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It’s Friday night, and Alex is not out with his friends.
He’s not, because he has plans. Long standing plans, actually, which said friends are all unanimously convinced is some raunchy, clandestine hookup on the regular that he’s for some reason keeping under wraps.
It’s laughable. Alex has never been one to keep things to himself. If he weren’t under contract—and also maybe slightly still working through what the fuck is going on inside of his own head so often that he needs this so damn much—he’d be telling everyone.
But it just so happens that he is under contract. And also that, for once in his life, it feels good to have something that’s just his.
Even if it isn’t, not really.
The door opens and clicks shut again somewhere to his left, the padded, soundproof seal locking into place. There’s no other noise besides the muted thuds of dress shoes against carpet and the thoughts running rampant inside of his own head, but soon enough, the latter won’t be an issue anymore.
There’s the clank of H’s jewelry coming off and being set on the table. His jacket being draped over a chair. Alex is vibrating with anticipation. They both get two completely different experiences out of this shared space, but for now, for just a few moments each week, they have an understanding.
Alex has never seen H before, only his profile in the system and the extensive kink-centered paperwork they gave him when they agreed to enter into a one-on-one arrangement within the walls of the club. He has no idea if they’ve ever even possibly met outside of here before.
He does know what H sounds like. Knows the hiss of breath that slips through his teeth when he’s close, has memorized the pattern of his footsteps when he enters the room, has engraved the inside of his own ears with the light, helpless laugh that tumbles out of his lips when he finally spills into Alex’s mouth.
Some weeks they’re both aching for release, and that’s always perfect too. But other times, like tonight, he just needs to be grounded. Needs to be quiet. Needs to be good.
He knows H has seen the notes Alex left for tonight before he came in. He always checks. He always cares.
Sometimes Alex worries that the only way he’ll ever have that is like this. With a stranger. Someone who doesn’t have to deal with all the other parts of him, too.
“Evening, love.”
Alex’s shoulders drop, a shaky exhale pulled out of him at the familiar words. Alex doesn’t say a word. He never does. H’s fingers appear at the gap in the silk covering that’s draped over the steel bars above him to conceal his identity, all of his other senses blissfully dulled in the process, and Alex knows precisely the routine at this point.
He tips forward, the silk thin enough to allow him to see what he’s doing but heavy enough that it blocks out most of the overhead light. His mouth opens for H’s long fingers without thought, and they settle onto his tongue, heavy and sweet when he closes his lips around them.
They’re pulled away before he’d like, but his whine is cut short when H rubs them around his lips in a messy circle to wet them and then promptly fucks them back inside. They stop just before Alex gags, because he knows. He always knows. Alex doesn’t have to tell him.
“Wet for me, then?” H asks from above him, all rasp and confidence and accent, curling around Alex’s shoulders like a weighted blanket. “Can’t say that I’m surprised. You’re always so good for me, aren’t you? Ready and waiting for me to stuff you full?”
This time, Alex does whimper when his fingers leave their home on his palate. He sways forward to chase them, stopping himself only when his nose grazes the hanging fabric. It’s so good. It’s perfect.
Does he deserve it?
H seems to think that he does. Alex digs his fingers into his own knees when he hears the thwip of H’s belt being pulled from around his hips and discarded behind him, his zipper being pulled down deliberately loudly. He pays attention to Alex’s reactions to things. He cares.
Alex knows H’s cock almost better than his own at this point. He’s spent hours with it inside of his mouth, after all, learning each curve and vein and sensitive spot with his tongue and the occasional nip of teeth when appropriate. He’s heard of comfort items before. Wonders if it’d be insane to consider this his own. Wonders if H would say the same about Alex’s mouth.
He’s near tears by the time H tucks himself through the gap in the dark red material, for reasons he doesn’t even fully understand. He surges forward at the first chance, relief, heady and all consuming, slipping over him the moment skin meets skin.
With his mouth full and H’s cock nudging the back of his throat, Alex can breathe. He doesn’t need anything else. Just this. Only ever this.
They reach Alex’s limit together, and H stops gently pushing forward as he settles deep into Alex’s eager mouth. There’s a light thud against the top of the covered bars. Sometimes Alex thinks H might be trying to put a hand in his hair. He has to stop himself from ripping the whole thing off and begging for it. It isn’t what they agreed to. Things get a little blurry like this sometimes, but he trusts H to keep them in line.
“There we go,” he sighs. Like it might be relief for him too.
This is all Alex had asked for tonight, but it’s never boring. The past week has been hard and nobody really gets it no matter how much Alex tries to explain it and why would he keep talking himself in circles when he could have this instead?
As if able to tell that Alex is still thinking, H’s fingers reappear through the gap alongside his cock. His pale knuckle strokes over the outline of Alex’s lips where they meet his length, swiping a thumb over the spit that’s already begun to gather at the corners and leak down his chin. Alex hums his gratitude. He hadn’t even noticed.
His eyes slip shut as H keeps up his exploration. He can only really reach Alex’s mouth and neck but he makes full use of it, outlining the curve that his cock makes in Alex’s cheek and tracing over the bump of his nose, pausing briefly when he encounters a tear track and drying it with his fingertip before he lets it rest snugly in the divot of Alex’s cupid’s bow.
It stays there for a moment before it falls to one side, applying pressure to the spot where Alex’s top and bottom lip meet and stretch wide around the cock in his mouth. H toys with it for a moment before gathering enough of Alex’s spit to slide it in alongside his cock, stroking along his cheek from the inside this time.
“That’s it, love,” he breathes at Alex’s desperate noise, shushing him. “Bet you look so beautiful with your mouth all full of me, stretched for my fingers and my cock. Keeping me warm. Taking me so well.”
He says it like he already knows. Alex preens under the praise and the privacy of the silk, wishing he could show him. He might actually believe it himself this time.
The small gaps that H’s finger have created at the corner of his mouth allow for more spit to leak out, but there isn’t anything he can do about it. Or, there is, but Alex isn’t about to move his hands from his own lap, even though he’s not bound in the slightest. H will clean him up afterward. He cares.
The room goes quiet again around them. H leaves his finger despite the fact that he must be leaning uncomfortably to keep it in place, and the extra burn of the added stretch pays off. Alex’s brain blanks out far quicker than it usually does. That’s been happening lately. Like his body just knows it's safe the moment the door shuts behind him. There isn’t any room leftover to think about the implications of all of that right now.
Alex drifts for a while. At some point H removes his finger but he keeps his cock in Alex’s mouth, keeps touching him in the little ways he’s allowed. Alex told him from the beginning that he could bring other things to do when he asks for this. So he wouldn’t get bored. But H never brings anything else in. Always gives his full attention, even when he doesn’t get off. Doesn’t let Alex ever forget that he isn’t alone. It’s perfect. It’s his. It’s theirs.
H pulls out eventually, at their time limit. Not for the club, but the one they’d worked out together so that Alex would be sore the next day but not painfully so. He’s considerate like that. He cares.
Alex rolls his nearly numb lips together and watches him disappear through the fabric, tucking himself gently back into his own briefs and doing up his pants again without pushing for more, even though he’s hard enough that he’s leaking a little at the tip. Alex could ask him for more, but he knows what the answer will be. H never lets him make changes to their scene this late on, when he might not be thinking clearly anymore. Not unless it’s to stop, of course. It goes for either of them. They’ve never had to use it before. H always makes sure they’re both safe.
Footsteps fade and pause. A sink turns on and back off. H’s shadow returns to encompass him once again, and then falls when he kneels on the ground in front of Alex, keeping his chin raised so he can’t see through the gap in the curtain.
This time, it’s both of his hands that part the silk. He’s slow, deliberate about it, giving Alex time to understand and to pull away if needed. Alex doesn’t. He leans forward and meets him halfway.
His face is wet, a mix of tears on his cheeks, spit on his chin, a runny nose from crying and a bit of sweat at his hairline. From this angle, H can reach everything. He wipes down Alex’s face with the damp cloth with care—not too hot, not too cold—until he’s clean, and then swaps it for a dry hand towel to soak up the remaining moisture.
Both hands draw back and away to dispose of the cloths, only one returning through the gap. Alex could look through it if he wanted to. He does want to. But H trusts him, so he doesn’t.
Instead, he readily welcomes the press of H’s warm hand against his cheek, the weight of his thumb stroking over the corner of his lips. He turns and presses his mouth to the center of his palm, revels in H’s hitched breath on the other side of the material.
He comes down little by little, settling back into his bones in a way that he hadn’t been able to only an hour ago. Alex never knows what to do with this part, how to say thank you in a way that would encompass just how much he means it.
When H starts to pull away, he panics. Alex grips his retreating wrist loosely and then hesitates at his own actions, unsure of where to go from here. H makes the decision for him.
He uncoils Alex’s grip until he can grab hold of Alex’s fingers instead, tentatively tugging them toward the curtain. He pauses long enough to let Alex back out, then when he doesn’t, pulls his hand the rest of the way through.
The cool air of the open room feels like a rush against his heated skin, but it doesn’t remain that way for long. H dips his own head and Alex gasps when he can see only the lower half of his face for a brief second through the gap when he leans down to press his lips to the divots of Alex’s knuckles.
It’s perfect. Alex deserves it. It’s his.
He squeezes both eyes shut and wills himself to take it all in, to bask in it while he has it before it’s gone again. This stranger that knows him even better than he knows himself. That cares.
H’s lips lift off of his skin again. He squeezes Alex’s hand once, twice. Eases it back through the curtain and pulls away to stand.
“I’ll see you next week, love.”
There’s the clank of H’s jewelry being picked up off the table and put back on. The rush of his coat off the back of the chair as he slips it back over his shoulders. The thud of Alex’s own heartbeat in his ears. If he doesn’t do it now, he never will.
The door clicks open, but it doesn’t shut. Alex steps out from behind the curtain.
“H?”