Archive of Our Own

Over the din of a rhythmic doo doo doo — The Fratellis, Henry guesses, recalling Bea’s crash course in late 2000s UK bands— cuts the boisterous laughter of Nora, nearly toppling into June as Pez regales them with yet another chapter in the ongoing saga of the cartoonishly large New York City rat they dubbed Pineapple Rat. 

“I know from the sudden ice in my veins that it was Pineapple Rat that made eye contact with me near the subway. I was minding my own business, feeling absolutely fabulous with—”

“Was this the day you scored that vintage Ferragamo scarf with the large chicken?” Alex, his sometimes best friend, sometimes kissing friend, all the time love of his life, interrupts Pez's retelling. 

Pez actually looks offended, but he continues. “It was a peacock, thank you, Alexander. So, anyway, I was feeling fabulous and not thinking about the Pineapple Rat. Because, well, rats should have a very short lifespan with its atrocious diet of pizza and Red Bulls—”

“It ate a whole pineapple, Pez!” June reminds him, “That would make it healthier than most rats.” 

“And,” Nora speaks over June excitedly, “sewer rats typically live for 2 years, and I doubt that Pineapple Rat is at that age already. It’s just big because it eats healthy.”

Bea is sitting beside him and bumps her head on his shoulder in a fit of giggles. 

“Yes, thank you, if you ladies would let me finish.” 

Henry snorts and leans back in his seat, letting the conversation wash over him. Alex’s arm is slung on the back of the booth, curved just enough to bracket Henry neatly at his side. Tonight Henry feels a little bolder than usual, the warmth of being surrounded by the most important people in his life curls contentment around his heart. He glances towards Alex before sliding a hand to rest on Alex’s thigh. Alex leans into him in response, and Henry smiles to himself.

They aren’t together. Not officially yet, anyway. But, if things go according to his plan, they will be official before the day breaks.

Pez carries on, detailing Pineapple Rat’s sins— how it’s Samba Rat now because it somehow tried its very best not to let Pez pass to the subway’s entrance through an elaborate dance routine (it had a lot of arm waving and toe-pointing). Henry tries to follow the story, but it’s hard to pay attention when Alex’s face is half dimples, half cheekbones and the late afternoon sunlight is filtering through the window panes, landing on his curls like a delicate halo. 

Henry shifts in his seat, feeling every inch of Alex’s birthday surprise nestled between his cheeks. This is not the kind of place Henry planned to be when he shoved a plug up his arse in hopes of finally sealing the deal with his roommate. 

He shifts again, and the plug moves and settles, and he has to close his eyes to let the sensation pass. For a moment, he feels insane— he has half a mind to rush to the bathroom and literally pull the plug on his plans. Because who in their right mind decides to make things official with their maybe-boyfriend by shoving a toy up their arse? 

The thing between them, Henry thinks, has reached its boiling point. Six months of dancing around each other, and something has got to give. 

The collective laughter of his friends cuts through his thoughts, and he glances around the table. 

His gaze lands on Bea first, the main reason he finally let himself live the life that he’s dreamt of.   Back in London, he’d worked himself into the ground trying to outrun the cold silence of the house he shared with his imperious grandmother and his struggling mother. He ran himself ragged until Bea, already living in New York by then, came home and found him at the edge of despair. 

After a lot of tears and gentle prodding, she invited him to come back with her to New York, to have a fresh start. It was the first time in a long time that Henry looked at a plan and thought: this might actually work.

With the help of his best mate, Pez, they packed up his life and helped him settle in a new city.

Then there’s June. The first person he met in New York after his sister and Pez dragged his exhausted body and even more weary mind across an ocean He’d first met her interviewing at an independent publishing firm–a last hail mary effort after a string of disappointments. Armed with just his barely utilized literature degree and fraying nerves, he emerged from that interview with a job offer, a renewed zest for life, and a promise of a new lifelong friend. 

That was a year and a half ago. 

With June came Nora— June’s now fianceé. 

He gives Nora a wide smile from across the table where she’s sitting beside June. She was a revelation to him, if he’s being honest— someone he never expected to get so close to. Nora is a force of nature. Where he’s incredibly introverted, Nora is a burst of exuberance; endlessly patient, and so understanding. 

At one of the lowest points of his life, when he felt so insecure with every decision he’d ever made, it was Nora who held his hand and wiped his tears. Nora always tells him what he needs to hear in a combination of precision and gentleness that he didn’t know was possible.

He sighs and leans back, resting his head on Alex’s shoulder. 

Alex. 

Someone who should just be June’s younger brother. 

It was one late afternoon, not unlike today, when he first met Alex. Bea was in the middle of a bahn mi hyperfixation, and they crowded into a Vietnamese restaurant, when June announced that her little brother would be joining them since he worked nearby.

He didn’t know that in a few minutes his life was about to change forever. 

Alex entered the restaurant in a whirlwind of words and frenetic energy, but all Henry could focus on was the single pinpoint of Alex’s deep, deep dimples. From there, his attention moved helplessly to the soft curve of his lips, the slope that punctuated a sharp nose to the fan of impossibly long eyelashes that shouldn’t exist on a man. Alex talked and talked and talked, taking up all the air in the room. Henry felt so lightheaded. He still doesn’t know how he survived that evening.

In fragments, he remembered Alex talking about a ‘Hunter ‘and how he was the worst roommate ever. How he left rotten food in the sink, how he never flushed the toilet, and was an underhanded homophobe. Alex just had to kick him out, and was now on the market for a roommate because New York rental prices were ruthless, and he was not about to give up his two-bedroom apartment. 

Somewhere in between confirming that Alex was queer and down a roommate, Henry was agreeing to move in, while Bea and Pez side-eyed him. 

In the span of 6 months, they have managed to move from roommates to sometimes kissing friends.  

The attraction had been instantaneous, at least on Henry’s side. How could it not be? Alex is proper fit– handsome in a way that warrants sonnets sung about him, whip smart, and seriously just so funny. Bea would always say that no man is that funny, but she obviously hasn’t had a laughing marathon with Alex, what would she know? She doesn’t even know where she stands with her own boyfriend, Ashton, anyway. That Henry is in the same boat with Alex is neither here nor there. 

From the very first night Henry stepped into Alex’s space, there’d been a buzzing of static energy between them. At first, he chalked it up to the fact that he had such an attraction towards Alex, but the moment Alex held his hand and told him how glad he was that Henry agreed to this spontaneous offer, Henry knew that something was simmering under both their skins. 

Everything started a couple of weeks after he finally moved in. They’d established Saturday nights as movie nights. A time for them to spend together, to get to know each other. Alex said that it’s only logical to lay down a stronger foundation since his last roommate was such a disaster.

It had been a long week and an even longer day, and Henry had the mad idea to cram all of his chores and errands in a day. The bone deep exhaustion he felt melted away when he arrived back to the flat to Alex welcoming him with a steaming bowl of caldo de res and the brightest smile this side of the world.   

Henry had already known that Alex was a good cook – he’d stumbled out half awake on enough mornings to find a warm plate of chilaquiles waiting for him. But that evening he found himself watching the graceful movement of Alex’s long fingers; the way he licked a drip of soup from them, tongue curling so effortlessly. 

And well, Henry couldn’t help but think of just how talented Alex could be.

It was easy to sink into the sofa with the hot bowl in his hands and a blanket tucked over his lap.

Alex suggested Spotlight; Henry countered with Atonement. In the end, they agreed on But I’m a Cheerleader. They were delighted to discover that it was a film they both knew by heart. They quoted all the best parts and laughed so hard the caldo de res nearly spilled over twice. Henry felt so warm, so safe, so happy, curled up with his comfort movie and his comfort person, that he didn’t realize when he started to drift to sleep.

When he opened his eyes again hours later, he found himself nuzzled into the impressive muscle beneath a soft t-shirt— sandalwood and citrus mixing with the lingering smell of soup. That was when he realized he’d fallen asleep on Alex’s shoulder. 

He tried to pull away, but Alex shushed him and ran a gentle hand through his hair. He told him to go back to sleep. Henry tried to protest– really, he did, but Alex looped his arm around Henry for good measure, holding him there, soft and secure.

What was a little cuddling between friends? And after all, he really was so tired and Alex was very warm and comfortable.  

The next movie night they put on Bottoms, and once again, Henry fell fast asleep. This time, when he woke, he was draped across Alex’s lap. And once again, Alex cooed him back to sleep. 

It wasn’t intentional, but from there, it became a pattern.

Three months in, and they dropped the pretense and started in a proper cuddle position. It’s only efficient, Alex said, and Henry was just a man with a colossal crush on his roommate. So, he went and wrapped himself around Alex’s warmth.

Four months in, Henry woke to find Alex brushing a thumb over the corner of his mouth, fingers grazing his cheek. Their gazes held and Henry’s heart soared to the heavens. It was at this moment that he knew that they were on the threshold of something more– and more importantly, that they were on the same page.  

The touches began to linger after that. And in one mad moment, Henry pushed his hands under Alex’s shirt and their lips pressed together, soft and inevitable. 

He couldn’t say who moved first, but after that first whisper of touch, that first exchange of breath, Henry knew that there was no going back. Whatever future he’d dreamed up for himself, Alex needed to be in it. From the first instance that they touched each other on purpose, Henry knew that he’d been ruined for anyone else. 

By the fifth month, Henry couldn’t remember the last time they watched a full minute of a film on movie night. 

And now, after six months, Henry’s grown tired of waiting. 

Sure, Alex has all but moved into his bedroom, with how often they find themselves tangled together on the couch. Not to mention how much the arrangement has improved their quality of sleep.

The thing is, in the midst of all the kissing and the cuddling, there has been a distinct lack of talking. There’s been a distinct lack of anything beyond kissing and cuddling, if Henry’s being honest with himself. He thinks they both know that they’re on the same page, that what they have between them is blossoming into something that’s worth planning the future for. But Henry feels like they’re stuck. 

They haven’t even had sex, for crying out loud. 

Alex has been sweet, so sweet. He’s been so careful and attentive, so attuned to Henry’s moods that he rarely has to ask for anything. 

Anything except for sex, it seems. Never that. Henry thought he’d been making his eagerness clear, signaling in every way he knew how that he was ready to take whatever this was to the next level. 

Hundreds of make-out sessions, and the furthest Alex has gotten was a hand spanning his back, traveling down to squeeze his cheeks and part them slightly at the recoil. And oh, Henry was ready to ascend, but Alex gave one last light kiss on his lips and pulled him off to sleep. Neither of them mentioned it the next day. Not when Alex pushed an Italian pesto panini towards him for breakfast, not when Alex dropped a kiss on Henry’s hair when he got home that evening, and especially not the following Saturday when Henry found himself on Alex’s lap, grinding in slow circles while Heavenly Creatures played in the background.     

The day after that, Henry was face-down in Pez’s decorative pillow, screaming. They’re stuck, and he’s terrified that this will go nowhere and he’s going to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to his love life. 

“You don’t say anything either, babes,” Pez told him, patting his hair. “You know you can do that, right? Much as our dear Alexander is smart, he is not a mind-reader. He might want a clear, cannot-be-misinterpreted sign from you.” 

He sat up. For some reason, it didn’t really occur to him that the ball was in his court. Every kiss, every hug, every touch was almost always initiated by Alex. 

“But–” he could feel the lick of insecurity crawl up his spine, “I mean, you’ve seen us.” 

“Oh, I’ve seen you alright. Everyone has seen you, dearest. Bea told me the other day that she thought you’d be conceiving our first niece or nephew on her couch and it’s such a shame cause it’s a nice couch and she has to throw it away.” Pez eyes sparkled with laughter. Then, he took Henry’s hand in his and put on the most serious face, “If you want this to go anywhere, darling, you can’t wait around for Alex to do something. He has been doing something. It might be time for you to do something, too.” 

That settled it, Henry decided to take matters into his own hands. 

Which is how he finds himself in a tavern named after Marquis de Lafayette on a brisk Tuesday night in March with a silicone plug up his arse. It’s Alex’s birthday, and he’s got a custom monogrammed green leather folio waiting in their apartment for his gift. 

And a plug up his ass as an additional gift for both of them. 

Then, they will finally talk, and Henry will ask Alex to make it all official, and he can’t wait until—

“Isn’t Liam in town?” June is still catching her breath from laughing. “Did you invite him?”

“Oh yeah.” Alex squeezes Henry’s shoulders, turning to whisper above the noise. “Liam’s my high school best friend. He’s in the city on business, and I convinced him to stay a couple of days.” 

Alex turns back to face the group, having given Henry the Cliff Notes. “He should be here any minute— I missed that guy!”

“Oh, I’m sure you have.” Nora chimes in, attention fully on the developing conversation. “Do you also miss his dick?”

Alex flicks a french fry at Nora, and the group breaks out in laughter.

Henry goes very still. “What does that—”

“Hey, y’all!” A smokey voice pulls their attention to the front of the bistro, where the door swings open. The group breaks into a collective greeting. The man strides towards their booth, all confidence and easy charm. June shoots up to meet him, pulling him into a tight hug. 

Henry doesn’t feel a pang of jealousy, and he certainly doesn’t feel a hitch of breath escape as he takes the man in. 

Liam is a six-foot-tall dreamboat— cute, sandy brown hair, green eyes, and a smile so perfect it makes Henry feel a bit unsettled. He’s starting to question why Nora would make such a comment, and what kind of friendship Alex has with this Liam character. Is this why they haven’t put a label on things? The panicked sensations in his body are starting to mix very oddly with the other sensations currently occupying his—

“And this is Henry,” Alex’s voice cuts in through Henry’s spiral. 

“Pleasure.” Liam tips his head and takes a seat, a smile spreading across his handsome face. After a round of introductions, his attention settles on Henry, who has been pressed against Alex’s side, his shoulder lodged under Alex’s armpit. 

Liam rubs the stubble on his chin. “How do you two know each other?” 

“They live together,” the table practically answers in unison before either of them can respond. Everyone raises their glasses and smirks into their drinks. Henry’s eyes move around the table,  trying to piece together the missing parts of a story he’s clearly been left out of.

“Aw, look at you!” June’s voice rings like honey dipped in warm memories. “The last time we saw you, you were mooing over the way this one left you heartbroken just before Spring Formal.” She points at Alex. 

“You two dated?” Pez’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Barely,” Alex waves it off. Which does absolutely nothing to make Henry feel more settled. 

“Do you make a habit of staying friends with all your exes, Alexander?” Pez asks. 

“Fuck off, Pez.” Alex laughs, no heat in it at all.

Liam glances at Bea, one eyebrow raised. She shakes her head no, but she’s hiding her laughter behind her hands. Liam turns to Nora, his other eyebrow joining the first. 

“I’m a loyal woman, and I have to say that June is definitely hotter, but Alex is really hot, what can I say?” Nora shrugs, while June joins Bea in muffling their snorts in the background. 

Henry's face goes hot. Something like irritation is curling up his spine. He’s not jealous, though, obviously. 

Liam leans back in the booth with a smile as big as the state of Texas. “Yeah, I wouldn't mind another ride,” he says with an exaggerated wink towards Henry, tilting his head back to take a swig of his drink.  

“Save a horse, am I right?” Nora smirks at Liam, and they clink their glasses.

Henry waits for Alex to say something, anything. But Alex just throws his head back, joining the rest of the group in a fit of laughter. 

June squirms, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t believe half the table has slept with my baby brother!”

But.

Henry hasn’t slept with Alex.  

Everyone in the room seems to think so, and he should correct them, but where would that leave them? 

“What can I say? The reviews are in, and they are certified fresh.” Alex throws his whiskey back, his throat bobbing, and Henry’s mind fizzes to static. 

“Careful, Alex,” Bea says, “If your head gets any bigger you won’t fit into the door.” 

“Oh, it’s big alright,” Nora adds. June shrieks out a “Nora!” And Pez leans over to Liam and not so subtly whispers, “Is it?” 

It’s all so overwhelming and irritating him more than what is rational, because he doesn’t know and everyone thinks he does, but he doesn't. He barely registers Alex’s warm hand massaging the base of his neck. He thinks he hears a soft, “Okay, baby,” murmured against his ear before Alex clears his throat and says, “Alright, thanks for the ego boost, but let’s not traumatize my sister any more.” He punctuates it with a laugh, keeping the situation light.  

“Yes, thank you, Alex. Good to know you still care about my well-being.” June claps her hands. “How about birthday wishes while we still have money for expensive drinks?” 

“I’ve got the next round,” Pez says, scooting out of the booth towards the bar. The ladies excuse themselves to the restroom at the same moment. 

Which leaves Henry, Alex, and Liam.

Liam is sitting cozy on the other side of the booth, sprawled out and tossing back a bottle of an imported beer with an unpronounceable name. Liam is talking about his work, something to do with forestry and conservation, and how he’s in town presenting at a conference. It’s important work, Henry is sure of it. He just can’t focus on anything beyond the way Alex’s arm is still looped around him. So if he doesn’t catch the minutiae of how Liam is saving the forest, he can’t really be blamed. 

“Wow, man, that’s really impressive,” Alex says. Henry nuzzles in closer for added measure. 

“Well, last I heard, you’d passed the bar,” Liam says. “How’s that going?” Henry notices Liam’s eyes flick briefly to where Henry is tracing light circles on Alex’s thigh. He tries not to read into it. If the way he’s been tucked into Alex’s side the whole night hasn’t made things clear, maybe the casual touches will.

Alex brightens, and Henry smiles softly at him. He loves it whenever Alex talks about anything he’s passionate about. Being a lawyer is one of them. Right now, he’s slogging it out in private practice, but the long-term plan is to move into something more community-based. He listens to Alex explain to Liam the cases he’s won in the past few months and feels warmth bloom in his chest.

Liam lets out a low whistle. “Now, that’s really impressive. Guess you’re gathering all the high-paying cases now before settling down.” His eyes move between Alex and Henry, and Henry feels the tips of his ears burn. They aren’t even official yet, and he’s already imagining what the next 5 years will look like, the next 10, possibly the next forever. 

At least Liam seems to be getting the picture.

Alex grins and runs his fingertips lightly up and down Henry’s arm. Henry has to suppress a shiver. 

Pez saunters back with a tray of shots, liquor ranging from clear to dark brown. He sets the tray down as the girls pile back into the booth, giggling between themselves. 

“This one mine?” Liam asks, reaching across the table for the shot glass nearest to Alex, but Henry is not about to let Liam stomp his leather boots all over his plans, so he swipes the drink before Liam can reach it. 

“Sorry, mate, that’s mine,” Henry says as politely as he can manage. It’s becoming harder as the evening drags on. 

Alex gives him a careful look. “You good with that, H? I thought you didn’t want to drink liquor tonight—”

Henry tosses the shot back without a chaser and sets the glass on the tabletop. “Yes Alex, I know what’s mine.”

Nora and Bea exchange glances and Henry pulls Alex’s arm more firmly around his torso, squeezing at the hip as he tucks further under Alex’s arm.

“Oh, someone is feeling rather spicy tonight, aren’t we?” Pez observes, smirking. 

“I can handle my tequila,” Henry says confidently.

“He cannot handle his tequila,” Bea and Pez say in unison. No one told him it was team-up-against-Henry-night and he’s allowed to feel a bit crabby about it.

The rest of the table looks to Pez and Bea for explanation.

“Oxford-era Henry was quite the slag,” Pez offers, one eyebrow raised towards his pink hairline. 

Bea makes a gagging gesture. “Please, do not remind me.”

Alex shifts slightly where he’s still tangled in at Henry’s side, clearing his throat. 

“Don’t worry, man,” Liam nudges Henry’s foot, “Alex gets pretty slutty when the liquor gets in him, too,” he winks.

“Oh, fuck off,” Alex kicks Liam’s under the table.

Pez claps his hands and stands with his shot glass raised in the air. “Alright, darlings, before we all get carried away, let me give our Alexander the warmest birthday wishes.” He turns towards Alex, a bright smile on his face, “I will keep this brief—”

“That means we will get a speech under 30 minutes,” Bea tells Liam, giggling.

“Stop cutting me off, if you please,” Pez says pleasantly, then clears his throat. “Happiest birthday to you, lover boy. You are twenty-eight now and we have watched you grow into such a fine young man—”

“You met me last year!” Alex is laughing and Henry turns to look at him. Alex’s laughter is one of his favorite sounds. He lets it wash over him, lets it seep into every crack and crevice of his body. He would present his heart on a platter just to be able to hear that laughter for the rest of his life.

“... And may you live longer than your eyelashes, and may you experience life more deliciously than your arse. Happy birthday once again to the, apparently, most fantastic ride on this side of the Atlantic.” 

After a chorus of Amens and June’s pained “Please stop talking about my brother’s sex life,” everyone throws their shots back, chasing with lime and salt. 

One glass is left on the tray, and Liam hasn’t bothered reaching for it. Henry is feeling brazen; all the flirtatious comments from the evening are starting to get to him. The liquor is probably starting to get to him, too. 

Henry grabs the last shot glass without checking what it is and tosses it back. Blessedly, it’s tequila, which does a proper job of loosening his sensibilities. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sets the glass down, holding very pointed eye contact with Liam, who only looks mildly impressed. 

Pez watches Henry with barely concealed amusement as Bea sips her fizzy cranberry soda. 

It would all be fine, except that Henry somehow ends up with a very strong margarita, and his mood is souring steadily with how much his feelings have been pulled in every direction tonight. He understands why everyone is curious about Liam, as he is someone that Alex and June both knew when they were younger, but he’s finding it harder to tamp down the jealousy quietly buzzing beneath his skin. 

“You okay?” Alex murmurs against his temple. 

Henry reaches up to brush a stray curl from Alex’s forehead, letting it wind around his finger before smoothing it aside. “Don’t worry about me. I’m having fun.” 

Alex’s brows furrow. “You sure? You’ve been a bit quiet all night.” 

Henry straightens and guides Alex’s arm to wrap snugly around his waist. “I promise.” Alex tilts his head, searching Henry’s face. He doesn’t know what Alex is looking for, but he breathes a little easier when Alex nods and turns back to the table. 

As the night wears on, his mood only continues to sour. One drink turns to two, then three. 

Before he knows it, he’s four drinks deep. 

“Oh dear,” Pez says, leaning in. “Will Five-drink Henry be making an appearance tonight?” 

“Five-drink Henry? ” Liam tilts his head. “What does that mean?”

Henry’s eyes go wide. “Pez, don't."

Pez, naturally, ignores him entirely. “Five-drink Henry is the slutty Henry drunkenness scale, or so the legend goes. One-drink Henry is a total flirt. Two-drink Henry gives fucking amazing head—” 

“That’s quite enough, Pez, thank you,” Bea says sharply. She couldn’t look more mortified if she tried. 

“— Three-drink Henry gives a stellar rim job,” Pez attempts to continue, counting down his fingers, until Bea and June work together to topple him off his seat.

Alex chokes on his drink. 

Henry pouts a little and tips his chin up. Maybe two or three drinks ago, he would’ve felt a little more embarrassed about his entire friend group—and Liam—learning how much sluttier he gets with each additional margarita. But right now, he is relishing the commentary. 

Because soon enough, the attention shifts back to Liam. Which is fine, of course. Someone has to save the trees. 

Henry stares down his fifth drink, a lemon-lime margarita, sugar on the rim, lime wedge perched on the side.

This isn’t how the night was supposed to go. This isn’t the grand gesture that Henry had in mind. He was supposed to seal the deal; he was meant to make a move. 

Instead, he’s sinking deeper and deeper into the booth with a pathetic lime margarita and a heart deflating faster by the minute. 

His only hope in any of this mess is that he can at least go home with Alex; they can still disappear into each other’s bedsheets. Maybe then he can wiggle his ass up against Alex’s crotch, let him know what he’s had in mind all night. 

Alex lifts a bottle to his lips, his throat bobbing as he swallows. Henry tries not to think of those lips on Liam’s mouth, tries not to think of Alex’s lips on other things. Tries really hard not to think of what those lips will look like when he finally gets them around his co—

“Oh my god, I’ve got a great idea!” June squeals as she sips on a strawberry daiquiri, breaking Henry out of his horny thoughts. 

“Why don’t we go back to y'all's place?” June suggests. “We could watch a movie, I’ll make my  famous mojitos and we can buy that oversized nacho box.”

“It’s really big.” Bea nods.

“Like Alex’s—”

“Will you guys stop that? It’s gross!”

“Like Alex and Henry—”

“Alright, we get it!” 

“And we won’t have to pay for drinks,” Nora adds, apparently the only lucid person at the table, swirling an olive around her martini. She turns to Liam “That’s where everyone’s alcohol stash is. Their corner cabinet has a pull-out swivel!”  

“Oh my god, Liam, you have to see their place,” June quips. “It’s huge, especially for Brooklyn.” 

“Well, I wasn’t about to have David living in a cramped apartment,” Henry says a bit defensively. 

Liam furrows his brows. 

“David is his dog,” Alex supplies, smiling. 

“Right,” Liam nods, “like Springsteen.”

Henry has never been so appalled in his entire life. 

“It’s Bruce Springsteen.” Henry all but rolls his eyes, “and David, my adorable beagle, is named after Bowie.”

Liam shrugs, like it couldn’t matter less. Henry genuinely can’t believe this is the kind of guy Alex has been involved with. 

It could be that he’s four tequila drinks deep, but he’s eyeing Alex’s lap and wiggles his bum against the booth, the plug nuzzling him gently. Alex is looking at him with so much warmth. And just like that, he’s starting to feel pretty damn good about himself right now. 

“Alex scored,” June says, smirking with a look that can only mean trouble. 

“Oh, definitely,” Nora agrees. “Alex is like a little cockroach that Henry hasn’t had the heart to evict yet.”

“Oh, he’s a cock alright,” Liam elbows Nora, a toothpick between his teeth.

Henry clenches. The silicone plug is the only thing keeping him from storming away. That and the idea of what Alex’s cock must look like, what it must feel like, what it must certainly taste like– shit, he swears under his breath. 

“You okay, babe?” Alex looks down at him, a note of genuine concern in his voice. 

Henry studies the bottom of his glass, sugar still sticky on the rim. He doesn’t even want to think about the damage he’s done to his tab tonight. “Of course, love,” he says, pulling a brilliant smile out of Alex. 

Liam leans towards Alex. “Hey, my treat,” he winks, and reaches for the bill. 

Pez lets out a delighted squeal, “Darling, are you single?” 

Liam only laughs in response. 

Of course, of course, the man has to be generous too. The bistro, while it has seen better days, is not exactly cheap, but Liam doesn’t bat an eye at the total when he hands over a platinum card. 

“Hey, you don’t have to do that.” Alex reaches for the bill.

Liam just waves him off. “This is for that time I threw orange peels at you in front of that restaurant in Austin.” 

“Oh, what’s the story there? And did anyone capture it on camera?” Pez is beside himself with glee. Henry is admittedly curious, but he really doesn’t want to know any more about the guy who said he wouldn’t mind another ride with Alex. 

The tab gets settled without further incident. Alex leaves a generous tip, and the group starts the walk back to the apartment. 

By some mercy, Liam walks with Pez and Bea, leaving Henry alone to walk with Alex. 

“Baby, you drank a lot, you sure you’re alright?” Alex slides his hand down Henry’s arm and catches his hand. They don’t usually do this—holding hands in front of everyone. But then, they’ve been pressed against each other all night in the bistro, so this is probably the least public display of their affection today. 

Henry smiles and tucks their intertwined hands inside the large pocket of Alex’s coat. “I drank some water and the flat is still three blocks away. I’m sure we’ll all be sober by the time we get there.” 

Sure enough, by the time Henry opens the door to their flat, he’s feeling more clear-headed and lighter. Their friends’ voices spill over each other as they enter.

“David!” Bea stretches her arms wide. 

The three-year-old beagle bounds up to the group, tail wagging so fast that it’s a blur. 

Henry automatically reaches for David’s leash from the hook near the door. “Let me just walk David around the block.” 

Bea stands and holds her hand out, “Let me, I’m the most sober out of everyone.”

“It’s late,” Henry waves her off, “Besides, we’ll only be a few minutes. Just make sure everyone drinks water. And don’t let Nora get into the Maltesers stash—”

They hear a cabinet shut and Henry heaves a sigh when Nora passes by them and waves the large red pack with the biggest grin on her face. 

“You sure, baby?” Alex appears at his side, “I can take David.” 

At the corner of his eye, Henry can see Bea mouth ‘Baby?’ to Pez, who rolls his eyes and pulls her further into the apartment.

Henry glances at the living room, not looking at where Liam is, of course— just checking that everyone has settled. Before he can second-guess himself, he presses a kiss to the corner of Alex’s mouth. “We’ll be back before you know it.” 

It’s slightly warmer than usual for the end of March, but Henry is still glad for the time alone to gather his thoughts. It’s irrational, he admits, to be so bothered by Liam when Alex has done nothing but stay close to Henry all night. 

And if he thinks about how their friends describe the way Alex looks at him, he knows that what they have isn’t up for debate. It’s just a matter of making it official. 

But. 

There's a part of him that bristles when he thinks about how Liam knows Alex in a way he doesn't. Henry shakes his head and his limbs before entering their building again while David looks at him curiously.

It’s silly. It’s dumb. Henry would probably have handled meeting Liam perfectly well on any other night. He shifts his weight, the plug nudges forward and he has to bite down a moan. 

He has a plan and he’s going to go through with it tonight no matter what. 

David bounds straight for Alex the moment Henry opens the door. A chorus of “Honey, you’re home!” rises from the room and Henry pauses in the entryway. There’s nachos and fries spread out on their coffee table, June’s famous mojitos feature in the center, the ice cubes bobbing in the pitcher. 

“You could’ve started without me,” Henry says, hanging his coat. He walks towards the group when he notices that all of the seats are taken. His steps falter. Alex moves to stand, dislodging their poor dog. “You can sit here, I can take the floor.”

Henry smiles as an idea forms in his head. “Nonsense, it’s your birthday. You shouldn’t be sitting on the floor,” then proceeds to plop himself on Alex’s lap, surprising Alex and everyone else in the flat. Henry can't make himself look at anyone, but there's a little flutter of triumph that settles in his stomach and he has to tamp down the smile that's fighting its way to his face.

“Well,” Pez’s sharp intake of breath breaks the appropriately stunned silence that draped over everyone, “Someone’s really feeling spicy tonight.”

A scatter of snickers go around the group, but Henry ignores it in favor of making himself less pouty and more comfortable in Alex’s lap. He can feel Alex’s arm go around his waist to secure him and Henry has to bite his cheek to keep his giddiness at a minimum. 

“You comfy?” Alex whispers, blunt nails tracing idle patterns on his side. 

“Yes, very much.” Henry leans back on Alex’s shoulder and wiggles a little. He feels Alex tense up. He turns and raises an eyebrow. 

“Okay,” Alex clears his throat, trying to compose himself. “I’m trying not to freak out. But,” Alex jostles Henry lightly, just enough to make the plug shift. “Are you wearing something I should know about?” 

Henry hums. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Alex groans and drops his head on Henry’s shoulder. There’s a muffled, “Henry, Henry, Henry” pulsating on his clothed skin and Henry knows that his plan is back on track. 

Henry turns back to the group, feigning interest in the conversation. 

June plays hostess and is distributing glasses of mojito to everyone. Just as Bea accepts her large tumbler of virgin mojito, June turns towards Liam, “I forgot to ask. How is Spencer?”

Henry and Pez respond simultaneously, “Spencer?” 

Liam takes  a sip of his mojito, “June this is incredible!” Then turns to Henry. “Spencer’s my boyfriend.” 

And oh. 

Henry can feel the giddiness from being situated in Alex’s lap drain right out of him. The whole night–wound so tight, pulled in so many directions–over nothing. The conversation swirls around him, but he isn't paying any attention. He feels so foolish. So, so daft. Having tied himself in knots over something that could have been cleared right from the start. 

He stands abruptly and stammers out a weak excuse about the bathroom, and wills his feet to move. 

He barely hears Alex saying something like “Baby?”

Henry rushes into the room, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat, and kicks the door shut behind him. It’s stopped by a firm hand on the other side. 

“Baby, why are you running off?” Alex is in his space now, studying him with big doe eyes, brows hitch together in a soft line of worry. Henry takes several steadying breaths. 

“Did I do something wrong?” Alex’s voice is strained, dripping with concern.  

It’s too much.

He can’t afford to be reckless. But he has to say something. 

“Of course not, Alex. It’s your birthday, and I’m truly so thrilled you’re having fun,” Henry starts, but he’s stopped short by the sight of Alex. Just standing there with his hands planted firmly on his hips. In this pose, the muscles on Alex’s arms are on full display, veins bulging obscenely, his pecs curved perfectly beneath the fitted black tee. The shirt is tugged up slightly where his fingers hook into the hem, exposing a strip of tan skin.

Henry groans. “Christ, I can’t even look at you.”

Alex scoffs. “What is that supposed to mean? If you hate how I look, you could just tell me.”

Something in Henry snaps at that. How on earth could Alex possibly think he’s anything less than every sinful inch of Adonis reincarnated?

Henry shoves Alex back against the door and crowds into his space, hands planted firmly on either side of him. “Do you honestly think that?” He huffs. “No, love. If there’s anything I hate, it’s how good you look without even trying. And I hate listening to everyone talk about you all night like you’re theirs, when you’re so clearly mine.”

The words are out before he can think better of them. But he’s been wrestling with the feeling all night, and he needs Alex to know. 

“Yours, huh?” Alex smirks, hands finding Henry’s waist and pressing into his hips. Henry can’t help but lean into the contact, he’s half hard already.

“That’s right.” Henry holds his gaze steady. 

Their chests press together. Alex’s hips give an involuntary push against his – and Henry clenches on instinct, the plug brushing against a point of pleasure, and the sound that escapes him is entirely helpless. 

“Fuck, Henry,” Alex’s voice drops an octave. His hands tighten over the fabric on Henry’s hips, fingers digging in like he’s trying to leave a mark. “You can’t just make sounds like that and not expect it to go straight to my dick.”

Their faces are close enough now, and Henry can no longer tell where his breath ends and Alex’s begins. Their noses brush together against the rhythm of their heartbeat. It’s hot, fast, and Henry knows it’s about to ruin his entire life. 

Focus. 

He forces himself to think past the ache low in his belly. He really doesn’t want another six months of kissing and dry humping on the sofa. He wants it to be more than that tonight. 

Henry slides his hands down Alex’s chest in a slow, deliberate claim. “I would like you to be my boyfriend, Alex.” 

Alex lets out a soft laugh, eyes heavy-lidded as he starts to nip at Henry’s jaw, humming softly against his skin. 

“Alex,” Henry pulls back just enough to meet his gaze. “I’m serious.”

Alex goes completely still, the corner of his eyebrows pinched together, looking absolutely gobsmacked. It’s as if someone has just informed him that his mother has been elected the president of the United States. 

“Am I–” Alex furrows his brows. “Am I not your boyfriend?” his voice hitches. 

Henry blinks. “My— you’re what now?”

There’s a pause between them before Alex laces his fingers with Henry's. It’s a careful gesture that lets a small bit of vulnerability slip through. Henry’s mind is working overtime trying to get the pieces to fit. 

“I sort of thought we were dating,” Alex says softly. “This whole time.”

“You never—we never—” Henry’s free hand drifts to Alex’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. They’ve been teetering this unspoken line for months—kissing, tangling together for hours, but never naming it.

He’s pretty sure he would’ve known if they’d been dating, if it was more than just getting off with your stupidly hot roommate. 

“What are you telling me right now?” 

“I mean,” Alex’s breath is shaky, a dimpled smile breaking through. “This is real to me, Henry, it always has been.”

Henry stops short. “But we haven’t slept together, and yet all your exes are in our living room talking about how much they’d like to ride—” 

Alex rolls his hips—a slow, deliberate press of his clothed cock against Henry’s, and the rest of the sentence evaporates around Henry’s needy groan. 

“Someone is jealous,” Alex murmurs, mouth dragging hot along Henry’s neck and sending shivers down his spine. 

Henry can’t fucking take it anymore. 

“You preening arse.” Henry shoves him back into the doorframe, the wood thumping behind him. “I’ve wanted you for so long, and you mean to tell me you’ve been mine the whole bloody time?”

Alex’s curls are twisted and messy against the door, Henry’s hands pinning him against it, firm but gentle. Alex’s pupils grow darker by the second.

“The whole time, baby.”

“Say it.” 

Henry slides his hands to Alex’s jaw, fingers pressing just enough beneath his ear, tilting his head back. He feels the shift in Alex’s breathing immediately - the way it goes shallow, the way his lips part on instinct. 

“Yours,” Alex rasps, a curl of a smile still playing at the corner of his mouth. 

Henry leans in until his lips ghost Alex’s without touching. “Can’t hear you, love.”

Alex’s fingers dig into Henry’s hips hard enough to bruise. “Yours,” he groans. 

“Again,” Henry’s voice is barely above a breath, his thumb pressing into the side of Alex’s throat, feeling the pulse beneath it. “I want them to hear you say it.”

Alex’s eyes go molten. “I’m fucking yours, Henry.”

“That’s right.” Henry hums, low and pleased. He hooks a finger through Alex’s belt loop, tugging him forward.

Behind them, the door drifts open a crack; laughter spilling faintly from the other room. 

“Shit,” Alex glances back, already turning, hand half-lifted to push it shut. Henry catches his wrists before he can. 

“Leave it.” It comes out like a command, but there’s something honeyed underneath. Henry steps in close again, runs a hand along Alex’s jaw, drags the pad of his thumb slow across his bottom lip. Alex’s throat bobs, his mouth parting open without being asked. 

“Everyone will hear, H,” Alex breathes, but it’s not a protest. 

“Good.” Henry drags his thumb into Alex’s mouth. Alex’s eyes flutter shut immediately, a moan curling around it, his tongue working slow and instinctively, like he can’t help himself. 

“So good,” Henry murmurs. “Don’t even need me to tell you what to do. Or is it that you just want it that badly?”

Alex is whimpering now, sucking the finger deeper into his mouth. “Nghh—they’re gonna hear us, baby.” 

Henry withdraws his thumb, and Alex chases it on instinct—a soft, desperate sound escaping his lips that goes straight to Henry’s cock. 

“Would that really be so bad?” Henry says softly, pulling Alex further into the room. “Perhaps I want them to know that you’re mine.”

Because Henry is dizzy with the thought. Alex is his, and he doesn’t care who knows it. 

As soon as Henry’s back is pressed against the wall, Alex is on him. Kissing hard, teeth clashing, pressing into each other like they can’t get close enough. 

Henry’s never had Alex like this– and still, he knows he will die if he can’t have more. 

Their hands are everywhere, tugging and grinding, and fuck. 

It’s a lot like how they’ve kissed before. And at the same time, it’s nothing like it at all.

It’s hot and desperate. Making up for lost time. Alex tastes like vanilla and spice, warm and rich and entirely his.

Henry forces himself to break the kiss. He has plans, after all. 

“I have a present for you," Henry’s voice shifts—lighter, but threaded with intention. 

He turns before Alex can respond, reaching for the hem of his shirt. The fabric slips inch by inch, baring skin to the low light of the room. He doesn’t look back right away, just lets his broad shoulders flex as he makes slow, deliberate movements. 

Alex is breathing hard behind him. Henry lets the moment stretch, shifts his weight slightly, then bends over slowly, making quite a show of stripping out of the rest of his clothes.

He gives a deliberate little sway; the base of the plug shines in the dim light. 

A soft, disbelieving sound escapes Alex, somewhere between awe and ruin. “Jesus, fuck.”

Henry glances back over his shoulder and reaches behind himself to tug at the base, slow and unhurried, letting Alex watch the way his body responds to it.  “Christ, it’s massive,” he groans. “It’s so big, Alex.” He bites his lip. 

Alex stands frozen, swallowing hard. “How big?”

Henry lets a breathy laugh escape. He’s having fun with this. “Not as big as you, I’m afraid.”

“Shit, baby.” Alex shuts his eyes, hands balled into fists at his sides– fighting between letting Henry continue the show, and wanting to take him apart entirely.

“Do you like it?” 

“Like it?” Alex’s voice is wrecked. “Shit you’re—” He breaks off, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”

Henry smiles and finally turns a little more, letting Alex see him properly now. 

“On your knees, darling,” Henry instructs, putting him effectively out of his misery. 

Alex doesn’t need to be told twice. He sinks to his knees. His hands hover for a careful moment, as if he’s still deciding whether he's allowed to touch. Then he slides his hands slowly up Henry’s thighs. 

Henry glances over his shoulder, one hand braced against the wall. Fuck. Alex looks so wrecked already. 

“Good,” he murmurs, swaying his hips lightly. “That’s good, Alex.”

Alex exhales sharply, his grip tightening at the praise. He brushes his nose along Henry’s calf, biting lightly at his skin. Henry doesn’t even try to hold back the sound it pulls out of him.

“Do you know how to?” Henry’s voice is a sharp staccato. He’s trying really fucking hard not to come so quickly.

“I, uh–” Alex sounds just as wrecked. He brushes the pad of his thumb closer to Henry’s center, pressing into the tight muscle. “I don’t have a lot of experience at this with guys. But I have transferable skills, and I aim to please.” He slaps lightly at Henry’s ass. 

The sting sends tremors through his whole body. “Start slow, love. I know you can do it.”

Alex kisses between Henry’s thighs, alternating left and right. His breath is hot against the skin, like sunlight. Henry has spent the whole winter longing to feel warmed by the sun; he doesn’t have to wish for it anymore. 

“That's right,” Alex murmurs against him, his voice lower and rougher than Henry has ever heard it. “Three-drink-Henry gives a pretty stellar rim job, doesn’t he? You love to get your mouth on it, love to get your tongue inside.” 

Alex’s hands move slowly over Henry as he nuzzles against his skin, uncontained desire dripping through each syllable. “But you like it just as much when someone’s got their mouth on you, don’t you, sweetheart?” 

“Christ, I do,” Henry is fucking breathless now. “I love it so much, Alex.” 

He arches back, begging for more. Alex tests the movement, leaning in and biting against the silicone base. 

“Your mouth.” Henry wiggles his hips, the base of the plug teasing Alex’s face. “I need it, Alex.” 

“Fuck,” Alex groans. “Yeah. I can do that. Let’s do that.”

Alex is still on his knees, looking up as Henry carefully pulls the object out. Henry breathes heavily, his eyes rolling back. Once it’s out, Henry falls forward, chest flush against the wall. “Ready for you, love.”

Alex cups Henry’s cheeks, light and reverent, far too gentle for the sort of ravishing Henry is about to beg for. “Fuck. How do you feel?” It’s such a genuine, earnest question. 

Henry can’t believe this is happening. He can’t believe it’s happening with Alex. 

“It’s just–” Alex barrels on. I’ve never seen anything that fucking huge. And I mean it’s not like I’ve seen a shit ton of butt plugs, to be honest. But I mean, I’ve thought about this. About you.” 

It’s vulnerable, shaky. Henry recognizes the nerves laced beneath the words—and of course, there are nerves. Up until now, everything between them has been easy and unhurried. 

This is fast, all things considered. 

“Alex, darling.” Henry turns to face him. 

And well. It’s just that he’s half-hard and Alex is on his knees, and he has half a mind to forget the plug altogether and beg Alex to suck him off instead. Judging by the way Alex’s eyes go wide as he licks his lips, he’s thinking something similar. 

“Are you alright with this?” 

Alex opens his mouth, tongue darting out. Fucking hell. Henry is not going to survive this. 

“Christ, Alex—I mean, are you alright with this dynamic? We haven’t done anything quite so intimate. I need to know you’re with me, love.”

Alex’s mouth drops open wider. He’s breathing hard. “Fuck yeah, I love it. I want you to tell me how you like it.” His fingers brush Henry’s thighs. “I want to be good for you,” he says breathily. “Please, Henry.”

Henry hums and traces a finger along Alex’s jaw. He’s so achingly beautiful like this. “You going to fuck me good, love?

“Please. I’m dying over here. Kind of rude to leave the birthday boy hanging.”

Henry huffs a soft laugh and turns back to face the wall. “Be a good boy then,” he says, glancing over his shoulder, and drawing Alex’s face closer to where he needs him. “And put that mouth to use.”

“Fuck.” 

Alex lets himself be guided, his face pressed warm against Henry’s thigh, Henry can feel the heat of his breath before he even moves. 

“How does it feel?” Alex asks again, his hand still smoothing over the expanse of Henry’s skin. 

“Open,” Henry breathes, arching his back and rocking his hips, seeking friction. “Need your mouth to fill it.” 

Inexplicably, Henry’s eyes start to water at the thought. At the desperate need.

“Fuck.” 

It seems like the only word Alex knows anymore. There’s a hitch of breath, and then he leans in, his five o’clock shadow scraping lightly against Henry’s skin. A delicious burn. 

Alex teases him first– a finger tracing soft circles around the rim, barely a touch, and Henry is already moving against it. 

“Alex, please,” Henry begs. 

Then his face is there, right between his cheeks. The softness of his lips mixed with the burn of his stubble. 

The first lick is warm, wet, and achingly slow. Henry lets out an unrestrained moan. Fuck. He’s already so gone, so lost in it. Shockwaves running up and down his spine. 

Alex spreads Henry’s cheeks apart and continues licking long, slow stripes, teasing the perineum, taking his time like he has all night. Henry rolls his hips in slow circles, chasing the feeling. 

Alex’s mouth is everything, taking him apart with every movement. That mouth could recite Neruda. It could whisper the meaning of life. Henry is certain nothing that’s ever come from it could be quite as sweet—or as revelatory–as this, as what Alex is doing to him right now. 

Alex keeps making circles with his tongue, slowly licking and tonguing his way in and out. It’s driving Henry absolutely mad. He’s trying so hard not to come on the spot– he needs this to last longer, wants it to last longer so desperately. 

But his head is swimming with a single thought: Mine. 

Mine all this time. 

Fuck. 

He might come from the thought alone. 

Alex continues lapping at the tight ring of muscle, slow and relentless. It occurs to Henry, through muffled breath, that Alex is trying to say something. But it’s impossible to make out with his tongue so far inside him. 

“Don't talk with your mouth full, love.” Henry arches into him, but Alex pulls away—chin slick, and slaps sharply at Henry’s ass. 

“I said,” Alex leans forward, gripping Henry’s cheeks, licking the red mark already blooming on his skin. “I want you to fuck yourself on my face.”

Holy fuck. 

Alex moans as he says it again and again, reaching between his own legs. 

“Don’t.” Henry’s voice is sharp. “Don’t touch yourself yet.” 

Alex whines against Henry’s thigh, rutting against his leg. “Please, Henry. I need to.”

“Not yet, love,” Henry says through gritted teeth. “Be good for me.” 

The words spur him on like a lit match, and Alex is quickly diving back in— squeezing Henry’s ass, licking long, wet stripes and fucking his tongue in deep. Henry moans at the heat of Alex’s mouth, the pressure of it, the impossible feeling of Alex around him, on him, inside. 

It’s inspired. 

Somewhere dim and distant, in the part of Henry’s mind that hasn’t gone completely offline, he catalogues inspiration the way he’s always understood it. 

An endless sky burning bright with constellations. The Birth of Venus. Byron’s deep and dark blue ocean, something divine. 

Every beautiful, aching thing is swallowed whole by the heat of Alex’s mouth. 

Because this is better. Fuck, this is so much better. 

Henry rocks his hips back, as he pulls one of Alex’s hands from its grip on his ass and spits into his palm. 

“Alex, this okay?”

Alex moans, his breath hot around him. “I’m tongue-deep and you’re asking now?”

“I mean, that I spit–”

“Do you need a light system? ‘Cause I’m green as fuck. You could spit in my mouth and I’d give you the keys to the city, baby.”

Henry laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He’s so endlessly gone for this man. 

He glances back— golden light, spears of warm summer, big brown eyes full of more emotion than is probably warranted for the truly indecent things they’ve gotten up to. He thinks he understands it then. Why Orpheus was told not to look back. 

He looks back, and he sees the man he loves— the man he’s entirely gone for— on his knees, worshipping him. He knows he’s on the brink of something, he knows he’ll never be the same.

To love is to look back.

Henry’s caught between his constant inclination to recite the classics and a burning desire to be fucked so hard he can’t walk straight for the next several days. He might be a bit like Whitman in this sense. He contains multitudes. 

“Bed,” Henry says, pulling Alex to his feet. Alex follows easily. 

They resume the same position— Henry propped against the headboard this time. He draws Alex’s hand back to his mouth and spits again. Alex moans loud and obscene, making sure Henry knows just how into it he is. Henry’s hips jerk forward on instinct, the sound of it unraveling him. Alex resumes his work, licking long, messy stripes, his rhythm going uneven now.

If Henry were any less aroused, he might care about the erratic movements. 

He isn’t, so he doesn’t. 

He relishes the vibration of Alex’s breath, a current he’s happy to drown in. 

“I’m so bloody hard,” Henry moans, guiding Alex’s hand to his throbbing cock. Alex doesn’t stop fucking his tongue in for a single second. The combination of his mouth and his hand, heat everywhere all at once, has Henry dropping his head forward with a ragged groan.

“Harder,” Henry grunts, pitching forward onto the mattress, face pressed into the pillows. “Ah–fuck, deeper, Alex, please.”

Henry’s head drags back and forth against the pillow, and then there’s a sound from outside the room. Shit. He forgot they have company.

A knock at the door. 

“You good, mate?” Pez’s voice is light and cautious. 

Henry freezes on instinct. But Alex, being the absolute sex demon he is, does not stop. He keeps working his mouth, licking long and deep.

“Nghh–” Henry props up on his elbows, but the movement forces his back to arch straight into Alex’s face. He squeezes his eyes shut, absolutely breathless as he fights back a moan.

“Yeah, yes, Christ,” Henry pours every ounce of effort into keeping his voice level. He isn’t sure it works. “I’ve just– ah-ah-ah.” 

Pez coughs, clearing his throat. “Do you need anything, mate? Sounds like you’ve injured yourself—”

“We’re good, Pez, thank you.” Henry drops his head hard against the pillow. Get it together. “Alex is just helping me sort something out.” 

A pause. No sound, not even friendly snickering. Only the soft, little laps of Alex’s mouth. 

Pez finally responds. “Well, we’re going out for a bite, care for anything?” 

There’s a sharp scrape of teeth against his cheek. The press of it blooms harshly across his skin. Henry bites down on his lips. “I’m good, I’ve got it covered.” 

“Well, if you’re sure—” Pez’s footsteps are already retreating. “We’ll be back a bit later –way later!”

A long stretch of silence settles. Noises drift in from the other room, where— Christ— his sister, their friends, and Alex’s aggravatingly handsome ex, are all gathered. For a moment, there’s a rumbling of murmurs outside the door, some hurried shuffling, and a smattering of giggles. But as soon as he hears the door shut, the laughter disappearing further and further away, Alex kisses where he’d bitten him moments before.  

“Whatifyousatonmyface?”

Henry chokes on air. “Pardon?”

There’s a harsh intake of breath. A million sensations still thrumming through Henry’s body, 

“You could sit on my face? I mean, my neck is just kinda— so, yeah. Will you?”

It doesn’t take much convincing. Henry doesn’t think there’s much he wouldn’t do with Alex. 

When it comes to Alex, he’s all in. 

Henry props himself up on the mattress, and Alex follows, kissing all the little places on his body he hasn’t properly acquainted himself with yet. His ankles, up to his calves. Each finger, brought to his lips one by one. 

He’s everywhere. 

Before Henry can catalogue the movement, Alex is on his back, stripping out of his clothes clumsily and quickly— and then he’s laid out fully across the mattress. 

Henry takes a moment. Takes Alex in. 

Alex like this is a revelation. A perfect embodiment of the human form. 

The chiseled muscle, the well-crafted lines of him. The easy bend of his knee, the arm propped beneath his beautiful face. Henry wants to drink it all in. Later, he thinks, he’ll ravish him properly – he’s already planning how he will drag it out, how he’ll make Alex beg for release. He traces a finger slowly down Alex’s chest, over the hair, past his navel, and watches Alex shiver beneath the touch. 

“That pretty hole of yours isn’t gonna fuck itself.”

“Your fucking mouth,” Henry groans. “So filthy.”

“You have no idea,” Alex murmurs. “Turn around.” 

He pulls Henry back and settles him onto his face. Henry straddles him easily— bracing up on his arms, arched and ready– his cock dragging along Alex’s chest. He can’t fucking believe he gets to have him like this.

Alex cups his cheeks in both hands and takes his time, savoring each slow flick of his tongue along the rim. Henry has tried plenty of things in bed. Still. He’s never felt anything quite like this. It’s one thing to be ravished by a beautiful man. It’s another thing entirely to feel the love in each careful movement. 

He’s overwhelmed with all of it— the love swelling in his chest, the aching wet press of Alex’s broad tongue. It’s a sweet surrender. His thighs pressed along Alex’s body as he starts to rock slowly, pressing back into each lick as he sits on Alex’s gorgeous face.

He drags his gaze down the length of Alex’s body, taking in the coarse hair, the flex of muscles, before dropping his mouth to follow. He noses along the crease of his thigh, breathing him in, taking his time. When he finally finds Alex’s cock he has to pause, just for a moment. It’s such a pretty cock. He runs his open mouth slowly along the tip, his tongue reaching out, almost involuntarily, tiny little kitten licks around the frenulum – satisfying a curiosity he’s had for a long time, about how Alex must taste. 

Divine. Just as he imagined. 

Alex is a symphony beneath him, breathless moans filling the room. It’s a careful press of wet heat, taking Henry a little further apart. God, he could live in this moment forever. 

It’s so much, it’s too much, and still he needs more. 

“Need you to fuck me, Alex,” Henry begs, pulsing above the love of his life, a hand roaming aimlessly, twisting at his own nipple, breath ragged. “Fuck, Alex. Love your mouth. Need your cock.”

He falls forward onto his knees, and Alex is clamoring behind him – kissing up the ridges of his spine, the nape of his neck. Sucking and biting and letting his mouth explore, as his fingers start pushing into Henry.

Soon enough, Henry is pushing Alex down onto the bed, his eyes gazing up at him with something that looks like forever. He really thinks it might be.

He slides his hands over Alex’s chest, paying some attention to his hardened nipples, before reaching back and wrapping his hand around Alex’s cock, lining himself up. And then Henry is sliding down, finally, feeling every throbbing inch of Alex inside him. 

He plants his knees into the mattress, braces his hands against Alex’s chest, and rides him. Hard. Henry has never felt so good; he’s never had it so good. Their hips meet in rapid succession, and Henry leans forward to adjust the angle, taking him deeper, harder. Until Alex’s cock catches his prostate just so, over and over again, creating a pressure so relentlessly perfect that it isn’t long before they’re both coming, completely and entirely undone. 

Henry collapses on Alex’s chest, bodies pressed so close together. 

“Jesus Christ,” Alex mutters breathlessly, going soft but still inside. 

“Just Henry is fine, love.” 

Alex swats at his chest. Then they dissolve into lazy kisses. 

It’s like how they always kiss, and somehow, it’s nothing like how they always kiss. 

They’re fucked out and breathless, but in the back of his mind, Henry knows they should probably get back to the living room. He's aware, with something close to satisfaction, that every sound they've made in the last hour has probably carried clean through the wall. But he's wrapped around the love of his life, and if that means endless teasing, they can deal with that later.

“Happy Birthday, love,” Henry murmurs, kissing along Alex’s neck. 

Alex huffs a laugh, “I don’t think I ever had a birthday present like that. How are you gonna top it next year?”

“Oh, I’m gonna top it,” Henry says, nosing up Alex’s face. 

Their mouths pressing light kisses on each other’s faces before someone— probably Alex— remembers that they’ve abandoned their friends in the living room. 

They pull on clothes from the floor a little haphazardly, Alex having to hold Henry a couple of times since his legs are still a little wobbly. Alex starts to press kisses into Henry’s neck, down his collarbones, and Henry has to swat Alex’s hands away. If they want to make it to the living room, someone has to be sensible. Not that Henry’s been the sensible one most of the night.

As Henry tries to think of how he can explain this to his friends, they are greeted with a still-empty flat. He isn’t sure how long it’s been since Pez said they’d be stepping out, but he’d have thought they’d be back by now. 

“Where the fuck is everyone?” Alex says as he pulls a stray nacho from a plate. 

Henry watches carefully. 

God, that mouth, he thinks. Blushing at the careful ache, still throbbing around his rim. He doesn't linger on it for too long before they find a note on the coffee table.

“HEY FREAKS!” 

It reads, 

“June and Bea are going to have nightmares for the rest of their lives, but Happy Birthday, Alex. Hope you had a good time finally fucking your boyfriend.

 

Love, Nora.” 

 

“See?” Alex says, latching immediately onto the word boyfriend. “We’ve been dating the whole time, baby.” 

Henry turns the note around, and a surprised laugh pulls out of him. 

He hands the note to Alex. 

“PS. I want to know everything! - Pez

PPS. Me too! - Nora

PPPS. I kinda want to know too - Liam”

 

“Shit,” Alex says, “Do you think they heard us?”

“I think everyone heard, love,” Henry smiles softly. He can’t quite summon the embarrassment he should probably feel. “It’s still your birthday, what would you like to do now?”

“Cuddle?” Alex wraps his arms around Henry’s waist, kissing his cheek. “Maybe watch a movie?”

And it’s just like how they’ve always been.

And at the same time, it’s nothing like how they’ve always been.

It’s better.