Archive of Our Own

i. 

There’s a high chance that Alex won’t make it out of this semester alive. 

It’s his last one so, like. He wants to, but he’s not sure what kind of mysterious, overzealous gremlin had persuaded him to sign up for a full schedule of classes plus study groups and book clubs and an internship — (the gremlin had, in fact, been himself) — and it’s beginning to take a toll on him, right ahead of finals. 

It’s not bad. He enjoys what he’s learning and it’s interesting material, it’s just a lot. It’s the kind of a lot that has him snappy and frustrated, that sends him grumbling under his breath when he receives an email once he’s already at class that the exam will be rescheduled for another day due to the professor’s last minute absence. Shoving out the back doors of the lecture hall along with the rest of his classmates, he heads back to his apartment a few hours earlier than he’d thought he’d get to. 

Which could have been a good thing, if he’d planned for it. Instead, with a migraine sitting heavy in the center of his forehead and exhausted from being curled over desks all day, he trudges home and thinks about maybe ordering a pizza later so they don’t have to cook anything. 

It’s still early so there’s definitely time. After such a long day Alex could really use an Advil, a hot shower, even hotter food, some cozy pajamas, and maybe a movie or two on low volume until he slips into bed early for some much needed sleep. 

And the absolute last thing he needs to see is Henry, his roommate and best friend of three years, stark naked in the middle of their living room floor on his knees, cheeks flushed and tied from shoulders to thighs with some kind of elaborate, kinky rope-thing. 

“Fucking shit, Henry. What the fuck?”  

Alex snaps a hand up to cover his eyes, stumbling into the table in the foyer where they usually leave their keys and cursing when he bangs his knee on it. 

“Alex,” Henry says casually from the floor. “I wasn’t under the impression that you would arrive home until five-thirty.” 

He seems to be in no rush to actually move in Alex’s peripherals, but then Alex considers maybe he can’t, then he considers offering help, then promptly speed walks the fuck out of there to give him a minute to decide for himself. 

It’s vaguely reminiscent of the time Alex had walked in on him in the middle of dripping hot wax on somebody on a towel on their living room floor, so. If he gets himself into these messes, he can get himself off. Or—shit. Alex shakes his head. Out. 

“That’s still—my professor didn’t—it’s not—ugh. Just—” Alex hates the way his voice is still several octaves too high. “Just—put your dick away, man. Please,” he begs, rounding the corner into the kitchen to grab the migraine medicine which is, frustratingly, also open to the living room. He keeps his back resolutely turned. “What are you even doing, anyway ? Is there somebody here?” 

There’s some rustling from the other room, the clink of what sounds like it could be some kind of metal and then the noise of thick ropes thudding onto the ground. Henry joins him in the kitchen moments later, his pants back on and his shirt halfway buttoned, as calm and collected as always. 

“No, just a bit of practice, I suppose. Testing out a new kind of rope before it’s used on someone else,” he shrugs. “Figured the best way to know if it’s pleasant would be to try it myself.” 

Alex grumbles as he shakes out a pill, filling up a cup halfway with some water in the sink before he downs it. He absolutely does not glance over at the imprint of the rope that’s still visible around Henry’s neck and underneath his sleeve. He doesn’t.  

“Are you alright? Do you have another migraine?” He can hear the frown in Henry’s voice before he sees it, coming to stand at Alex’s side. 

He hesitates. “I—yeah. I’m fine. Just a long day.” 

“I can imagine,” Henry nods solemnly. “You mentioned last week that you had that exam today. Did it not go well?” 

“Didn’t take it. The professor was sick and wasn’t comfortable not being there during it so it got moved to next week, which—” 

“Which only draws out the anxiety further for you,” Henry finishes simply. He huffs in sympathy, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning sideways against the counter where Alex’s hands are still braced on the sink. “I’m sorry, Alex. Please let me know if there’s anything that I can do.” 

One of his hands settles loosely on Alex’s shoulder and it breaks him out of his daze, straightening up when he suddenly remembers what that hand had just been doing. His head protests the motion and he squeezes his eyes shut as the room spins, using Henry’s touch to steady himself. 

“I think I’m just gonna lie down for a bit,” he murmurs. “Sorry I interrupted—uh…” 

“Not a problem. You haven’t done anything wrong.” 

“But I didn’t update our calendar or else you would have known and I—” 

“Alex,” he stops him gently, “you’re feeling poorly and the cancelation was unexpected. You’d have hardly had time to update it, and I likely wouldn’t have seen it anyway at that point. Don’t stress about this, alright?” 

“Yeah,” Alex relents, his head heavy between his shoulders. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Henry says, a solid hand pressed to the center of his back as they walk down the hall. 

He makes sure the lights are dimmed before he lets Alex into the bedroom and retrieves a warm wash cloth from the bathroom down the hall, laying it over the top of his forehead before he goes, leaving Alex’s phone by his hip and instructing him to use it if he needs anything else. 

Alex dozes on the bed for a few hours or so, picking at the food Henry drops off around dinnertime and forcing down another glass of water until the migraine begins to dissipate. He’s exhausted but his brain’s still running on overdrive, filled up with thoughts about finals and the break coming up and whatever the fuck Henry’d been in the middle of when he got home. 

He tries to brush it off, but once he’s underneath the hot water, secluded in their—well, communal but still private—shower, he realizes he remembers more of it than he’d thought he did. 

Henry on his knees on their living room floor, legs spread, the dark rope pressed into firm skin in intoxicating contrast, hard enough to leave a mark. Alex wonders if he presses his fingers there after its gone, wonders if that’s what he’s doing now in his own room down the hall, remembering what it felt like. 

It’d been expertly wound and knotted, streaking an elaborate pattern over his chest, his nipples and parts of his abdomen — and his cock, Alex’s brain supplies unhelpfully — left bare. It’d ended at the tops of his thighs, several rounds of it looped thickly around the muscles as they bulged against it with the weight of holding himself up, his own wrists presumably also tied off somewhere behind him. 

He’d said he’d been testing it. Seeing if it was pleasant enough for someone else. 

Alex thinks about tying up the family boat on vacation a few years ago, twisting the cord around his wrists like an instinct. Remembers the time he’d let Nora dress him up in a silly halloween costume for that one party a while back, mourning the loss of the cuffs once they’d been taken off at the end of the night. Recalls himself subconsciously sitting on his hands when he’s studying or when he can’t focus. Thinks of the mental release it always gives him to just have the choice taken away, something to be tethered to, to just be forced to be still for a few glorious fucking minutes. 

Thinks maybe it might be able to provide some other kind of release too. 

His hand’s drifting down on its own accord, pressing into the same spots Henry’d been tied earlier. Eyes fluttering shut, Alex curses as he leans an arm against the tile and presses his forehead into it, finally curving his fingers around his own cock, stubbornly hard and aching between his legs. 

It’s over embarrassingly quickly, his head feeling as foggy as the bathroom mirror when he steps out of it. He feels better but decidedly still a bit keyed up, like a faint hum underneath his skin. His brain’s quieted down and his headache is mostly gone though, so. Alex counts it as a win. 

The headache returns, of course, spurred on by the fact that once he gets back in bed he spends hours scrolling through NSFW forums and blogs and the deep dark depths of Reddit, unsure of quite what he’s even looking for. 

Which is silly because Henry’s, like, an expert. Alex has seen it firsthand way too many times to count. He could go knock on his door, even in the middle of the night, and he knows he’d answer just like he always does if Alex needs something, no questions asked. 

But the idea of asking him about this is also the most mortifying thing ever so he trudges on, clicking link after link, nearly jumping out of his skin when a video starts playing full volume, falling into restless sleep somewhere between one and the next. 

His last coherent thought before he slips under is that he’s awfully glad he’s not a cat, or else he’d have used up probably, like, at least eight of his lives by now with all of his stubborn curiosity. 

A bit deliriously, he considers that this might just be worth risking the last of them. 

ii. 

“Was it okay for you?” 

“Huh?” Alex asks, blindly shoving one leg into his pants and then the other. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, it was good. Thanks.” 

“Sweet,” the girl smiles at him, the same one she’d flashed him underneath the neon club lights earlier that night, and relaxes back into her bed, evidently not bothering to walk him to the door. She stifles a yawn. “See you around, I guess.” 

“Sure,” Alex clips. Not if he can help it, though. 

He snatches his jacket off of the chair by her door and leaves without another word, checking his pockets for his keys and phone and setting off back toward his apartment. He stares loftily at the concrete as he walks, illuminated in shifts by the streetlights before it disappears into darkness once again. He wishes the weird, confusing feeling would go with it. 

His hands only leave his pockets once he reaches their front door, fumbling with the key and jabbing it into the lock. He needs a thorough shower like he needs air, and then he needs to sleep for the next two consecutive business days until class starts up early on Monday morning again. 

“Alex,” he hears from the kitchen as he’s kicking off his shoes. “Is that you?” 

“The one and fucking only,” Alex mutters. He means to head straight for his bedroom but his feet take him to the kitchen instead, dropping down into one of their dining room chairs and collapsing his head onto his folded arms on the table with a sigh. 

The sink turns off a moment later, then there’s the clinking of glass and silverware as a cup of water and a plate of warm food are set in front of him. Alex tilts his chin up just enough to sniff at it, then straightens more when he sees it’s a grilled cheese with fruit—a staple in the Claremont-Diaz-Fox household. 

“I thought you were going out with Nora tonight,” Henry says, taking a seat across from him. 

Alex takes a large bite of the grilled cheese, moaning at the taste and glad to eat some real food after only having the shitty drinks earlier. He shrugs, his mouth still full. “I did. She went home with some guy.” 

“And you didn’t want to stay?” 

“I didn’t,” Alex corrects him, swallowing. “I went home with someone too.” 

Henry’s head tilts over toward the time on the microwave. “But you only left nearly two hours ago.” 

Shoving another bite into his mouth, Alex huffs a long sigh. “Yes, Henry. After Nora left this girl came up to me and I thought she was pretty so we made out for a bit and went back to hers and…” he trails off, chewing. 

“And…?” 

“You don’t want to hear about all of this.” 

“Of course I do,” Henry says. “It’s you.” 

The longer Alex thinks about telling him what happened the more he can feel his face growing progressively hotter. He pops a grape into his mouth just to have something else to look at, his eyes anywhere but on Henry as he gives in. 

“Just—do you remember that one time you were telling me about that guy that liked to be, like, held down, y’know, during?”  

“That would be quite a few, actually,” Henry chuckles demurely. “But, yes. I am generally aware of that being something people are into.” 

“Well…” 

“Did she ask you to hold her down?” 

Sucking his lower lip into his mouth, Alex debates on telling him the whole truth or not. The truth is: no, she hadn’t asked to be held down. 

Alex had. 

But he doesn’t relish the thought of recounting the way he’d immediately clammed up afterward, the way she’d raised a brow and made an attempt to follow through even though the way he’d soured the mood was palpable. The way they’d finished up halfheartedly, her quiet and Alex’s head blaringly loud in contrast. The shame of asking for it, and then the shame of feeling shameful about asking for it. 

“Yeah,” he chickens out, clearing his throat. 

Henry blinks. “Oh. Alright. Well, did it not go well?” 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Nothing,” Henry murmurs, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. “Only—you seem to be quite irritated. And tired.” 

“Doesn’t mean it was bad,” he mutters. “I would argue that I’m irritated and tired most of the time anyway, so—” 

“Alex, give me your hand,” Henry eases, holding out his own, palm up, across from him. Like an instinct, Alex raises his own to meet him there, a crease in his forehead as he waits to see what the point of it is. Henry frowns as their fingers touch, rubbing his thumb across the backs of Alex’s knuckles. “You’re shaking, love.” 

“I probably just needed to eat,” he deflects quickly, tugging his hand back to his chest. “Thanks for that, by the way. It was good.” 

“Of course,” Henry smiles. 

He lets Alex go but he lingers still, taking Alex’s plate and bowl back to the kitchen to wash and refilling his water glass. He asks questions about Alex’s day beforehand and talks about his own and, as much as Alex likes listening to him, he can’t seem to get his brain to focus on anything at the moment. 

When he finally rises from the chair, Henry’s there on the other side of the table, his expression neutral as he eyes him curiously. 

“Why don’t we move to the couch for a bit? We’ve not seen the latest episode of The Bachelor yet.” 

“I need to shower,” Alex says, the remnants of earlier tonight still frustratingly fresh on his mind. They hadn’t even done all that much together but he feels the imprint of her loose, judgmental fingers on his wrists like a stain. 

“That’s fine,” Henry nods, still watching him. “I’ll be waiting here for you when you’re finished, if that’s alright.” 

Alex pauses by the hallway, a hand on the wall. “You don’t—you don’t have to do that.” 

“I know I don’t,” Henry smiles. “Go take your shower. I’ll be here.” 

On a normal night, he might’ve lingered and gotten lost in his head, staring at the slick shower wall and wasting their water while he tries and fails not to make a list of all of the things he’d done wrong throughout the night that’d let to it being so unfulfilling. 

Somehow, knowing that Henry’s waiting for him, it’s easier not to do that. He finishes up in just under ten minutes, cleaning himself thoroughly but not excessively or harshly, grabbing for the towel on the counter by the sink to dry himself off. 

The shivering hasn’t stopped even when there’s not a trace of water left. He shakes as he crosses back to his bedroom to pull on pajamas, then all the way back down the hall to the living room. The TV’s already paused and ready when Alex drops down onto the next cushion over from Henry. He slides his hands between his thighs to warm them even though they aren’t even fucking cold, a crease in his brow as his teeth nearly chatter. 

Without a word, Henry’s unfolding his own lap blanket and wrapping it around Alex’s shoulders instead, extra careful to tuck in the edges at his elbows and knees. His temperature feels fine but the thick fleece on the underside of the throw has always been one Alex has been pretty envious of, and it feels soft and smooth against his freshly washed skin. 

There isn’t much time to get used to it before there’s a pressure at his right shoulder, Henry’s fingers, urging him sideways. Widening his eyes, Alex wobbles as he struggles to get an arm free and steady himself, but Henry’s other hand appears at his left, easing him down sideways until his head’s laying on a pillow spread across Henry’s knees. 

Blinking at the television screen, Alex frowns. The new angle forces him to address the tension in his back and his hips, carefully relaxing them into the couch until his spine aches a little less. The only one that seems to be insistent is the headache right at the back of his skull, dull throughout the day but sharpening at the club and worsening with every hour afterward. 

Henry reaches beside him to grab the remote, pressing play on the show as they run the highlights and recap from last week’s episode on a low volume. They’re only about five minutes in when there’s another touch at Alex’s shoulder, righting the blanket where it’d fallen and tucking it back up against his neck. The hand stays afterward though, knuckles brushing over the spot behind his ear before there are fingers gently prodding at the back of his head, sorting through the still-damp curls and digging deeper, kneading at the spot where it aches. 

Shutting his eyes, Alex moans and only feels mildly horrified about it, turning his face into the pillow both to hide and also to give Henry more room to work out the knots. This whole thing isn’t entirely normal for them. They’ve been known to give each other back rubs and there was that one time Alex’d asked him to help crack his spine but it hadn’t been like this. He tries desperately to overthink it and, amazingly, finds that his brain feels too syrupy to make a half decent attempt. 

Honestly, it’s just really nice to have the physical contact. It’s always been his love language, ever since Nora had them all take that online test back at a party their freshman year. Alex forgets sometimes, but Henry evidently remembers. 

He feels much better after the shower and, well, this, but there’s still just a bit of that feeling left under his skin — the way her brows had dipped and her eyes had narrowed just slightly in question, her grip on him hesitant and confusing and wrong. Past the general embarrassment of a failed hookup, he just feels— a little off.  

“I saw a dog wearing an American flag sweater today,” he blurts, still staring straight ahead at the screen. 

Henry’s fingers falter for a fraction of a second before continuing their soothing pattern. “Did you?” he muses softly. “How patriotic. What was the breed?” 

“A pomeranian.” 

“Oh. That—that is not quite what I’d had in mind.” 

Alex snorts. “I know, right? And the leash had a little bell on it so every time they passed by you could hear ‘em coming. If I ever got a dog I don’t think I’d want it to have a collar like that. Maybe the American flag shirt, though. It was kind of cute, I guess. As long as the dog was comfortable with it.” 

“What kind of dog would you get?” Henry murmurs above him, and Alex can hear the smile in his words. 

He launches into an impromptu monologue about the pros and cons of which breeds and how he wishes he had more time at home to take care of a pet which begins to spiral into a list of everything else he’d do if he wasn’t constantly so busy. Each time Alex thinks surely the words are about to dry up there’s a fresh set appearing at the back of his tongue, but Henry just lets him ramble, talking right over the television, his fingers never ceasing in Alex’s hair, the weird feeling dwindling away more and more as the minutes ease by. 

When the credits begin to roll at the end of the hour, Alex’s eyes are half-closed. He’s slightly slurring his words and he’s blissfully warm inside the blanket burrito, no longer shivering, his mind uncharacteristically empty. 

It makes it all the more easy to notice when Henry shifts him a bit, moving his legs to stand and withdrawing his fingers gently from Alex’s head. 

“Where’re you going?” 

“Kitchen,” Henry says. “I’ll be right back. Just grabbing some water and a snack. Would you like anything else?” 

“Oh. No, thanks. I thought you ate earlier?” 

“Back in a moment,” Henry reiterates, a small smile on his lips. 

Propping himself up on his elbow, Alex rests his chin in his hand and stifles a yawn, rubbing his knuckles into his eye. He can hear Henry opening and closing the fridge, the clasping of tupperware and the click of their microwave turning on. 

And Alex realizes belatedly, now that his brain has finally ventured back online, that Henry hadn’t eaten earlier because he’d given Alex the food he’d made for himself. 

He’s too exhausted to unpack the way that makes him feel at the moment. Turning his face back into the pillow that still smells like Henry’s cologne, Alex inhales, then promptly falls into a sleep that feels like months in the making.  

iii. 

Alex is going to throw his fucking textbook out of the fourth story window. 

His timer’s nearly up but he’s no more knowledgeable than he’d been when he started it thirty minutes ago, nor the several stints before that one. The words are beginning to blur together in his head even though he’s got his glasses on, his brain hurtling them back at him like a boomerang, falling uselessly at his feet. He’s got less than a week to have all of it memorized and, at this rate, he can taste how badly he’s going to fail. It’s bitter, and he fucking hates it. 

If there’s anything he loathes more than doing badly, it’s the panicking about being bad that always inevitably comes before. 

“Alright, that’s time,” Nora says, silencing the vibrating alarm on her phone. “Take a break. You need to eat something.” 

“M’not hungry,” Alex insists, flipping to the next page of the textbook and clutching the pencil so hard in his hand he’s sure there’s a newly printed Ticonderoga branded into his skin. 

“Alex. You agreed to this. You’ve been at it for hours. We need to go for a walk or something. I don’t know how you sit in these fucking chairs for so long. My back’s killing me.” 

“You’re welcome to go home,” he says. 

The guilt skitters in as soon as he’s said the words, feeding into his mental loop of frustration with himself. He keeps his gaze down even as she sighs lightly, knowing he’d see a sad little furrow in her brow if he were to glance at her. 

A bad fucking student, a bad fucking friend. Add it to the list, he muses bitterly. 

“I’m gonna see if you have any food I can make,” she decides, standing from the table. “Or I guess I could order in, if you—” 

Their front door opens and closes from the living room, and Alex snaps his head up just in time to see Henry coming through the doorway in the kitchen. He pauses, gaze lingering when he spots Alex at the table, before he smiles lightly at Nora, pulling her in for a hug. 

“Nora,” he greets warmly. “How are you?” 

“Okay,” she returns, hugging him back before pulling away to shut their fridge she’d just opened. “Just lots of stress with work and stuff. The usual. How’ve you been?” 

Their voices are hazy but strikingly clear in his head from only a few feet away, unable to parse through any of the material when they’re talking so close to him. The frustration festers like an itch underneath his skin, gripping the edge of the textbook until it bends underneath the pressure. 

Easing in a shaky breath through his nose, Alex tugs a hand through his hair for the millionth time today, white hot pain searing through his scalp when he pulls too hard. Nora’s laugh echoes throughout the apartment, Henry’s more reserved chuckle the icing on the cake. A reminder that this should be easy for anyone else, that it shouldn’t matter so fucking much, that Alex is drowning and he doesn’t know how to fix any of it and nobody fucking cares.  

He stands abruptly from the table, the chair making an awful scraping noise as he goes. He snaps the textbook shut with a bang and stuffs it underneath his arm, gathering up his pens and highlighters in his other hand as the conversation in the kitchen fades into silence. 

“So happy that the two of you are getting along but some of us still have some studying to get done. So.” 

Without looking at either of them, he gathers up the rest of his papers, preparing to move to the bedroom. Henry’s voice, calm and collected, is the one to break the silence. 

“Is something the matter?” 

“He’s stressing because of the Historical Lit exam coming up,” Nora explains. “And no matter how many times I try to tell him that he’s super fucking brilliant and probably gonna make a better grade than literally anyone else in the class, he won’t listen to me.” 

Biting hard at the inside of his cheek, Alex shoulders past both of them in the kitchen, prepared to have to push his way through, but Nora stays frozen and Henry only steps aside, allowing him into the hallway without complaint. 

It’s just as disappointing as it is exactly what he’s supposed to have been wanting, and he huffs as he stomps down the hall to his bedroom, slamming the door shut with his foot behind him. 

He’s drenched once again in silence, and it’s immediately worse. There’s no ticking of the clock on the counter, he can’t hear Nora shifting every few minutes across from him. Even the street noise is less through both sets of doors, and all at once he wishes he could turn around and take it all back. 

Alex hates the way he gets when he’s stressed. For all of the times he tries so hard to be kind and patient and empathetic he can’t ever seem to extend as much to himself, and every time he sees a new deadline, printed in firm black and white at the top of a page, it seems to burrow underneath his skin and ache like a fresh, unrelenting bruise until it finally passes. Hot tears prickle at the back of his eyes and he wipes at them harshly, sniffing as he swings a leg onto the bed and cracks open the textbook again, picking up where he left off. 

As if desperate for the distraction, it’s too easy to pick up on what little noise he can hear through the walls, some more low murmuring before the front door opens and closes again. Deep dread surges its way up through his throat, seizing his breath as he pictures them both leaving; Nora tired of his attitude and Henry fed up with having such an annoying, stubborn, high maintenance roommate. 

Alex. Alone. Again. 

He presses the pencil to the page even harder. If he can just do well on this exam they’ll be proud of him, he’s sure. Nora always likes to go out after a hard week, to celebrate and dance, always happy when he’s happy. And Henry insists on a marathon of their favorite movies or a game night on special occasions. Maybe, if he does good, Alex could convince him to do the thing they’d done the other night when he’d laid in his lap. The one time he’d been able to breathe since he’d been made aware of this stupid deadline. 

He’s not sure how long he stares at the top of the same page, re-reading the line over and over and over again. He’s copied it down into his notebook too, highlighted it half in yellow and half in green, and it still isn’t fucking registering. The skin on his lip is nearly broken from biting at it, but it falls out from the cut of his teeth at the sound of a light knock at his door. Alex snaps his gaze up to it. 

“Alex,” Henry says from the other side. “I’ve ordered dinner. Would you like to come eat?” 

He thinks of the protein shake he’d had for breakfast, nearly eight hours ago now, then glances back down at his notes. 

“No.” 

There’s a shuffle, a pause, and then Henry’s voice returns. “Can I come in?” 

“I don’t care,” Alex mutters. 

The door clicks open and the knob turns, and Alex makes out the toe of one of Henry’s loafers before he’s panicking all over again, frozen as he stares at the pile of dirty clothes by the dresser, the stack of books strewn out on the floor, the towel from his last shower laid out carelessly toward the end of his bed. A mess.  

“Wait,” he calls. “My room’s not—everything’s all messy.” 

“That’s fine, Alex. I don’t mind,” he says, and yet still, he waits in the doorway for permission to go any further. “Would you prefer to come out here instead?” 

“No. No, it’s—you can come in. Just—sorry.” 

“No need to be sorry.” Henry steps the rest of the way inside, not sparing a glance at any of the things Alex had been worried for him seeing. He approaches the edge of the bed and checks that it’s okay to sit, settling a few feet away from him. “What are you working on? Can I help?” 

The flood gates open. “I wish. There’s not really anything that has a hard and fast deadline, but the exam’s next Tuesday and it’s worth, like, half our grade in the class and that professor already doesn’t like me because I argued with him on the first day about his shitty stance on politics and—” he blows out a sigh, hands in his hair, elbows propped on the textbook. “It’s just— I have to do good on this. I’m kind of okay at the history part of it, but I always suck at the literature part.” 

“Nora tells me you’ve been at it all day today,” Henry points out gently. 

“Yeah. ‘Cause none of it’s making any fucking sense. I know I can get it memorized if I can just focus properly. I always can. I always figure it out, I promise. I just need to—” 

“Hey, I know you will. You’re very smart, Alex. You always do well,” he says. “But I hope you know you don’t always have to push yourself so hard to do it. There’s still time before the exam next week. Why don’t you take a break and come back to it once you’ve rested and eaten something?” 

“No.” 

“Alex,” Henry tries again. He gestures to where Alex has his fingers curled into his own palm, his nails digging into the skin, a pain that just now registers. “You’re hurting yourself. Please take a break. Only for a bit, I promise.” 

“No, Henry,” he shakes his head, “I have to finish this. I have to do well. I have to—” 

Henry stands from the bed, steps forward and places a hand over the top of the textbook, obscuring his vision of the text. Alex gapes up at him, a million arguments on his tongue and his hands already grappling for it back. 

Henry’s other hand wraps firmly around his wrist before he can get far. 

“Alex. Stop it.” His tone leaves no room for argument, but it’s the pressure at his pulse point, Alex thinks, that has him sinking back into his pillows. “Let go,” Henry says. 

Without meaning to, Alex does. 

The textbook is eased out of his lap and shut, placed safely on the nightstand. The rest of his notes, scattered all across the rumpled sheets, go next. Alex feels like dead weight. Henry gathers up every pen and highlighter and sets them to the side of the stack before he turns to face him again, his expression unreadable. 

“You’ve exhausted yourself, you’re tense, and you’ve not eaten anything solid in nearly twelve hours. I’ve tried to wait and I’ve tried to help you take care of yourself but you’ve refused. So, here’s what’s going to happen. Are you listening?” He waits for Alex to nod, the motion making him the slightest bit dizzy when he does. “Wonderful, thank you. You’re going to change into some more comfortable clothes while I prepare the food. Once we’ve eaten, we’re going to sit down on the couch for a bit so you can tell me about your day and a little more about why this is so important to you, as well as how I can help you with it more in the future. After that, and only after that, we can discuss some alternate methods of studying that might help, which you can try out after you’ve rested. Does that sound alright?” Alex nods again. “Words, Alex.” 

“Yes,” he croaks. 

Henry softens just a little bit, but his voice remains firm. “Good. Thank you. Are you alright to get changed on your own?” 

Alex feels pretty weird about the fact that he doesn’t consider that offer fucking weird. Would Henry help him with that if he asked? Alex thinks he probably would. The feeling disappears as quickly as it’d come. 

“Yeah.” 

“Very well. I’m going to leave the door cracked in case you need anything,” he turns and makes for the door, every move deliberate. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Come and find me when you’re finished.” 

“Okay,” Alex says slowly. He blinks over at his phone, lifting a hand to clear all of the alarms he’d set and ignored for his study breaks, and his calendar flashes up behind it. “Wait.” 

Pausing in the doorway, Henry places a hand on the frame and turns to look at him. “Yes?” 

“Didn’t you— you had a date tonight,” he holds up his screen halfheartedly, his wrist too heavy to keep up, “on the calendar. You should— you’re not going to that?” 

A pause, then a shrug. “Plans changed.” 

Yeah. Because he had to change them to stay and take care of Alex. Over something as simple as studying. He feels a little pathetic for the way the anxiety is already lessening now that Henry’s introduced some kind of structure back into his spiraling, given him a clear and attainable objective. 

But just because Henry’s able to do that for him doesn’t mean that always should have to.  

Alex’s chin dips to his chest. “Oh. Sorry.” 

“No need to be sorry.” 

His eyes are still locked in on his own sheets when he hears Henry’s soft exhale, the dull thud of his shoes crossing back over to where Alex is sitting on the bed. Henry’s quiet as he finishes canceling Alex’s alarms for him and then locks his phone and sets it aside, offering a hand to help him move to the edge of the bed from where he’d still been curled in on himself. Alex’s legs ache from the odd angle, and the indentions in his palm are beginning to sting, the adrenaline of the panic fading into background noise as he grapples between guilt, confusion, and relief. 

When both of his feet hang over the side and touch the floor, Henry leans forward and tucks two fingers underneath his chin, just enough pressure to direct his gaze upward. 

“Alex,” he says softly. “If I had to choose between someone else and you,” his grip tightens the slightest bit, “I’d choose you every time. I need you to know that. Okay?” 

Breath caught somewhere in his throat, Alex swallows around it, his next words only a rasp. 

“Why?” 

The corners of Henry’s lips twitch, a familiar smile softening his edges. He drops his hand from Alex’s chin and stands. “Get changed and meet me in the kitchen. I’m making you your second most favorite,” he teases. “No more caffeine for you today, but we’ve still got hot chocolate.” 

He means to make a joke about how it’s like, seventy-something degrees outside right now but when its halfway to his tongue he realizes he actually doesn’t care. “With cinnamon?” he asks, eyes wide. 

Henry grins faux-thoughtfully in the doorway, cocking a brow as he taps a finger on the frame. “If you’re good.” 

Alex nearly falls on his face when he scrambles off the bed to go get his pajamas, the tension easing a little more with every passing moment that Henry’s laugh echoes down the hall. 

iv. 

Alex has the apartment to himself tonight, a dinner date marked in Henry’s handwriting on their shared calendar that Alex is determined to get him to actually attend this time. With the exam behind him now he finally feels a bit more clear headed, able to think about other things without the guilt of not studying or taking Henry away from his obligations taking over. He does have some plans of his own tonight, however. 

They involve stealing a glass of Henry’s fancy wine and lazing around on the couch, to be precise. That, and research.  

The thing fucking is — Alex is good at picking up on patterns. His brain’s always been wired that way, trying desperately to make sense of chaos whenever possible, even when the chaos is his own doing. Which, as it just so happens, plays a role in all of this shit too. 

It’s a mental list, because he’s too embarrassed to write it down anywhere, consisting of only a few simple points so he can try not to get overwhelmed. 

Firstly: the day he’d walked in on Henry. The image of the ropes still burned behind his eyelids. The thought spiral of what it’d feel like to be tied up in the same way. The really fucking amazing orgasm that’d been a direct result of those thoughts. 

Secondly: the girl he’d gone home with from the club. What was supposed to be his tentative experiment that’d failed horribly. The shaky, disconnected feeling he’d had the rest of the night. How it’d faded little by little as he ate, drank, cleaned himself, talked and rested. 

Thirdly: his exam. He’s always known that kind of thing gets him riled up, but he’s never been able to claw himself back out of it on his own before. Didn’t even really know it was possible to do anything besides just wait it out and let it pass with the due date. But he’d been almost hyper aware of the feeling this time, more in tune with himself in a way that only served to underscore his lack of control and subsequent need to regain it. Or, maybe not regain it but— channel it somewhere else. Give it to something else? Alex isn’t sure. 

But that isn’t the most important part of the list anyway. 

It’s the fourth point: the pattern. One single through line between each of these instances that he can’t quit fucking thinking about. Because it’s everywhere. He’s everywhere. 

It’d been Henry every time. An anchor, a reminder, a thought planted in his head. And, well, thinking about Henry means thinking about the shit that Henry’s into, so, really, he’s right back at square fucking one: knowing nothing. 

There’s something there. Alex can feel it. Henry’s always meticulously discreet about getting his partners in and out of the apartment so Alex scarcely sees them, but he knows they’re there. Can hear them sometimes too. And then there’s Henry. 

It’s like some kind of magic. Henry always emerges the following day like a new person, his eyes bright and an energy to him that wasn’t there the day before. As if he’d been recharged overnight. And Alex thinks he might actually be into the opposite of what Henry does, but the dynamic’s the same. It’s a release that seems like it’s more than just physical, and Alex sort of can’t think of anything he needs more than exactly that.  

And he’s not clueless. The walls are pretty fucking thin and it’s not difficult to make out the low timbre of Henry’s accent as it curls around various demands, harsh but not unkind, firm when it’s called for and gentle in between. More than a few times he’s heard the crack of something through both sets of their doors. That, and the pleased noises that usually come afterward. 

Unless Henry’s instructed them to stay quiet, that is. 

So he listens sometimes. And he ponders. And there’s not necessarily anything wrong with that, except for the fact that sometimes Alex has noticed he’s beginning to— react to Henry. 

Like, when he tells Alex to grab the shredded chicken out of the fridge for dinner, it isn’t entirely unlike the tone he’d used the night before when he’d told his date, clearly even through the wall, to kneel. Alex drops the chicken onto the counter with shaky hands that night and coughs to hide the way he chokes on his breath, his cheeks hot to the touch. 

Little things, mostly. He’ll brush past Alex in the hallway in the mornings and reach out to pat his hip as they cross, and Henry doesn’t miss a beat even as Alex stands there frozen, staring after him as he goes, feeling a bit lost and wishing it hadn’t been so fleeting. 

The way he’s become accustomed to having his head in Henry’s lap in the evenings now with careful, steady fingers in his hair easing the knots his own had left behind, the sour feeling that swirls in his gut on the nights when Henry’s occupied with someone else and can’t do it. 

It’s all really fucking confusing, is what it is. And he can’t tell Nora, can’t call June, can’t admit to anyone that he’s having weird, somewhat sexual, probably definitely not entirely straight thoughts about his roommate and best friend. There’s a trust there, between he and Henry, and Alex isn’t going to fuck it all up because he’s overthinking shit again. 

So he turns to the internet instead. It’s not that it seems like a better option, but he guesses there’s a lot more opinions to read through out there and it’s gloriously anonymous, so it doesn’t take much self-convincing in the end. 

He’s got the incognito browser opened up in his lap with one tab on Google and the other on Reddit, glass of wine in his other hand, the notes app open on his phone at his side in case he needs it. 

Alex is only halfway through the realization that he doesn’t actually know where the fuck he’s going to start with all of this when the front door handle rattles underneath the lock. Two seconds later Henry’s there in the doorway, his messenger bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder, eyes wild and hands white-knuckled around his things. 

Alex has never seen him like that before. 

Easing the lid of his laptop down and setting it on the table, he flinches lightly as Henry storms right past the living room toward the kitchen, dropping his bag and his scarf to the floor somewhere along the way. 

Without a word, Alex slides off of the sofa and follows him, gingerly picking up after him as he goes. The closer he gets to the kitchen the more he can hear his grumbling; short, angry words as he rifles through the cabinet for a glass and yanks the sink handle on to fill it. 

He’s evidently decided that it must not be strong enough by the time Alex leans up against the kitchen door frame, having moved on to withdrawing a bottle of wine—the same one Alex had poured himself a glass of about an hour ago now—to drink from that instead. 

There’s a slight tremor in his hand when he raises it to his lips that’s so unlike him that it has worry licking up the back of Alex’s spine. He clears his throat lightly and steps forward, but Henry keeps his gaze down, nails digging into the side of the countertop. 

“Henry?” he tries. “You okay?” 

“Stellar,” Henry bites, taking another swig. 

Alex takes a step closer, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall to give him some space. “I’m sorry your date didn’t go well, but I think we can still make it a fun night,” he offers gently. “I have movies and we can order something in if you didn’t get to finish dinner?” 

Henry’s eyes snap up to his. “What?” He shakes his head dismissively, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t— I canceled that. I’ve just been— out.” 

Initially, Alex had assumed that Henry was just pent up from not having anyone over lately. He’s been canceling dates more often and staying around the apartment most days when he’s not in class or nabbing some volunteer hours at the English department, and Alex would understand if maybe the date hadn’t gone well and he’d lost the chance to relieve some of his tension in the way he usually enjoys. 

But Henry canceling all of this shit himself isn’t adding up. Alex kicks off the wall and moves closer, leaning against the island next to him. 

“Oh. Why? Is everything okay?” 

They’ve lived together for long enough at this point that Alex isn’t worried about pushing a little. Henry’s always been clear with boundaries, a fact that Alex really appreciates, and he knows if Henry were uncomfortable with something he would say it. 

Ultimately, it doesn’t take all that much convincing. Henry doesn’t even tell him to fuck off—or, whatever the British equivalent of that might be. Instead, he taps two fingers against the side of the wine bottle, pursing his lips. 

“My brother is getting married.” 

“Okay,” Alex says carefully. “And we’re not happy about this?” 

This part actually is a bit surprising. Henry is open about a good majority of things, has told Alex intimate and personal details that absolutely no one else knows, but his hard limit is usually family. He rarely mentions any of them save for his sister, and even that seems to be a little complicated sometimes. Alex nearly holds his breath as he waits for more. 

“He is— he—” Henry scoffs, running a hand through his hair. He’s glaring so hard at the bottle that Alex is worried it might burst into shards. “He just decides he’d like to speak to me after four bloody years, assuming that I’d even pick up the phone, which was my first mistake. And then he’s got the gall to tell me that I’m expected to be in attendance. Not invited, not asked. Not given a choice,” he spits, “but expected. I’ve never even met his fiancée, never been wanted for anything else there. But when other people will be in attendance and they’re worried about their precious reputation being sullied, then I’m expected to show up and play happy family, lest it cause a spectacle for them. It’s— it’s ridiculous. It’s absurd.”  

Schooling his shock, Alex clears his throat, desperate to put a hand on his shoulder but managing to hold himself back. “That sounds really shitty, H. I had no idea it was that bad,” he says honestly. 

Henry’s jaw tics and then he’s pushing off of the counter, pacing back and forth between Alex and the refrigerator, his bottom lip caught between his fingers. 

“I let them control every part of my life for years. Years that I’ll never be able to get back. I left for a reason.” He shakes his head. “I suppose it’s my own fault for assuming that in my absence they’d have ruminated on what they’d be missing after I left, but they— they aren’t missing anything at all,” Henry chuckles bitterly. “I’m still just a puppet to them. Something they can boss around when it’s convenient and ignore altogether when it isn’t. I— how foolish was I to think that they could have honestly changed?” 

“It’s not foolish,” Alex cuts in. “It’s not a bad thing to want to see the best in people, Hen.” 

The laugh Henry gives this time misses the mark a bit for facetious for the way his voice wobbles. “Yes, well. All it’s ever done is gotten me burned.” 

“That’s not true.”  

Hardened blue eyes swing over to him, situated underneath a single cocked brow as he stops his pacing abruptly. Alex doesn’t cower, but only for the sole fact that it’s Henry.  

“It isn’t?” he bites. 

“You saw the best in me,” Alex points out gingerly. “Otherwise there’s no way you’d have agreed to be my roommate freshman year. I was chaos. Scared everyone else away within the first twenty-four hours,” he rattles off, searching desperately for a hint of a smile on Henry’s face. “And I don’t think I’ve burned you. Or, at least, I hope I haven’t.” 

Henry sighs, sagging against the counter opposite him and pressing the heel of his hands to his eyes. “I’m afraid you’re only proving how much of a fool I am,” he murmurs. “But I suppose you’re correct.” 

It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. The fight seems to have drained out of him and he’s quietened, but the line of his shoulders is still taut, drawn up defensively around himself. Alex steps forward on instinct, reaching up to pull Henry’s wrists away from his face. 

“Henry,” he says softly. “What do you need?” 

He won’t look Alex in the eye, his own red-rimmed and exhausted as he gazes down between them. “I’m alright.” 

“H. You’re always there for me when I need it.” He squeezes Henry’s wrist a little tighter.  “Let me be here for you. Please.” 

It’s quiet when his assent finally comes, his lips barely moving with the word. Still, it’s more than enough permission. 

“Okay.” 

Alex keeps hold of his wrist but steps away, pulling him back toward the living room. His feet feel like they’re moving on autopilot as he bypasses the couch and goes for the entryway instead, stopping by the hanging rack they have for their jackets and keys. 

Henry watches him silently as Alex reaches into his pocket to retrieve his keys, setting them in the holder. He moves up to Henry’s shoulders to slide his coat off next, hanging it on the rack the way Henry always does it so it won’t wrinkle around the collar. With that out of the way, Alex turns his attention to the buttons leading up his chest, tightly closed all the way up to his throat. He undoes the first four—perhaps more than he should, but still— and then picks up Henry’s hand again to lead him to the couch. 

He goes more easily than Alex thought he would when he pushes lightly on Henry’s shoulder to get him to sit down. Grabbing the remote from the coffee table, he flips the television on and navigates over to the quickest option that Henry’s got bookmarked, his favorite reruns of Bake Off, and sets it back on the wood. 

Then he drops to his knees. 

It seems to shock Henry nearly as much as it shocks Alex himself, but he’s running off of pure instinct at this point. When Alex is a storm, Henry is the anchor. Henry’s never really allowed it to be the other way around before, but Alex is suddenly eager to show him that it can be— that this thing can go both ways. This is a part of Henry that he doesn’t show to just anyone, and Alex’ll be damned if he fucks it up. 

No pressure.  

Strangely enough, he really doesn’t feel any pressure at the moment. It doesn’t feel like a performance when he folds himself onto his knees between the just-wide-enough split of Henry’s thighs, drawing one of Henry’s feet into his lap and tugging at the strings on his dark brown Oxfords until they unravel. In fact, Alex thinks, it feels pretty fucking good.  

“What are you doing?” Henry breathes, the skin of his ankle warm when the backs of Alex’s knuckles graze it above his sock. 

“Taking care of you,” Alex replies simply. 

Whatever else Henry’d been about to say seems to dissolve on his tongue, his eyes curious but soft as he glances down at Alex between his legs. Alex finishes untying one shoe and gently eases it off of Henry’s foot and sets it to the side before reaching for the other one to do the same. 

When both of his feet are left only in socks, Alex arranges them both on either side of him again on the carpet, then leans up slightly on his knees, flicking his gaze up to Henry’s as he slowly makes a measured grab for his belt buckle. 

Henry’s fingers twitch beside his thigh on the sofa, but he doesn’t stop Alex, even as his breath audibly hitches. Alex goes a little dizzy with the amount of trust he’s being given, his own breathing beginning to deepen. 

He’s proud of himself for not shaking as he wraps his fingers around the front of the belt buckle, easing the clasp from the leather to undo it. Henry shifts forward slightly to give him room to tug it out from each of his belt loops, and he winds that around his fist and sets it aside with Henry’s shoes just as Henry leans back into the cushions again. 

And then Alex just— stays there? 

His folded knees feel rooted to the ground, the gravity more heavy on his shoulders than it usually is, like the weighted blanket he used to have back home before he lost it. Something in the back of his head is tingling, a pleasant buzz in his veins as he keeps himself small between Henry’s legs. 

Still, he’s aware of the fact that this is probably objectively kind of weird, given that he’s already finished the task he got down here to do. He blinks and opens his mouth to make some kind of joke to break the tension but all that comes out instead is—

“Hen.”  

As if he’d pushed some kind of imaginary button, Henry bends forward and then there’s a hand at the back of Alex’s neck, firm but gentle where it holds the weight of his suddenly heavy head. It draws him forward just enough to rest his cheek on Henry’s knee, and Alex goes easily, his eyes falling shut. 

“Thank you, love. Thank you,” Henry says, his breath warm and sweet where it fans across Alex’s face. “You’re so good to me, Alex. Always so good. Thank you.”  

The buzzing intensifies. Alex furrows a brow and tries to identify the sudden warmth in his belly, turning his cheek until he can inhale a lungful of he and Henry’s shared laundry detergent that’s deeply embedded into the fabric of all of their clothes at this point. 

He feels— centered, somehow. And he’s oddly aware of his heartbeat but not, like, in an anxiety inducing way? Pretty much the exact opposite of that, actually. His brain is quiet for once, and Alex is suddenly struck by the sheer amount of things he’d be able to get done on a daily basis if it was always this way. 

Henry’s fingers drift over his temples and into his hair, tracing his ears and his eyebrows, over his jaw to rub at the knots in his shoulders until those loosen, too. He feels like Henry’s walking through his brain somehow and exploring the gallery wall of fractured snapshots like picture frames, righting the ones that are off-center and swiping the dust away as he goes. 

“Come here, love,” he says eventually, tapping lightly on the outside of Alex’s arm to get his attention. “Up you get. It’s been ten minutes.” 

Has it really? It hadn’t felt like that long since he sat down. But when he goes to stand his leg is halfway asleep where it’d been tucked underneath him, and he makes a noise, gripping at Henry’s shoulders when it threatens to give out. 

“Easy. Come here, I have you.” 

Henry rubs at his calf until the feeling returns and then helps him sideways on the couch, Alex’s head in his lap like it’d been the other night. The last time he’d felt something similar to this. One of his arms rests across Alex’s shoulder, tugging a blanket halfway over him before he even realizes he’s shivering, reaching for both of his wrists and gathering them up in the hold of his fingers as Alex watches a cake bake on the television in front of them. 

Somewhere in the back of his head he remembers the initial goal of all of this, shifting a bit and clearing his throat. “Is this— good?” 

Henry’s grip tightens a little, his hum soothing Alex enough to drift off. 

“It’s just perfect, Alex. Thank you.” 

“Hey,” Henry says again later, “Thank you. For tonight.” 

It’s far past either of their bed times but that’s never really held much power over when they manage to get some sleep, migrating to the kitchen for sweets instead. Despite Henry’s disapproving look, Alex has his legs criss-crossed on top of their kitchen island, the ice cream cold against his lips. 

“Of course,” Alex tells him. It feels right. He tries not to read into any of it, especially when he still feels a little— well, whatever the hell he’d felt this afternoon. “Do you think you’ll go to it?” he asks. “The wedding, I mean?” 

Across from him, Henry sighs and swallows a bite of his own cone, swiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb to gather the excess. He looks softer in the overhead light from the microwave, no longer tense. Alex’s mouth is numb from the cold but he can feel himself smile behind his hand. 

“Probably. I’d like to try and see my mother and sister if possible.” 

Alex hums. “Hey.” 

“Hm?” 

“D’you get to bring a plus one to the wedding? ‘Cause, like. I’ve never been to the other side of the pond before and this weird British dude I know just goes on and on about these silly little things called Jaffa Cakes and I think if I don’t finally get to try one soon then I’m gonna go insane.”  

Henry snorts, and Alex fully grins this time. He finishes off the last of the cone and uses a kitchen towel to wipe off his hands, passing it over to Alex afterward to do the same. 

“Alex,” he says seriously. “You don’t have to.” 

“I know. I want to. Promise.” He shoves the last of his dessert onto his tongue and then, without swallowing, continues, “Oh shit, wait— are they gonna be like, super pissed if you bring a guy to the wedding?” 

Henry stalks forward and leans against the counter, retrieving the towel again. He picks up Alex’s hand and cleans it thoroughly, his grin blinding in the low light. 

“That is precisely why it’s a wonderful idea, darling.” 

“Oh. Okay. Cool,” he gulps. 

Finishing up cleaning his fingers, Henry tosses the rag into the sink and glances over at the time on the microwave. “It’s getting late. We should try to get some sleep.” 

“Probably,” Alex agrees without moving. 

Henry stares at him for a beat longer before he drops his chin to his chest with a laugh, shaking his head and pulling him off the counter to his feet. His hands are warm on Alex’s hips to steady him before they return to his own pockets, his skin suddenly cold in their absence. 

“Goodnight, Alex,” he says when they reach the hallway, a hand on the door to his bedroom. 

Standing a little unsure in the middle of the hall, Alex lingers. “Night, Henry.” 

He can still see Henry’s soft smile when his bedroom door shuts, and Alex blinks at it several times before he forces himself to his own room a few feet away. It feels like a bigger distance than it is, like he forgot something in the other room but he can’t pinpoint what it is. 

It takes him a good, long ceiling-staring session to be able to get sleepy again, going back over the evening in his head. He worries about if Henry truly feels better or not, if he’d done enough, done everything he could to make him feel better the way he always does for Alex. It gnaws at him well into the night, and he wonders if Henry’s up too on the other side of the wall. Thinks about what the worst that could possibly happen might be if he were to knock on his door, just to check. 

But then— 

It’s just perfect, Alex. Thank you. 

As vivid as it was when Henry said it earlier, the reminder curls over him like his blanket and he huddles underneath it further, his breathing finally evening out. 

It’s all great. It’s fine. He’s fine. 

Better than that, he’s good. 

v. 

The thing about opening Pandora’s box is that it can’t be fucking shut again. Life keeps trudging on but now there’s this whole other thing that’s always on his fucking mind in between the regular shit, and it’s just as much Henry’s fault as his own.  

So, yeah. He’s not stupid. The things he’d done for Henry the night he was upset were a little… gray. In a moral and friendship and maybe also fifty-shades kind of way. It’d been testing a personal hypothesis of sorts. Asking Henry without having to ask Henry. And he’d gotten his fucking answer, too. 

But Alex hadn’t really expected to fall into it quite as hard as he did. And now that he’s aware of this part of himself it’s like he can’t stop noticing it— in general sometimes, but especially around Henry. 

And that’s the part that’s terrifying. 

It’d be one thing if it was just a kink. There’s plenty of places Alex could go to explore that kind of thing. He knows Nora would have some top tier recommendations, probably. It’d be the kind of thing he’d said he was looking for; a mental and physical release, something to quiet him when his head feels too loud. 

But it wouldn’t be Henry. 

Alex doesn’t want to be on his knees for a fucking stranger. It wouldn’t be near the same experience as Henry, who knows him, who values him, who appreciates him, even when he’s being insufferable and overwhelming and loud. It wouldn’t be the same kind of safety, so it wouldn’t be the same kind of release. 

He’s been jittery and a little off since that night. Not enough to be concerning, he doesn’t think, but he’s been trying to keep himself occupied so Henry won’t pick up on it too; the way Alex practically goes limp when Henry touches his wrist or his neck. The way he seems to light up when Henry gives him a task to complete, even if it’s self-care, which Alex is notoriously awful at. The way Henry hasn’t brought anyone new back to the apartment in over a month now, and yet Alex still gets unjustifiably livid when somebody at the grocery store asks for Henry’s number as if Alex isn’t standing right beside him when it happens even though it isn’t fucking like that. 

The way Alex has to swallow down his frustration when they settle on the couch at night and he has to sit beside Henry—like a normal fucking person —instead of at his feet or in his lap instead. 

He’s on edge, is the point, but he’s been hiding it fairly well. 

Until today, that is. 

+

The flight to London is chaos. It’s the kind of climate Alex typically thrives in, but instead he just finds himself wishing he could curl up with his head in Henry’s lap and sleep until they get there. Henry offers him his headphones and his shoulder to lean against with a smile, and it makes everything worse and Alex is not going to fucking cry about it. He’s not. (Why does he feel like crying about it?) 

It’s a question that plagues him from takeoff until landing, even when he manages to doze for a bit. The thing is, he thinks, that he hadn’t really realized just how much he needed that kind of release until he’d had it. And how the motherfucking fuck is he supposed to sit Henry down, his best friend, his roommate, his Henry, and ask him for that kind of thing on the regular? Ask him for even more than what he already gives so much of already? 

Alex doesn’t even know what specifics he’d ask for. His ‘limits’, as the online blogs called them. If he wants it to be all the time or just sometimes. If he wants it to be sexual or not. 

Okay, well— the last one he kind of knows the answer to. 

But then that opens up an entirely new can of worms, doesn’t it? Would he want it to just be the sex and submission thing, or would he want more? Alex can’t imagine himself turning down any part of Henry that was on the table. But Henry does this shit all the time, and he may not want the same things in his hookups as he does his relationships. And that’s to say he would even want a relationship with Alex. That he’d even want either of those things and the thought of bringing it up and being rejected is— 

“You awake, love?” 

“Mhm,” Alex sniffs, straightening up in his seat. 

“We’re nearly there,” he nods to the window beside them, whispering so they don’t wake the people who are still sleeping. “I know you like to watch the landing. Didn’t want you to miss it.” 

Alex had told him that. Once. Years ago, talking about the first time he ever went on a plane with his dad when he was a kid. He blinks at Henry’s soft smile for a second before forcing his gaze toward the window, his throat dry for the way all the moisture seems to have rushed to his eyes instead. 

It’s dark outside by the time they make it through baggage claim and Henry hails them a taxi, and Alex thinks it might be the most quiet he’s ever been on the 45-minute trip to their hotel. He tells Henry he’s just tired, and he is, to be fair, and doesn’t even make it to a shower before he’s crawling underneath the hotel sheets and burying his face in the pillow, halfway to restless, Henry-filled sleep. 

Before he loses consciousness there’s a hand tugging the duvet up and tucking it neatly around Alex’s shoulders, brushing the hair back off of his forehead. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Alex.” 

Alex doesn’t get much sleep that night either. 

+

In theory, when Alex had kind-of-sort-of suggested faking a relationship for Philip’s wedding, he’d been under the impression that he’d have to do a lot more pretending.  

He lets Henry lead with most things because it’s his family, but Alex can’t deny the way it’s also just really fucking easy to fall into it and to realize just how often they do this shit on, like, a daily basis. 

The look on his brother and grandmother’s faces is priceless when they walk in holding hands, and Henry’s sister is surprisingly quick to come up and show her support, tugging them over to a table after the ceremony to catch up. Even Henry’s mother shows her face eventually, stopping by to speak softly with him and give him a hesitant hug. 

And Alex has fun. A genuinely good time. He makes fun of stuffy relatives with Beatrice and exchanges stories about Henry he never gets to share with anyone else, and he nearly spits out his drink when Bea and Catherine share some in return, the tips of Henry’s ears pink. He gorges on the assortment of desserts and has the time of his life when Philip finally greets them, slipping every overly obvious joke that he can think of to make him squirm. 

But none of that surprises him. He’s had fun with Henry for years now. It’s easy with him, no matter who they’re around or what they’re doing. Alex doesn’t even have to remember to fake anything. 

He leans into it when Henry rests an arm around the back of his shoulders mid-conversation. It feels natural to grab for his hand under the table when a rude family member comes up to them before being talked off by Beatrice. It’s second nature, the way he finds himself playing footsie with him while they eat so he’s got somewhere to release his energy, all too easy to bite back a grin when Henry captures his foot between his own and then releases it in a little private game of catch and release, his own smile bright around his forkful of fancy dinner. 

There’s not a moment of hesitation when Alex accepts Henry’s hand to dance, holding Alex by the waist as he takes the lead in between all of the other couples. Not when Alex leans forward to breathe in his cologne and rest against his shoulder, not when Henry presses a kiss to his temple the way he’s done so many times before this. 

Okay. So. Maybe he’s in love with Henry. 

Fuck. 

He immediately wants to march over there to the full-length, overly intricate golden mirror on the far wall and slap himself. Ask himself when exactly this happened, why it took him so long to realize it. But Henry’s arms around him feel too good and — once again: fuck. 

Loving Henry isn’t, like, that far of a stretch. Logically. He’s always loved Henry, but never quite in the same way as he’s ever loved anyone else before. Maybe that’s why it’s been so hard to articulate. 

It was safe, and loving Henry was safe, because there was still some distance between them. He’d gotten damn close, but he hadn’t seen all of Alex, right down to the core, and so if he left, it wouldn't have been for any of those things at least. Things Alex hadn’t even been aware he was protecting. 

But whatever the hell had happened that night when he’d been on his knees? That— that certainly felt like the whole of himself; served right up on a silver platter, offered to Henry without a second thought. He’d probably have done or told Henry anything he asked in that moment. 

And, granted, Henry had accepted it, had held it gently, protectively, almost. Hadn’t judged him for it afterward. But he does that kind of shit for people all the time, does he not? Provides that kind of space for people? What makes Alex any different than everyone else that he takes care of in those ways? 

Somebody’s shoulder grazes Alex’s on the dancefloor and he burrows further into Henry’s chest, blinking slowly over his shoulder. Henry smooths a hand over his back to hold him there. 

How much of this has he missed? How many other people have noticed before he had himself? And, maybe most importantly—

Does Henry know? 

Slowly, Alex slides a hand off of his shoulder to his chest and, like a reflex, Henry’s own fingers come up to encircle his wrist. Alex sinks his teeth into his lower lip, the feeling from before beginning to return. 

Gasping in a breath, he pushes himself away from Henry until it dissipates, both of them standing frozen in the middle of the dance floor. His wrist is still raised in between them, noticeably bare from Henry’s grip, and Alex rushes to shove it into his pocket, avoiding Henry’s eye. 

“Alex?” 

“I think I’m— I’m gonna get some water,” he decides. 

“Go sit down, I’ll fetch it for—” 

“No,” Alex cuts, ignoring the way Henry deflates a little, his head tilted. “I mean, no. That’s okay. I can get it myself.” 

Without another word he walks off toward the bar, downing the cup of water he’s given in a few quick gulps. His wrist fucking burns but now his heart burns too, and what the fuck is that supposed to mean? 

He tries to think objectively here— he’s never been good at keeping a secret, and he’s even worse at lying. Doing that to Henry? There’s no way.  

But what does that leave him with then? He can’t lie, can’t pretend, can’t tell him, can’t avoid it altogether. What he can do, apparently, is have a panic attack. 

“Come on.” 

There’s a hand on his lower back again and Alex jumps, spinning around to face Henry. Raising his hand, Henry takes a tentative step back to give him some space, Alex’s jacket draped over his arm, nodding toward the door. 

Because he’s apparently incapable of disobeying, Alex follows him to the exit without getting a chance to say goodbye to anyone. He moves on autopilot outside and to the cab waiting by the curb, slides into the seat when Henry opens the door and follows after him. The space between them feels like a chasm. 

“What do you need?” 

Not what happened? Not can’t you suck it up? Can’t you handle it yourself? Not what’s wrong with you? Why did you ruin a perfectly good time at my brother’s wedding which is what we came here for in the first place? 

Just what do you need? 

Alex sputters a laugh, and it still doesn’t seem to throw Henry off. If Alex knew the answer to his question, he’d have asked for it a long time ago. 

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice giving out around the last syllable. 

“Can I touch you here?” Henry taps the back of his hand resting on the seat between them. 

At Alex’s shaky nod, he carefully lifts Alex’s fingers and sets them palm-up on his thigh. He traces a fingertip slowly up one of the faint lines in Alex’s palm and then back down again, and Alex locks into the movement, his lower lip caught between his teeth. 

“Breathe with me?” Henry murmurs. 

So Alex does. In while Henry’s finger traces up, out when it moves back down again. He’s not sure how long it takes but his head begins to clear a little, the knot in his throat lessening, and when Henry’s deemed it enough he presses his own palm to Alex’s and fills in the slots between his fingers with his own. 

Something tries to work its way off of his tongue, either thank you or I’m sorry, but it doesn’t quite make it. The driver pulls the car to a stop and Henry uses one hand to tip them, keeping the other in Alex’s to pull him from the backseat and close the door. 

Now that he’s not actively panicking (debatable) the words seem to rematerialize, bouncing around in his head. He nearly says them in the lobby, in the elevator, on their floor outside of the room when Henry’s fishing their key out of his pocket. The key to their shared room. 

Triple fuck, he tallies. 

“Why do you put up with me?” 

The door shuts behind them, and Alex keeps his eyes on the floor as he marches directly to the kitchenette, picking out a random pod of flavored coffee from the rack and popping it into the machine. He can hear Henry pause in the open entryway. 

“Excuse me?” 

Grabbing a ceramic cup from the cabinet, he stick it under the spout just as Henry rounds the corner, his coat removed, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“We’re so different. You like things really calm and quiet and I’m, like, the literal antithesis of that,” Alex says. “You could’ve picked anyone else to live with. To be friends with.”  

He smashes a finger into the ON button but the screen doesn’t light up. Jamming his finger harder into it, he huffs and holds it down until it hums to life with a little manufactured song. 

“I don’t think we’re so different,” Henry says carefully. “I think we balance each other. Everyone needs someone like that, I think.” 

“You do?” Alex raises a brow, glancing over at him. “You need someone too?” 

“Of course, Alex.” Henry steps closer when he turns back to the coffee machine, hovering by the sink. “Is everything alright? Did something happen at the wedding?” 

“No,” Alex snaps. “Yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Okay. Could you elaborate for me?” 

He sinks his teeth into his lip. “Just, like. Do you think we were believable? Like, as a couple?” 

“Oh. Um, I suppose so, yes,” Henry shrugs. “To be honest, I wasn’t even thinking about any of that.” 

Alex’s hand tightens on the machine that’s still not fucking brewing his coffee. Well, there’s his answer, isn’t it? Henry hadn’t even been thinking about it because he doesn’t think of Alex that way at all.  

“Right,” Alex spits, trying a different button on the screen. 

“If I’ve overstepped somehow, I—” 

“You didn’t,” he cuts. “I offered to come. That’s what friends are for, right?”

(Has that word always tasted so bitter on his tongue?)  

It’s pathetic, really, because Henry’s been making his coffee for him for so long that apparently he doesn’t even know how to do it anymore and what’s gonna happen when he doesn’t have Henry for all of these things? When he’s not there when Alex drives himself into work-induced frenzies, when he forgets to eat or drink water, when he panics and needs an anchor that’s no longer there?  

Tears burning his eyes, Alex bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes metal and slams the top of the machine open and closed again. The START button still doesn’t fucking do anything, and the little song it plays feels like it’s laughing at him. 

Henry pushes away from the sink and moves closer, one hand outstretched in his direction. “Love, here. It needs water. Let me—” 

“I’ve got it, Henry. I can do things by myself, you know. I’ve had plenty of fuckin’ practice, okay?”  

His hand falls back to his side. “Of course you can. I never meant to insinuate that you couldn’t.” He’s close enough that Alex can smell his cologne he put on before they left, and he takes a step back on instinct until he hits the wall. Henry notices. “Are you certain that everything is…?” 

“I just think we need to set some boundaries.” 

“Boundaries,” Henry echoes slowly. “Such as?” 

“Like, between us. Physically or— whatever.” 

“Is this about the dance earlier? Or something else from the wedding? I promise I’d never intentionally do anything to make you uncomfortable—” 

“It’s not that. You— you didn’t do anything,” Alex shakes his head. “I just— one day, soon probably, we’re both gonna graduate and then who knows if we’re both staying in New York or not and we’ll have to get used to not— to not being like— this all the time.” 

To not being each other’s. 

Henry seems to mull this over for a moment, and Alex very pointedly stares at the spaces between the tile under their feet. When he speaks again, it’s much softer. “I’d like to be in your life for as long as you’ll have me, Alex. If that wasn’t clear. No matter where we end up.” 

“Why?” 

“I— because I care about you? Because we’re friends.”  

“Are we?” 

Henry’s eyes flicker and his jaw ticks, his arms crossing back over his chest as he straightens. “Well if we aren’t you’ve certainly done a bloody good job at pretending all of these years.” 

“No—” Alex stops him. “I mean are we really just friends?” 

The coffee machine beeps twice, the only noise cutting through the thick silence that’s settled over the hotel room. Alex can hear his own heart beating inside of his chest, is pretty sure he can hear Henry’s too, and he immediately wishes he could take it back.

Not as much as he wants to hear the answer, though.  

Henry blinks, opens his mouth and shuts it again. “Have I missed something?” 

“Have I?”  

He sighs, his shoulders deflating again. “Alex, I— I’m not following here.” 

“Like. It was one thing to just be your friend or your roommate or whatever but now it’s like— you treat me like—like—” 

“Like what, Alex?” Henry asks firmly. 

“Like that. Helping me with everything, looking out for me, telling me what to do and shit. Caring about me. Like I’m—”

He can see the moment understanding begins to settle over Henry’s features, eerily calm. “Say it.” 

“Like I’m yours.”  

Henry nods once. 

“Point taken.” 

“Henry—” Alex fumbles after him as he spins and walks out of the kitchenette over to the beds, tugging out his suitcase to rifle through it for something. 

Every other thought leaves Alex’s brain except for one: Henry is leaving. Henry is leaving. 

“No, please. That’s not what I— I didn’t mean— can we just talk about it, please? I’m sorry.” 

“No need to be sorry,” Henry says calmly, re-folding one of his shirts. “I’ll make quite sure that I don’t do anything moving forward that might give off the impression that you’re mine.” 

He picks up the shirt and a pair of pants, then walks toward the bathroom, shouldering past Alex without so much as a glance. This time, it’s Alex that grabs his wrist. 

“Hen, wait, I— I’m not saying that those aren’t things that I don’t like, it’s just— I wasn’t expecting them from you, I guess. We’ve just never talked about that kind of dynamic for us—”  

Blue eyes harder around the edges than Alex has ever seen them, Henry turns again and presses a finger to the center of Alex’s chest. 

“I don’t do those things because I’m trying to dom you, Alex,” he grits exasperatedly. “I do them because I care.” 

“But you— you do it with everyone else that comes home with you too, the other—” 

“If you think for a single moment that I treat anyone else the same way I treat you then you certainly haven’t paid as much attention as you think you have.” 

Swallowing thickly, Alex blinks back tears and stumbles back, falling down onto the edge of the bed they’d just passed. He presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and wills himself to get it together, but everything inside of his head is moving too fast to pin any one thing down. 

He can’t deduce from Henry’s words what he means— whether he feels the same or whether he’s only being nice. Henry’s never lied to him about anything but Alex has never been good at reading between the lines; it’s another reason why they work so well together. Henry’s clear and precise with his words and his actions, and Alex hates himself for how much he’s grown to crave it, for how terrified he is at the prospect of it being taken away. 

The bed dips beside him and he can feel Henry’s body heat, knowing he won’t touch him unless one of them asks. Unfortunately, that isn’t the first thing out of his mouth. 

“Tell me how you’re feeling,” he says instead. 

Alex grumbles into his palms. “Angry. Confused.”  

“Alright. What are you angry and confused about?” 

“You. Me. I don’t know.” 

“What about you and me?” 

He huffs, his hands dropping to his lap. “I’m angry that I’m confused and I’m confused that I’m angry and I’ve just been thinking about a lot of shit and— and I don’t know what to do with the fact that when you’re ‘taking care of me’ or whatever is the only time I’ve been able to take a fucking breath in months.”  

The confession feels like it takes a weight off of his shoulders, his entire body sagging forward. As if the situation weren’t already embarrassing enough, the coffee maker beeps twice again and Alex chokes around a sob, scrubbing at his face harder. 

“Alex,” Henry says gently. “Come here.” 

“I mean it. I mean it, Henry, I— I can’t fucking— I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“Look at me,” his hands tug Alex’s wrists away from his face, clearing some of the moisture from his cheeks. “Love, listen to me. There isn’t a single thing wrong with you,” he says, even as Alex tries to deny it. “There isn’t, Alex. I promise you.” 

“Everything’s a mess,” he chokes around another sob, finally turning sideways to drop his head onto Henry’s shoulder.  

“What’s a mess, love?” He can feel Henry use his nails to scratch across his scalp and his upper back, his other hand still holding Alex’s in his lap. “Talk to me.” 

That’s all it takes, really. 

“I— all of it. I didn’t even— fuck, Hen, I didn’t even know that I wasn’t, like, straight until recently. And then I didn’t have time to think about it because of the internship and finals and shit and every time I came home and you were— y’know, I just— I couldn’t quit thinking about it and then I just—” Alex cuts himself off, shaking his head against the memories. “I didn’t realize how much I wanted to be— to be taken care of.” 

“Is it?” Henry whispers. “What you want?” 

He massages the fleshy part of Alex’s hand between his thumb and the rest of his fingers. Already, Alex can feel the cogs in his brain slowing back to a normal pace, Henry’s presence like a balm he hadn’t even known he needed. He frowns thoughtfully. 

“I think so. But— not just— not just with anyone.”  

Henry eases a slow breath out through his nose, his eyes flickering across Alex’s face. “I see. Can you tell me more about that?” 

“I can try,” Alex admits, a little unsteadily. “I think I just— I trust you. And there’s also, like, the fact that I’m pretty sure you were the reason that I realized I wasn’t— that I might not be—” he gets himself choked up again when he tries to put it into words. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” 

“Come here,” Henry murmurs, his arms open, and Alex can’t deny the invitation. 

He buries his face into Henry’s collarbone, right up against his wrinkled dress shirt, and exhales, his tears soaking into the material as Henry cards a hand through the back of his hair. He tries again, because this feels kind of important and he fucking wants to. 

“All I know is that sometimes I get so in my head that I can’t fucking think and I never thought— I didn’t know I was capable of— of—” 

“Of what, love?” 

“Of being wanted that way,” he admits in a rush. “Like, it’s one thing for me to realize shit about myself. Like, that I’m probably bi and the being-taken-care-of thing, but it’s something entirely different to come to terms with the fact that someone could want to take care of me.”   

The hand on the back of his head falters, then returns with a more careful, deliberate touch. “Oh.” 

“I just— I’ve always had to do it myself, y’know? Which isn’t— it’s no one’s fault, but I never realized—” he sniffs. “I just didn’t know. Until you.” 

“And now you do,” Henry supplies a little unsurely. 

“Yeah,” Alex confirms. The silence is nice at first but the longer it draws on the more restless he gets, clearing his throat. “I know this is a lot, but could you, like— say something? Please?” 

Henry nods, but it’s still another moment before he speaks. “I’d like to start with an apology.” 

“What? Why?” 

“I could have been a little more careful with the way that I approached certain things with you,” he begins. “I’m not saying I knew what I was doing, because I didn’t. It wasn’t intentional, because, in my head, you were straight and we’ve always had this kind of back and forth. Being present for one another. Looking out for each other. I’d thought it was just an extension of all of that, at first.” 

He eases in a breath, in and out, the same way he helps Alex with when he’s upset. 

“And then, sometime around last month, I think, I began to realize that it was more. For you, but for me, too. And I should have talked to you about it then. But, Alex, I—” his voice breaks, and Alex scrambles to look up at him when he gets choked up. “Christ. I’ve wanted you for so long that when I felt like you needed me, truly, for something beyond just friendship, I couldn’t bring myself to risk losing it. And I wasn’t even sure if you felt it too and if you didn’t then I’d have ruined us either way by bringing it up.” 

Alex gets it. It’s the same way he’d felt not even an hour before this. He squeezes Henry’s shoulder as he continues. 

“But that was selfish of me. And very irresponsible. And I’m so, so incredibly sorry, Alex, that I didn’t take the time to talk to you properly about it. I should’ve been your friend, first and foremost, which is the only thing we’ve discussed prior to this. I should’ve talked to you. Maybe it would have helped you understand a bit more. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to work yourself up to this point before you finally felt like you could admit it,” he says quietly. “I care about you so much. The last thing I ever want is to make you confused or upset or hurt. Forgive me, Alex—” 

“Please don’t apologize.” 

“Love—” 

“No,” Alex sits up a little in his lap, shaking his head. “You don’t— look, I appreciate it, okay? And I accept, for what it’s worth, but I meant what I said when I told you that you are the only reason I’ve made it through these last few months. Th rough the last three years, honestly,” he huffs a watery laugh. “I’ve been so stressed, H, and coming home to you, whether it’s just us eating takeout and watching a movie or whether it’s all of this other shit,” h e pauses, catching Henry’s eye, “it’s you. It’s like, I come home, and I see you, and I just— I’m okay. I can breathe. I can break, because I know you’ll be there to catch me.” 

Henry’s eyes, now soft again around the edges, take in Alex above his slightly open mouth. “Alex,” he breathes. 

“Is that— am I fucking crazy?” Alex laughs again. 

“No.” Henry smiles, reaching a hand up to hold against his cheek. “No, love. Not at all.” 

In for a penny, Alex figures. 

“Henry?” he prefaces. “I think— I think I love you.” 

The ground opens up and slides out from beneath Alex’s feet, and he doesn’t even have time to panic before Henry’s got him, tethering him once again. 

“Alex,” he repeats, his tone much more direct now. “Can I kiss you?” 

“Please.” 

No sooner has he said the word does he have the sudden knowledge of what Henry tastes like, and Alex yields all too easily when Henry’s tongue traces the seam of his lips, tasting him in return. He’d thought it would be much more frantic, making up for time he only just realized they’d been missing, but Henry is as meticulous as he always is, holding Alex steady as he maps him out. 

“I love you too,” he whispers against Alex’s lips in the interlude.  

The corners of Alex’s mouth curve up again, biting at his swollen lower lip.  “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Henry breathes. 

“Good. Oh, shit— hang on.” 

Alex scrambles out of his hold and stumbles to his suitcase, pulling out a brown paper sack and coming back to the bed. 

“Oh, Alex, I’m not sure if we should—” 

“Calm down, you horny bastard,” he flicks Henry’s forehead, dropping back onto the sheets. 

He brings his legs up to sit criss-cross and proceeds to dump the contents out over the mattress, an entire boxes’ worth of Jaffa Cakes tumbling out between them. Henry blinks at them and then up at Alex. 

“How on earth did you—?” 

“They sell them at the little shop behind the front desk downstairs,” he explains, fishing one out to hold up and cocking a brow. “Ready to take my Weird-British-Dessert virginity?” 

“Excuse you. It is not weird—”  

“You can take a different kind of virginity later if you shut up and feed this to me.” 

The package is plucked from between his fingers in record time and ripped open, Alex’s laugh booming throughout the hotel room. It’s familiar, the back and forth of their dynamic, even after the conversation they’d just had. It’s still easy.  

Alex isn’t surprised.  

Henry waves it in front of him and Alex opens his mouth, and just when it’s about to meet his lips, Henry rips it away and takes a large bite of it himself instead, crumbs falling down his chin and into his lap. Affronted, Alex huffs at him, stares for a minute as he chews, and then decidedly tackles him backward to get a taste in a different way. 

“Mm,” Alex moans, pulling back once he does. “That’s good.”  

“You’re good,” Henry says like an instinct. He’s grinning up at Alex from the sheets, a hand splayed on his thigh to keep him steady, and Alex’s laugh gets caught somewhere in his throat. 

“Yeah, okay. This is— fuck,” he sighs, bending down to kiss him again. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” 

Henry runs a hand down the back of his head, the food forgotten on his chest between them to take up Alex’s hand—and heart, intentionally this time—instead. 

“We have time.” 

+ vi. 

If Alex had had any lingering doubts about any of this, they’ve all been stuffed into a garbage bag and chucked into the deep, dark abyss by now. 

The mental list of things he really fucking likes is already becoming too long to keep up with but Henry’d asked him to at least try, so. Obviously he’s going to do that. It’s not too dissimilar to the actual physical list they’d made together and gone over at length over breakfast a few days prior, of the things Alex thought he’d probably be into if given the chance to try them. 

Turns out he might’ve known himself a lot better than he thought. 

“Ouch, fuck,” he curses, flexing his thighs as the light slap Henry’d landed to the inside of his leg stings and spreads out across his nerve endings. 

“You’re thinking again,” Henry murmurs, smoothing his lips to the very same spot. The muscle in Alex’s thigh jumps again in response. 

It’s not a complaint, Alex knows, but a statement. He is still somewhere inside of his own head, despite the fact that he’s naked save for his boxers, his wrists tied behind the slats of one of their wooden dining chairs that’s been relocated to the bedroom, his legs spread with Henry glancing up at him from in between. He’s already been teased to the brink once tonight already, his abdomen flushed and clenching with the evidence. 

“Fuck,” Alex says again, with feeling. “Sorry.” 

“Breaking the rules already, I see.” 

Oh, yeah, Alex thinks. No apologizing. 

“I—” he starts to apologize for apologizing, but Henry’s blue eyes flicker up to meet his from the floor as if he already knows what’s coming, and Alex snaps his mouth shut as Henry buries a secret smile into his thigh. 

“What am I going to do with you,” he wonders aloud, rising up a little on his knees until they’re nose to nose. 

His fingertip strays up and over, tracing the outline of Alex’s cock in his boxers. The sensitive tip is exposed at the top, the band as suffocating as it is a rough kind of relief. He’s curved up toward his belly and it aches, the dark blue material completely soaked both from Henry’s mouth and from how much Alex is steadily leaking onto it. He hisses at the deceiving lightness of Henry’s touch that had driven him to the brink of insanity only moments earlier. 

And then promptly drew him back. Alex had had to bite his tongue to keep from cursing him out. 

“Whatever you want,” Alex answers honestly. 

It’s the kind of honesty that should probably be a little bit embarrassing, but a good bit of that had flown out the window when Henry’d delicately and expertly secured the thick, surprisingly smooth rope around his wrists. Every time Alex tugs on it and it holds, each time it’s able to encompass his jerky movements or impromptu wriggling, he can feel another little piece of himself giving into it. It’s okay, it seems to be reminding him. Like it’s holding his weight for him for a while, leaving him free to be present here in the moment instead. 

Which is very much where he’d like to be, as Henry allows him a small, pleased smile at his words. It feels like the biggest fucking reward Alex has ever received. 

“You’re being very good for me, Alex,” Henry tells him. “Did you know that? You’re trying so hard.” 

A bit more of the tension leaves his shoulders as he dips his chin, nosing at Henry’s cheek. “Thanks.” 

“Of course.” His hands smooth over Alex’s thighs and over to his hips, tugging at the band of his underwear. “Let’s get you out of these, yes?” 

“Yeah. Please.” 

Shifting as much as his restrictions allow, Alex presses his feet to the floor and lifts his hips, letting Henry slide the last of his clothing down and off of his legs. He’d been running on pure adrenaline up to this point but once Henry returns his gaze to Alex’s now fully nude body, it hits him that this is actually the first time Henry’s seen him this way. 

Alex knows he’s at least conventionally attractive, has been told as much by the people he’s hooked up with in the past. But in all honesty he hadn’t much cared what they thought of him in the fleeting, desperate moments they’d shared. He’d always cared much more about being good than looking good, even before he’d been aware that was something that mattered so much to him. 

The self-consciousness that materializes behind his rib cage surprises him a little, the way he broadens his shoulders and flexes his muscles against the bonds to show off a bit. Alex never really managed to get a good look at anyone Henry’d brought home in the past, and the thought of comparing himself to some vague, unknown standard already has stress brewing in his temples once again. 

As if picking up on his posturing, Henry leans forward and swipes both thumbs on either side of his head, Alex’s jaw relaxing from where he’d unknowingly been clenching his teeth. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes on nothing but Alex’s face. 

Only after Alex has mirrored his slow, deep breaths does Henry begin to explore the rest of him, pressing a brief kiss to his collarbone as he drags a hand openly over the newly exposed skin just to the side of Alex’s aching length. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, tracing his fingertip through a bit of the wetness that’d pooled near his tip. “You’ve made such a mess of yourself already, pet. So needy.” 

No apologies, Alex reminds himself, fighting against his instincts and flushing bright red at the nickname they’d discussed. None of these things are bad. He isn’t bad. 

“S’for you,” he says without thinking, chasing the way Henry’s eyes light up at the words. 

“Yeah? All of this is for me?” 

“Yes,” he gasps, arching into Henry’s hand when it presses down a bit more firmly. 

“Thank you, love. What a privilege,” he smiles softly. “Would you like me to refresh your memory on what’s going to happen tonight, Alex?” 

“Yeah,” Alex nods, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. “Please.” 

“Very well.” Henry leans sideways, extracting a black drawstring bag from beside the dresser. He undoes the silk tie and discards the material, the smooth, rounded edges of a large vibrator held up in his hand. Alex presses his thighs together with a hiss. “When we went over our options you seemed quite keen on trying this one, correct?” 

In the conversation he’s referring to, Alex had pulled a confused face at the item and had confessed to Henry that he’d thought they were only particularly useful for women. The unadulterated glee that had lit up Henry’s face had sent Alex spiraling in a million different directions at once. It’d gone on his list before Henry had even managed to tell him half the ways it could be used. 

“Yeah,” Alex says, a bit breathier than he’d been anticipating.  

“I’d thought so,” Henry’s lip curls up to one side as he glances at the toy. “There are multiple levels of intensity. I’ll be using them all at varying points, though we’ll begin slowly. Are you with me so far?” 

“M’here,” Alex nods. “Green. Neon fucking green.” 

“As we’ve discussed, I’d like you to beg,” Henry says, as if it’s perfectly simple and still doesn’t make Alex fucking tremble at the idea alone. “You’re to make as much noise as you need to. I’d like you to tell me how you’re feeling if you’re able as we experiment with the different levels.” 

He snorts. “Yeah. Pretty sure that won’t be a problem, baby.” 

“Alex,” Henry tells him seriously, “this will be intense, and we’ve not used it before together. I need you to be very honest with me so that I know what your limits are, yes?” Alex nods, watching as Henry expertly wets the head of the toy with lube. “That being said, intense does not equate to bad, necessarily. If you’re feeling a lot, that’s alright, and I want you to trust that I have you and won’t let anything go too far. However, if you become overwhelmed or something is too painful or uncomfortable and you need a break or to stop, I need you to tell me. You’re partly restrained, so I need you to promise me that you’ll utilize your other methods of communication if you need something from me. Does all of this make sense?” 

“It makes sense,” he breathes. “I can do that.” 

“Good boy, Alex. Thank you for listening so well.” 

More than anything else Henry’s said, it’s that phrase that always puts him right back in that place from weeks ago, stripped down and transparent, for once not afraid of what might be on display on the inside. The hypervigilance borne of years of having to look after himself isn’t an easy habit to break, but it makes it a hell of a lot easier when it’s Henry doing the breaking. 

“I want you to come from this,” he says, dragging the toy up Alex’s thigh, leaving a translucent trail of lube behind it. “You don’t need to ask for  my permission this time but I would like you to try to tell me when you’re close. Can you do that for me?” 

“I can do that,” he agrees. “I mean. I think so. I’ll try.” 

His enthusiasm, what he’d once thought would surely be a turn off, earns him another smile in return. 

“We’ll start here.” The head of the vibrator comes to a stop once it hits his nipple. “We’ll go at your pace. When you’re ready for more, you’ll let me know.” 

Even once Alex has verbalized his consent, Henry takes his time teasing him with it. The silicone is cool against his skin, the anticipation of it doing more for him at the moment than the toy itself. Henry plays around with the pressure of the bulb and they both watch greedily as it carves a dip into the skin of his pec, the skin just the barest shade darker when he relents. 

Tongue bitten between his teeth, Alex tries desperately to just wait. This is all part of it, he thinks, given the way Henry already seems quite pleased with how things are progressing. That was the entire point of all of this — he’ll give Alex more when he decides its time. When he decides Alex has earned it. That he’s been good. And fuck if that doesn’t—

The sharp click of the ON button is all the warning he receives before the toy vibrates to life, and Alex’s shoulders hunch forward, his brows raised and his arms tugging tight on his restraints. 

“How does that feel?” 

“Woah,” Alex chokes on a surprised laugh before it quickly tapers off into a low moan. “I— good, that’s— a lot.”  

Henry hums understandingly, keeping the pressure light despite how Alex is curling into it and arching his back almost like a reflex, trying to chase it even though it’s intense. 

“One day,” he says thoughtfully, “if you’re amenable, I’ll tie you here across your chest as well. The feeling of the vibrations through a thicker rope is really something special.” 

“Fuck.”  

Henry only smiles in response. 

He teases Alex much the same way as he had only moments ago, dragging the bulb across his chest and circling each of his nipples, pressing in hard before drawing back again but never letting the toy leave his body. Alex can feel the muscles clenching in his abdomen, the way he can’t seem to get a moment to catch himself before he’s shuddering all over again. 

And they’ve only just started.  

“Henry,” he whines, feeling a little pathetic as he tries to press himself more harshly into the vibe and being caught by the restraints each time. He’s writhing, slumped down a bit on the chair as he struggles to catch his breath. 

“What is it, pet?” 

“I need— I—” Alex blinks at the ceiling and licks over his dry lips to wet them, gasping a bit as he remembers their earlier conversation. “Please. Please, Hen, I need more. Need you to turn it up, please, I—” 

Before he’s even finished, the vibrator hums a bit louder as the level increases by at least two notches. Alex sits up stark straight in the chair, gasping open-mouthed as his eyes roll backward. The silicone presses harshly into his right nipple, the feeling unfolding out over his entire chest and pooling even more arousal thick in his lower stomach as he shakes. 

His brain goes blissfully blank for a few moments as he gets used to the feeling, biting his tongue as he whimpers and mindlessly fucks his hips up into nothing. It shocks him a little how close he already feels despite his cock not being touched. He thinks passively about talking to Henry about the possibility of trying to get off hands-free at some point. But. One thing at a time. 

As soon as the intensity settles into something a little easier, a steady hum instead of an all-consuming rush, Alex clears his throat again. “I’m ready. Please. Can you— will you put it— uh—” 

The vibrations stop, Alex’s body sagging in the chair as Henry withdraws the toy and gives Alex his full attention. “Put it where, Alex?” 

He heaves for a second, catching his breath and trying to verbalize it against the hot rush of humiliation that feels more arousing than he ever imagined it would be. 

“Put it— put it on my dick, please,” he whispers. 

Henry reaches up to stroke one hand down the back of his neck, leaving it there as he lightly presses the head of the vibe against Alex’s leaking prick, still off. Alex curses under his breath and bucks, squeezing his eyes shut as he wills himself to try and stay calm so he can enjoy this for more than just a few seconds. If he thought having it on his chest was intense, this is sure to be something else altogether. 

He rests his forehead against Henry’s, grateful for the moment to just breathe before he turns it back on— at Alex’s pace. He doesn’t deny him the kiss Alex steals from him either, which he’s also thankful for. It’s grounding, the way that Henry opens up to him the same way every time, and Alex’s shoulder blades relax once more, his wrists going slack in the restraints. 

He knows Henry can feel it when it happens, but he still waits for Alex’s permission. A feeling much warmer than the shot of adrenaline simmers underneath his skin. 

“M’ready,” he breathes. “You can turn it on now, but just— on low, please, at first.” 

“As you wish,” Henry murmurs, his eyes on Alex’s as he presses the button to bring it to life once more. 

Despite being prepared for it Alex still accidentally kicks one leg out at the direct vibration at the head of his cock, but Henry doesn’t scold him. His thumb rubs gentle circles into Alex’s temple as he watches, and Alex feels so blanketed, so protected by his careful appraisal that he nearly melts. 

One by one, he eases his muscles where they’d tensed and draws in a breath through his nose. There’s a pleasant haze over his typically chaotic thoughts, as if they’d been delicately wrapped up and folded away for a later time when he’s more equipped to deal with them. It leaves only enough free space to focus on the current of dull sensation at his tip, only strong enough to keep him reminded that it’s there. 

“A little more,” Alex asks, licking over his lips again.  

The vibe kicks up a notch, and Alex swallows back a moan, his toes curling into the carpet down by Henry’s calves. It’s definitely more intense than the low setting but not too much by any means. 

“More,” he says again. 

“You’re doing so wonderful, Alex,” Henry praises him, turning it up. 

“Shit,” Alex doubles forward, his forehead pressed to Henry’s shoulder as his arms strain from pulling on the restraints. 

The vibrator has shifted a bit with his movement, pressed right up against the sensitive fold of skin at the underside of his tip. It’s slick now, covered in Alex’s excitement, but Henry maintains a steady hold even when he wriggles and jerks against the pressure. 

It’s just almost too much, but there’s a bigger, softer feeling that’s beginning to spread out in his limbs, building up and plateauing over and over again. It’s calming, kind of, like a wave rushing to meet the shore, and Alex furrows a brow as he leans into it on instinct. 

A bit below where Henry’s holding the toy, Alex’s balls feel heavy, aching between his thighs. They press against the solid wood of the chair every few minutes and Alex unconsciously grinds down a bit to add to the pressure before an idea hits him. 

“Henry,” he gasps. “Hen—” 

“Hm?” 

“Can you put it— fucking— put it lower, baby. Shit.” 

He moves the toy a couple of inches lower, tracing it down the prominent vein running along the outside of Alex’s cock before he stops halfway. “Here?” 

“Lower,” Alex pleads. The vibrator drops again, settling at the base of his prick, just shy of where he’d been wanting it. 

“Here, Alex?” 

Groaning, Alex drops his head back onto his shoulders. He huffs and moves to use his hand to put it right where he needs it but is quickly reminded that he can’t. The rope strains against his wrist, reminding him of his place, and he drops back into the chair again to rut his hips upward instead. Frustratingly, Henry follows him, not moving the toy from where it rests. 

“Henry,” he whines again. 

“Tell me, pet,” Henry presses. “Ask me like a good boy and I’ll give it to you.” 

Alex’s entire body feels hot as he rolls the words around in his head, the shame balanced and eventually overcome with desire as the vibe passes over another particularly sensitive spot. 

“Put it on my balls,” he rushes, clenching his eyes shut as his stomach swirls with heat. 

Instead of the laugh he’d thought Henry might give him, he simply removes the toy for a moment before it returns exactly where Alex needs it. 

Henry doesn’t need to be told this time as he settles the heavy bulb right underneath where he’s aching with an ease Alex assumes can only be achieved by having done it to himself countless times as well. The level hasn’t increased but it feels as if it has, nudged against the small area of skin right between his cock and the coil of furled skin a bit behind it, the place where Henry’s promised him they’d get around to exploring sometime soon as well. 

Everything— the vibrations, Henry’s appreciative gaze, the syrupy feeling spreading throughout his body soars, and Alex lets out something of a wail as his back arches fully off of the chair, his mouth open and eyes rolled back into his head. 

Henry’s other hand strokes down the back of his head again, drawing him back. “Right there?” 

Alex drops back down to the wood, grinding helplessly, his full body rolling into the motion. Henry seems to have anticipated as much, simply watching him take it and making sure to follow each of his movements, never letting the vibrator move from where he needs it. 

The backs of Alex’s eyes fucking burn, the simmer turning into a full blown flame underneath his skin. He blinks his them open. 

“Fuck. Stop. Off,” he wheezes suddenly, panting. 

The vibe stops immediately and withdraws, Henry’s hand firm on his cheek. “Alex. Talk to me.” 

“I’m okay,” he gives a jerky nod. “I’m good, green, just— fuck, didn’t wanna come yet.” 

“I see,” Henry’s mouth twitches into a smile, the concerned dip of his brow easing. “Would you be more inclined to let yourself come if I told you it won’t be the only time tonight?” 

“Holy shit,” Alex drops his head back with a breathy laugh. “You’re gonna fucking break me, sweetheart.” 

“I think you can take it,” Henry decides for him, his voice dipping back into a sultry drawl, thick with his accent. “Can’t you, pet?” 

Alex can only whine in response. He grinds purposefully forward again, holding his gaze. “Turn it back on,” he says. “And don’t stop this time.” 

A pleased smirk is all the warning he receives before Henry’s making good on his request, starting immediately on the level of intensity they’d left off on before he’d switched it off. He doesn’t stay still this time either, a fact Alex is grateful for as he showcases all of the benefits of the toy he’d told Alex about before. 

His blonde head dips slightly to press a soft kiss to Alex’s pec before promptly digging his teeth into Alex’s nipple, the pain blooming sharply before it skitters into dancing sparks throughout his limbs. Alex shudders. 

The vibe presses more firmly against the spot between his legs before it rises again, following that vein back up to his tip and lingering around his slit. He’s made even more of a mess of himself, he can feel it without even having to look down, staining his skin all around his hips and his belly and providing a smooth glide for the toy to circle around him in a dizzying rhythm. 

His eyes flutter closed this time on their own, drifting somewhere in his own head, able to explore without fear knowing that Henry’s there to pull him back if he needs it. The heat builds with each roll of his torso, each tug on the ropes, each pass of the toy over his length and his balls and the aching head, the most obscene noises he’s ever heard himself make falling from his lips as if drawn out of him from a place he hadn’t even known existed. 

“Close,” he manages, nearly choking as he shakes with the effort. “Ah.” 

“Good boy, Alex,” Henry says deeply, the words settling over Alex’s shoulders like sunlight. Henry had told him that he didn’t need to ask for permission, but this— this feels like the highest form of it. 

He goes uncharacteristically silent as he stops trying to hold himself back, diving headfirst into the unfamiliar feeling as it curls out from the center of his core and ricochets throughout every part of his body, from his bound wrists to the tendons in his ankles, all the way back around again to his heart and his half-hazy head. 

It’s a release he feels more deeply than anything he’s ever experienced before. A reset, almost. White heat overtakes him as stars dance behind his eyelids, the vibrations cinching the pleasure and drawing it to new heights. 

Throughout it all, Henry remains at his side, leaned almost fully into him so that he can cradle Alex’s head to his chest as he trembles. His touch feels as soft as cotton and so sweet Alex aches to taste it somehow, mouthing mindlessly at the cut of Henry’s collarbone to ground himself. 

He’s not sure when the toy turns off, discarded somewhere out of his sight as Henry’s other hand raises to deftly untie the binding at his wrists, drawing them into his hold and pressing soothing fingers into the indentations until the feeling returns. 

He’s speaking softly right next to Alex’s ear but he can’t make out the words. There’s a bit of wetness dripping down Henry’s chest from the corners of Alex’s mouth where it’s still attached to Henry’s shoulder. He swallows and turns his cheek against it, swallowing until his tongue feels the right size for his mouth again. 

“Henry, it’s— I’m—” he tries shakily, “I feel it.” 

“You’re alright,” Henry soothes him, the surety in his voice a welcome comfort as Alex floats. “Can you give me a colour, love?” 

“Green,” Alex sniffs. That much, at least, he’s sure of. Even if there’s nothing else beyond that right now. “Feel safe.” 

He feels Henry smile against him, the firm press of lips to the top of his head. “That makes me so happy, darling,” he whispers. “I’ll take care of you, Alex. Always.” 

He stumbles twice as he tries to get his footing to make it over to the bed, but Henry doesn’t point it out or rush him. With an arm around his waist he leads them the few feet it takes to cross the distance, Alex’s aching muscles sinking into the velvet-softness of their duvet with a sigh. He’d poked fun at Henry earlier for it, but in this moment he finds himself immensely grateful that Henry’d had the foresight to leave a glass of warm water and a wash cloth on their nightstand as he’s able to clean Alex without leaving him for a moment in between. 

Alex can’t recall a single time he’s felt so relaxed in his life. He drifts and dozes for an indefinite amount of time, watching Henry press his lips to each of Alex’s knuckles and the knobs of his wrist, his other hand curled around his shoulders to support his head. 

“I’m so proud of you, Alex. You’ve done so well,” he smiles, speaking softly. “That was a lot for you. Would you like to stop or keep going with what we talked about? Either answer is just fine.” 

“Keep,” Alex manages. “Please. Just. Hang on.” 

“Of course. There’s no rush, love. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Alex shifts a bit on his back, craning his neck upward. “Will you kiss me for a minute?” 

His soft smile shifting into a grin, Henry readily complies. There’s not much energy left in Alex’s body for him to do much but sit there and take it but he certainty isn’t complaining; Henry often likes to kiss him like this: slowly and deeply, as if he’s mapping out the soft spots and ridges of Alex’s mouth for the first time all over again. It’s not something they’ve been doing for long but it feels like it is. Like his body just knows he’s safe here and finally doesn’t have to fight anymore. 

“Can— can we keep going now, please?” Alex asks him when Henry pulls back for a breath. 

He runs his knuckles over the back of Alex’s cheek. “You’re certain?” 

“Want it,” Alex nods, shifting more insistently against the sheets as the feeling surges once more. “Want you.” 

Henry kisses him slowly one last time, a sweet smile on his lips. “I’m yours.”  

+

Before Henry, sex was just a thing.  

It was something Alex had learned far too much about in his middle school gym class and then again when his mom had tried to sit him down and give him The Talk via PowerPoint presentation which Alex promptly refused to ever think about or speak of ever again afterward. It was a big deal in high school and Alex had lost his virginity around the same time everyone else on the lacrosse team did to a nice girl from his calculus class, then slept with a girlfriend after his senior prom and it was all fine. Really, truly fine. Good, even. 

When he’d left for college and befriended the weird British dude who thought it was appropriate to give their opinion on his coffee intake before even introducing himself, Alex had accidentally stumbled into a whole new world. He’d never have guessed that Henry, his Henry, who never spoke out of turn and had to be at least three drinks deep to lose an inkling of his manners and who offered him his spare room after only meeting him two times because he’s just so fucking nice, would be capable of, well, this.  

Sex became a THING! in big, bold letters in Alex’s head. Henry would bring someone home and, on the nights he wasn’t able to make other plans, Alex’d heard the crackling of what he now knows had most likely been a riding crop, Henry’s voice slipping into unfamiliar territory as he barked firm orders from the next room over. He’d emerge the following day like a new person, rejuvenated and happy, and Alex figured that he must be doing something wrong if he wasn’t also getting that out of sex. 

Turns out, if Alex had just found a partner willing to communicate with him he could have probably saved himself some time. Still, though, he can’t be too upset. Not when everything else has landed him here.  

It’s the feeling he’d had all those other times— after seeing Henry in the ropes, when he comforted Alex after his failed hookup and when he’d pushed himself too hard before the exam. The first time Alex sought it out willingly when it’d been Henry having the bad day, just a taste of it each time. 

But if that’d been metaphorically dipping his toes in, Alex feels about waist-deep at the moment. On a given day he feels more like there’s a storm cloud above his head, not always active but looming, droplets landing on his head and shoulders when he starts to get anxious and a full on storm erupting when it all gets too much, inescapable. 

This is not that. This is Alex reaching out and having a hand to hold while he steps into the water on purpose, knowing that he can get back out of it when he needs. Not just a thing but not a THING! either. Something else altogether, maybe. 

And— God. Wouldn’t it be nice to just float for a bit instead of always drowning? 

“Still with me?” Henry murmurs, his eyes on Alex’s face as he straddles him, Alex’s wrist caught in his hand while he drizzles cool lube over two of his fingers. 

“Green,” Alex manages, just about the only word readily available in his arsenal at the moment. Which is saying quite a bit for Henry’s abilities, honestly. Alex can’t remember the last time he’d been quiet for this long without dying to make some kind of noise. 

As it is, he’s perfectly content just to watch as Henry positions him however he wants. He’s competent as hell and it’s really doing things for Alex that he hadn’t even been entirely aware would affect him in so many ways, shifting his hips on top of the sheets, his cock nearly hard again right in front of where Henry’s weight is settled over his thighs. 

It’s another thing Alex has noticed that Henry has noticed — that Alex needs an anchor. Needs something to keep himself tethered to in order to feel safe enough to let go for a bit. He’s been touching Alex in some capacity all night, and as soon as the bindings were removed he’s been extra careful to always have some part of his body connected to Alex’s. It’s a full-bodied kind of shiver that wracks through him when Alex remembers just how connected they’re about to get, his smile soupy and a little delirious. 

“Something funny, love?” Henry keeps his expression cool, but Alex can see the way the corner of his lips threaten to turn upward too. He withdraws the lube and caps it, tossing it on the sheets beside them as his thumb rubs circles into Alex’s wrist. 

Alex fucking giggles, wiggling his slick fingers in front of Henry’s face. “Nope. Just happy.” 

That, at least, earns him a genuine smile in return, and Henry shakes his head a little, leaning down to brush his lips over Alex’s forehead. “You’re so lovely, Alex.” 

The praise sends another spike of endorphins rushing through him, and Alex closes his eyes as he accidentally cants his hips up, lost in his head until Henry lands a flat-fingered slap against the outside of his thigh. 

“None of that,” he says. “You’re to take what I give you. Remember?” 

“‘Member,” Alex nods, a pinch in his brow as he shifts his focus back to staying still. One thing at a time. 

Everything else quickly dissolves again as Henry draws his hand backward and behind himself, tracing Alex’s fingers over the curve of his spine and down, down, down until they’re resting in the cleft of his ass, giving Alex wordless permission to explore a bit before they continue. 

And he takes full advantage, running his fingertips over every inch he can from within Henry’s grip on his wrist, so locked in to every tic of Henry’s face that he gets distracted, rubbing an easy circle around his rim until Henry grips him more intentionally, positioning one of Alex’s fingers and slowly easing it inside of himself. 

He doesn’t make a noise but Alex watches as he tucks his lower lip between the cut of his front teeth, his eyes falling shut and a small divot forming between his brows. It doesn’t look like pain, though. In fact, it looks like it feels pretty fucking good. Alex holds his breath as Henry sinks down completely and pauses for a moment, then promptly pulls him back out, readjusts to two fingers, and returns them. 

Alex’s eyes widen, his wrist slackening under Henry’s control, and then he really gets going. 

Henry rolls his hips against the pressure, his hold on Alex’s wrist firm as he fucks himself on his fingers, opening himself up and taking whatever he needs from Alex’s more than willing body. His head is tossed backward soon enough, lost in his own pleasure, and Alex feels his skin heat at the sight of Henry so blatantly using him. 

It makes Alex hyper aware of every part of Henry and kind of disconnected from himself, but not in a bad way. He trails his eyes from Henry’s pink cheeks to his flushed chest and pebbled nipples, the bulge of his arm where he’s holding Alex still; further down where his hips swivel with a practiced grind, the groan he can’t hold back when Alex crooks his digits a little inside of him on instinct the way that Henry’d mentioned in passing in one of their earlier conversations. 

His own prick, aching and leaking onto his belly once more, becomes less of a concern. Another thing Alex doesn’t have to worry about. Henry’s got him, even in the midst of his own pleasure. Alex knows it. Isn’t sure if he’s ever been quite as certain about something before. 

Henry’s thumb slides over his palm to uncurl another finger and situate it beside the others, a hiss of breath as he eases down onto all three between one movement and the next.  

“Fuck, Henry,” he slurs, the syllables garbled as he blinks dazedly up at him, flexing his fingers and spreading them inside of him. “Take it so well, baby.” 

It’s unfair, really, the way Henry snaps his head back down and shoves Alex’s fingers as far inside of him as they’ll go, grinding in a filthy circle as his eyes darken, his pink tongue appearing to wet his lips. 

Somehow his voice is still clear and measured when he rasps, “You’re doing perfectly, Alex.” 

And fuck if it doesn’t send Alex even further under. He can feel himself go slack as Henry finishes up getting himself ready, his limbs sinking into soft sheets as his breathing slows and evens. His mouth is open as he watches Henry with rapt attention, unable to take his eyes away even when they shift in and out of focus. 

He’s never felt this fucking good, has he? He can’t remember but he thinks it’s really fucking unlikely. The bed feels like water beneath him, calm and steady and pushing him closer to Henry with every passing current. 

“Hold me down, Hen,” he exhales the words as they materialize on his tongue, clumsy but no less earnest for it. “Make me take it. Please.” 

The movement stops as Henry gently withdraws Alex’s wrist, setting it beside him on the bed without letting go. He leans forward, completely draped over Alex as he strokes a thumb over his cheek, taking Alex’s lower lip between his own. 

“I know what you need, pet,” he murmurs. “I have you. You don’t need to worry about a thing except for being good for me, yes?” 

Another weight falls off of Alex’s shoulders. Henry’s hand is in his hair then, carding through the curls that lay across his forehead and dancing his fingernails across Alex’s scalp. 

He’s leaning up and rising on his knees, reaching behind himself until Alex feels the heat of Henry’s palm against his bare cock, a privilege he’d confessed that he’d never shared with anyone else before, and one of the reasons they’d waited to do this. 

He’s shifting backward and sinking down onto him, his eyes on Alex the entire time, holding the entire universe as Alex knows it in his careful, solid, familiar hands. 

“Breathe, Alex,” Henry exhales long and slow, one hand on the center of Alex’s chest to steady himself as he eases down. 

Shifting back into his body, Alex inhales, feels Henry’s fingers spread as his rib cage expands, holds it until Henry’s fully seated on his thighs. They exhale as one. 

He doesn’t realize he’s crying again until Henry’s leaning over him to swipe at the evidence with his thumb and his lips, until his gasping breath is silenced by Henry’s tongue. 

“That’s it,” he coaxes as he begins to shift his hips up again. “Give me your wrists, darling.” 

One wrist and then the other moves on autopilot, ending up pressed into the pillow above Alex’s head. Henry holds them there even as he sinks back down onto him again, and the constant pressure might just be the only thing keeping him from floating away completely. 

It’s a different sensation than the bindings that Henry’d used on him earlier. Alex liked both of them, but this is exactly what he needs right now— skin against skin. He can feel every twitch of Henry’s knuckles where they’re wrapped around him, holding him steady, can pick up on the place where his heart rate jumps just below his palm. 

Henry begins to work out a steady pulse of his hips and Alex fumbles for something he can compare this to and comes up empty. There’s only the capacity for this moment, to feel and experience and rest. H tries to focus on his breathing, glancing back and forth between Henry’s solid eyes and where Alex’s cock keeps disappearing inside of him down below. 

Alex had thought this kind of thing would be more all-consuming, like a rush of liquid heat, heady and intense. And this is intense, but more than anything else it’s just— calm, even as Alex shivers and gasps and accidentally bucks his hips up again, knocking Henry forward a bit further. 

He curses at himself, drawing his torso back down to the sheets. “Sorry. Sorry.” 

“I haven’t asked you to stay still,” Henry reminds him gently. He sits up again on his knees until Alex is only halfway inside of him, then uses one hand to stroke encouragingly at the jut of his hip bone. “You’re allowed to take what you need, love. I want you to.” He brushes his lips over Alex’s forehead. “I want you to have everything, Alex.” 

It’s not the kind of tone that Alex is used to hearing through the wall, but that only heightens it all, makes him that much more desperate to commit all of this to memory. Not because he won’t get to have it again, but because he wants to remember this — the first time he’s given the whole of himself to someone that asked for it. That loves it. Loves him. 

Shifting most of his weight to his shoulders and his feet, Alex lifts his torso up experimentally, groaning as slides back into Henry fully and keeps himself there for a moment. It doesn’t take long after that to listen to his instincts, a little mindless as he rolls his hips back down to the bed and up into Henry all over again, fucking him at the pace that feels right. 

His chest swells with pride when Henry curses and falls forward a bit more, mouthing at Alex’s collarbone and moaning each time Alex hits a particularly good spot. He turns until his nose is buried in the top of Henry’s hair and breathes him in deep, until everything around him, on him, in him is just Henry. 

He’s struck again by how lucky he feels to get to have this, to have someone that seems to understand him so intimately. It should make him all the more nervous not to fuck it up, but each time that feeling comes back it never lasts long, always soothed by Henry’s hands or lips or words. Sometimes soothed by Alex himself, he realizes, a few more tools in his arsenal now to able to stop himself before he spins out completely. 

It’s dizzying, the way that Henry works his hips down in such perfect time with Alex’s restless shifts up. One of Henry’s hands remains tight around his wrists but the other takes its time exploring, stroking across Alex’s cheek as they kiss before trailing lower, dragging his fingernails across the still-sensitive skin on his chest that hums with the phantom vibrations from earlier. 

The insides of his thighs are burning but he’s so fucking close. He readjusts his feet on the mattress and hauls himself up as hard as he can, swallowing down Henry’s moan through gritted teeth. 

“Fuck, Alex,” he mutters into his neck. Alex is pleased to find that he enjoys making Henry lose his composure just as much as he enjoys being on the receiving end of it. He smiles breathlessly, nosing at his cheekbone. “There.” 

Henry’s hand grips the outside of his leg, digs into Alex’s hip, drags through his hair, seemingly everywhere at once. Alex barely registers it when he finally gets a hand between them, and Henry hasn’t even properly touched himself before he’s shaking, spilling onto the taut muscles on Alex’s stomach and chest as he rides it out, still working back onto Alex’s cock on instinct. 

Content to stop until further instruction and giddy at the proof that he’d made Henry feel good, Alex readies himself to pull back, only to be held firmly in place. 

Henry leans over him again, his hand wrapped loosely around Alex’s throat as he tilts his head to the side, trailing filthy kisses all over his neck. 

“Keep going, love,” he breathes. Alex shivers. 

“You sure?” 

He can feel Henry’s grin in his collarbone. “Green, darling. Don’t stop.” His teeth sink into the skin there. “I want to feel you come inside of me.” 

Alex short-circuits a little, finally beginning to come back to his body as he registers just how badly he wants that too. All of the senses that had been dulled while he focused on Henry seem to have clicked back on, just like the vibrator earlier, and he twists his fingers in Henry’s sweaty hold until he can slot them together. 

Then, with one arm completely free, he grips Henry around the waist and flips them sideways, Henry’s gasping smile inked onto the inside of his brain. 

It gets a little hazy after that. He splits Henry’s thighs wider and presses in and up, fucking him messily as he chases his release. He can feel the wetness on his stomach beginning to dry but not before Henry reaches down and swipes two of his fingers through it, pressing them firmly at the seam of Alex’s mouth. He can’t be fucking quiet but he doesn’t think Henry minds, whining as he lifts his head enough to take the digits onto his tongue and suck them clean, Henry sinking into his tastebuds. 

“You’ve been so good for me tonight. Did you know that?” he whispers, spreading his fingers out until Alex has no choice but to let his mouth fall open again, drool gathering on his tongue and slipping down his chin and the back of Henry’s hand. He’s fucking filthy, covered in Henry’s come and sweat and spit, but he feels fucking ethereal. “I’m so proud of you. I want you to come for me, love. You deserve it. You’ve been such a good boy.” 

It isn’t graceful when he splays himself out on top of Henry like a starfish and does as he’s told, but Henry’s no less reverent in his kisses, in his words, in his praise, in the way he opens up for Alex at every push and turn and swivel of his hips like he’s the lucky one. 

The difference in this time around versus when he’d come earlier is more stark than Alex had thought it would be— both intense, both wonderful, both borderline fucking  life changing, but this one rolls across him much slower. Alex has a feeling Henry knew that might happen, that maybe that’s why he’d planned it that way. 

“That’s it. That’s so good, Alex.” 

Because this time, when Alex feels it, he has enough wherewithal to push up on shaky elbows, to put himself nose-to-nose with Henry so that he can look right into his bottomless blue eyes, his billowing smile, the warm flush on his cheeks; can commit every last part of it to his memory as he shakes and digs his fingers into Henry’s hip, fucking into him mildly as he works himself through it from start to devastating finish. 

In the span of a half-second he goes completely boneless, spent as he slumps down onto Henry’s chest with a sigh. He thinks he’s shaking worse than he initially thought until he realizes it’s Henry, his laughter soft as he strokes a hand down the length of Alex’s spine. 

“Dare I ask for a colour?” 

“Mmph,” Alex mumbles eloquently. “Verde, cariño.” 

Henry’s hips give a futile little twitch, and Alex groans into his neck when he clenches. “Fuck, Alex,” he mutters. 

“Holy shit. You curse?”  

“We’ve lived together for four years,” he says a little exasperatedly. “You’ve heard me curse.” 

“Yeah, okay, but it’s always, like, bollocks, or some shit. Bellend. Bloody hell.”  

He gives a long suffering sigh, but his smile betrays him. “Is there a particular genre of expletive that you’d prefer that I use, love?” 

Alex’s arm feels like dead weight when he lifts it to press a sloppy finger against Henry’s lips, Henry’s brow raised as he holds back a laugh. 

“Shh,” he slurs, moving his hand over to pat Henry’s cheek. “Only nice things.” 

“Only the nicest things,” Henry confirms. 

“M’kay. Sleep now.” 

“Alex. You’re still inside of me, love.” 

He cracks one eye open, rubbing his cheek on Henry’s shoulder. “So?” 

“‘So’,” Henry scoffs. “We need to get cleaned up. Off you get, let’s go.” 

“I already got off.” 

“Alex.” 

Alex snorts. “Mm, moaning for me again already, baby?” 

“You are the singular bane of my existence,” Henry kisses his forehead. “And I love you very, very much.” 

Grumbling because Henry knows what those words to do him, Alex clumsily raises himself up and lets Henry help him pull out, falling onto his side on the bed. 

“Alright. I guess we can take a shower,” he rolls his eyes. “You might have to carry me though.” 

“Oh, dear,” Henry says drily, scooping an arm around Alex’s back and one underneath his knees. “What a grave and unforgivable hindrance. You’ll be indebted to me forever, I’m afraid.” 

Alex hums, tossing an arm up around his shoulders. “That sounds nice.” 

“Do not fall asleep in my arms,” Henry warns, crossing the threshold to the bathroom. “Because I’d quite like to aftercare the absolute shit out of you, as you would say.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, baby,” Alex slurs, his eyes already shut against his shoulder. 

He does make it through a quick bath, but he falls asleep, still naked in the middle of the freshly changed bed when Henry leaves to fetch them water and Gatorade from the kitchen. 

It doesn’t feel like too steep of a compromise when Henry gently rearranges him underneath the duvet, when he flips out the lights and slides in right behind him, his lips to Alex’s shoulder as he fades in and out of sleep. 

I love you, Alex thinks. 

“I love you,” Henry says. 

+ vii.  

Henry gets him a bracelet for their one year anniversary. And, as much as Alex loves a good rope or cuff, the sterling silver with a little engraving of their initials right up next to his pulse point is by far his most favorite reminder. 

(It doesn’t mean they don’t also try out every kind of restraint too. Just to be thorough.)