.
“God, you’re the most—” Alex gasps, “—insufferable goddamn bastard on the face of the planet. You’re, fuck, you’re infuriating. You’re the worst. You’re—”
When Henry pulls up for air, Alex grunts and clenches his thighs around Henry’s ears again. He glares down at Henry.
“Fuck,” Alex says. “You are the worst.”
Henry starts rubbing his thumb up and down Alex’s length, which seems to get Alex to relax again. “Do you ever stop talking? Such a mouth on you.”
Alex leans his head back against the pillows, and the blissed-out expression on his face does not match his words. “You’re one to talk,” he whispers weakly. He’s smiling. “Hate you.”
“Mm-hm,” Henry says, and he leaves a light kiss on Alex’s tip before resting his sweaty temple on the side of Alex’s thigh to more easily look up at him. Henry’s chin, his cheeks, and his nose are all wet. He feels positively debauched. It’s exquisite. “Can I put my tongue in you? And fingers—how do you feel about—”
“Oh my fuck,” Alex says. His head shoots off the pillow, and his eyes are wide. “Yes. Go for it.”
Henry starts with his tongue, fucking it in and out of Alex and letting his wetness gather in his mouth before swallowing it, drinking him in. By the time Henry is getting ready to put a finger in, Alex is clenching around him and whimpering, his whole body tense.
"Jesus, you're being such a tease. Suck me off," Alex says. "C'mon—I fucking need—"
Henry returns his mouth to Alex's dick and creates a suction with his lips. Alex whines. Then, Henry pushes a finger inside him. He presses the pad of his finger against the wall closest to Alex’s stomach. Henry isn’t sure if that’s what he’s supposed to be doing, but that’s what Henry is used to when it comes to fingering someone. If Alex wants adjustments, he’ll just have to voice them.
Henry has no idea how much time has passed. His jaw and neck are sore, and the duvet cover underneath them is soaking wet. He sucks harder, moving his head up and down. Without breaking the suction, he flicks his tongue against Alex's tip.
“Ah—” Alex gasps. His body jolts. He wraps his legs around Henry’s head, pressing him downward. “Motherfucker.”
Henry blows him greedily. Eventually, he needs air—more air than he can get through his nose, anyway. He manages to pull off of Alex, taking in deep gulps of air through his mouth.
Above him, Alex looks wrecked. Henry can only imagine what he must look like down here.
“This is going to sound silly,” Henry begins, and his voice is rough, “but how will I know when you’ve come?”
Alex looks up and gives Henry a dazed, owlish blink. He is regarding Henry like Henry is insane. “I already have,” Alex says slowly. “Like, a bit ago.”
“Oh. Right. Good.”
“But you’re not done,” Alex quickly says, and his hand is suddenly back in Henry’s hair, guiding him down again. “I’m so fucking close again,” he whispers, more to himself. “Fuck, sweetheart.”
Henry diligently returns his mouth to Alex. Readjusting his position, Henry slings one of Alex’s legs over his shoulder and props an elbow up on the mattress near Alex’s hip, resting his arm over Alex’s abdomen to better hold him down. Henry massages Alex’s opposite hipbone with his thumb and wraps his lips around Alex's dick again.
A few minutes more, and Alex is saying, “Henry, fuck—I’m—”
This time when Alex comes, Henry is prepared to anticipate it: the clenching of his hole, the twitching of his stomach muscles, the tensing of his thighs. Alex groans into the bicep he's thrown haphazardly over his mouth. When the wave is over, Alex starfishes out over the mattress and catches his breath.
Henry kisses the inside of Alex’s thighs. Alex shivers and motions for Henry to move higher on the bed. Henry wipes his mouth on the back of his hand before shuffling up Alex’s body and collapsing beside him, tucking his face into the crook of his neck and draping an arm over his waist, squeezing his side. Alex presses closer to Henry.
Minutes pass in easy silence. Henry can feel Alex’s heartbeat as it steadily evens out.
“If I had known this was all it took to get you to shut up,” Henry says fondly, “I’d have done it ages ago.”
Alex turns his head limply towards Henry’s. He still looks a bit dazed. Their faces are close enough that Henry can lean up and press their cheeks together, attentive. He never wants this moment to end.
Alex feebly says, “Fuck you.”
Henry smiles and continues skimming his nose against Alex’s face, against his neck, against his collarbone. He wants to burrow into him. Despite the old building’s heating clearly trying its hardest, the chill of January is present in the room. If they shifted around a bit, they could pull the duvet around them and cuddle underneath the covers. Henry tries to think of a good way to suggest it.
Henry has always been hesitant to let himself stay the night with people he’s slept with. He gives his heart away too easily. But he’s tipsy and satiated and thoroughly enamored, and so he tells the rotten, self-denying knot in his stomach to hush itself and to let him have this. Just for tonight. He can deal with the consequences of his feelings in the morning.
Alex clears his throat. “You had fun, right? I had fun.”
Henry runs his knuckles soothingly over Alex’s stomach. “Definitely,” Henry answers. He’s going to be thinking about tonight for a long time. Possibly forever.
“Okay, cool,” Alex says. He hits Henry with one of his signature, relaxed smiles, and Henry falls even more deeply in love with him. “Let’s do this again, anytime you want. And this doesn’t even change anything between us. We’re still whatever we were before. Just now with head.”
Alex says it like it’s a good thing, like he’s saying the words to make Henry happy.
Instead, Henry receives the words like a punch to the gut. He senses himself retreating back inside, building his walls up again, brick by brick. He removes his hand from Alex’s stomach and clenches his fist protectively against his chest, his body curling inwards.
“Of course,” Henry says.