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Henry doesn’t think he can actually do it. He’d left two days ago for London and he’ll be gone for the next four weeks, and right before he left he’d made a joke about Alex not touching himself until he got back. Then—then he’d laughed. As if the idea alone were humorous and hadn’t, in fact, lit a fire in Alex that has rewritten the strands of his very DNA.
Alex is going to prove him wrong.
He is only a man, though. And when Henry’s home, they tend to be touching each other pretty indulgently. He can’t just do it cold turkey. He needs a list. He needs a plan.
Alex settles back into their bed on his side and pulls out his phone, and by an hour later, he’s put in his credit card info for expedited shipping and praying that their security doesn’t examine their packages too closely anymore these days. Or that they forgive him if they do.
Once he’s got the confirmation he chucks the phone to the sheets and shoves a hand down the front of his boxers under the blanket, head tossed back as he makes himself come quickly and thoroughly, thinking of Henry’s stupid, smug, beautiful face the whole time.
He tries to enjoy it. It won’t happen again for a month.
+
It feels fucking weird.
The cage is even more solid than it looked online, fastened up near his balls and giving him not a lot of extra breathing room. He’s had to finagle the thing just to get himself tucked into it properly but at least it’s on. He’d measured himself every which way before buying it and the website had assured him that this should be the correct size.
If he doesn’t get hard, it should be fine.
It’s discreet enough—he hopes—that it won’t be obvious through his clothing. He’d read up on the protocol for making sure it doesn’t get too dry along with everything else that came in the little pamphlet. He can still use the bathroom, of course, and clean himself in the shower, and he’ll have to remove it every so often to check for any signs of discomfort, which seems doable. There are strategically placed cut outs on the sides where he can just barely touch himself skin to skin. He’d read online that they could be used for a partner to tease the person wearing it.
Alex will not be doing that. Too risky.
Seeing the physical evidence has only strengthened his resolve to prove Henry wrong. And despite the fact that they share just about everything with each other, it feels kind of thrilling to set all of this up in secret; to see Henry’s face when he gets home and realizes. Henry doesn’t typically like surprises, but Alex can’t see him not enjoying this one.
Once he’s fully locked up, Alex carefully tugs his pants back over himself and weighs the small key in his palm. He slips it underneath Henry’s pillow and leaves the bedroom to start the day.
+
It takes him a few days to get used to the routine and the feeling of the firmness of the cage around him. When he does, he realizes pretty quickly that he kind of fucking likes it.
He hadn’t really realized how often he touches himself when he’s alone simply out of habit. When Henry leaves for work early and he wakes up hard in their bed, when Henry’s out of town and Alex is bored, when Henry’s fucking downstairs and Alex in the shower thinking about Henry and drifts a hand down under the spray on autopilot.
This thing kind of takes that out of his hands. Literally.
He actually manages to get a good amount of work done in their study and at the office, squeezes in a doable workout that doesn’t strain anything in the groin area, takes time to play with David and to catch up on his favorite shows while he makes dinner, then settles in just in time for his nightly calls with Henry, who’s just waking up on his side of the world. The routine of removing it and putting it back on has become like self care, forcing him to be gentle and check in with his own body in a way that he doesn’t often indulge in unless at Henry’s request.
The thing is—it’s like he’s giving Henry the control, but he doesn’t even know it yet. They’ve played around with that sort of dynamic before but Alex has never been able to put himself in the headspace that Henry usually can.
Staring blankly at the papers scattered over his desk, Alex thinks that might be where he’s at right about now.
He calls Henry before he even considers the time, holding his breath as the dial tone rings and rings. And then—
“Hi, love.”
Alex closes his eyes, his shoulders dropping as he leans back in his chair. “Hi. I hope you weren’t asleep yet.”
“No. Just getting ready for bed, actually,” Henry says. Alex can hear the noise of the sink and Henry’s toothbrush hitting it’s holder in the background. He smiles. “Is everything alright?”
It is now. God. They’re so codependent. Alex is so in love he doesn’t even care.
“Just missed you.”
He talks to Henry through getting himself up and taking himself down the hall to their living room, through grabbing a snack from the kitchen and sitting down with David on the couch. He talks Alex back into to his own body again.
“Three weeks, love,” Henry reminds him eventually, stifling a yawn. Alex turns his cheek into the cushion and exhales.
“Three weeks,” he echoes.
He can fucking do it.
+
Maybe he can’t do it.
Two weeks in, Henry sends him a faceless photo of himself in that stupid oversized bathroom they both hate unless they’re actively fucking in it, artfully posed in the nude with a towel draped flatteringly over the curve of his waist, his cock—and the rest of him—dripping wet in the foggy reflection of the mirror, his long fingers reaching toward himself but not touching, teasing. Fuck.
Fuck.
Alex is getting hard in fifteen seconds flat. As much as he can be, anyway. And he’s at work, too, which is infinitely worse. At least the cage is keeping him from tenting his fucking pants in front of his coworkers, he figures.
He gets himself to the private bathroom and locks the door, curling white knuckles around the edge of the counter in front of the mirror. His phone’s sitting on the granite by the sink, locked. Alex aches to look at the photo again, the one Henry took just for him, probably assuming he’d do exactly this and run to the restroom to frantically get himself off. Probably expecting proof of that, since that’s what Alex would usually give him.
Breathing deeply, Alex attempts to think logically about this. He shouldn’t open the photo again. His cock is already straining against the cage. It’s not painful but it might be if he indulges himself, and the key is still at home under Henry’s pillow. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t.
He opens the photo again.
Motherfucker, Henry looks good. He always looks good, but the photos he takes to send to Alex when they’re apart are on another level, tucked away in a special triple-locked folder in Alex’s phone. He shakes as he adds this one to the group, then scrubs it from anywhere and everywhere else. It’s his.
Okay. The possessive thing is not helping. Alex curses as he presses the heel of his palm against himself for some relief, then hisses and drags it away again when all it does is tighten the grip the cage already has on him. When he shifts, the front of his boxers are wet where the tip of his cock is exposed at the end of the enclosure. Shit.
He can feel himself progressively getting harder, his mind conjuring up Henry’s naked body without his permission. It’s all he can see when he shuts his eyes so he keeps them wide open instead, watching himself grow increasingly desperate in the mirror. He’s fucking sweating.
The cage feels like it’s tightening around him instead of the other way around, his body refusing to get the memo as his cock pushes against the confines Alex has willingly locked himself into. He wets his hand under the faucet until it’s cold, dries it, then slips his fingers into his pants so that he can press the freezing knuckles to the gaps in the cage, hoping it’ll ease the pressure. He breathes in, breathes out.
The denial of it, the tight pressure, the obedience, even if only he knows about it, is quickly turning his frustration into something sweeter and sharper, and Alex absolutely cannot think about any of this right now.
By the time he’s calmed down enough to go back out there, still flushed and squirming in his seat, he’s fairly certain several of his coworkers are convinced that he has some sort of stomach bug. That’s fine. Alex would rather them think that than the truth.
His phone vibrates again with a text from Henry: Everything alright, love?
The fucker.
Alex could go back to the bathroom and send Henry a picture of himself in the cage right now. He knows, without a doubt, that it would break him. He might even end up catching an early flight home just to see it in person. In a couple of minutes, Alex could turn all of the tables here.
He texts back a quick peachy baby! and locks his phone, setting it all the way on the opposite side of his desk. If there’s one thing Henry’s taught him, it’s that good things come to those who wait.
+
The three week mark passes in a blur. At the beginning of the fourth, Alex removes the cage a final time in preparation for Henry’s arrival to clean himself thoroughly, shave, and moisturize, and he doesn’t actually think about touching himself once. It’s getting easier to do that, now.
He hadn’t understood before why someone would willingly give up their free will and the chance to make themselves feel good. After these last few weeks, he gets it.
It’s one less thing on his plate. One less thing to worry about how and where and when he’s going to do it, one less space in his mind that’s constantly whirring. Henry will decide.
If he wants to.
He’s locking himself back up for the last time when he realizes that if Henry arrived home and asked him to keep the cage on even longer, until some undetermined time Alex didn’t even know, he wouldn’t even have to think about it.
He’s counting down the fucking seconds.
+
Fuck, Alex missed this.
They were supposed to go to dinner, honestly. He’d even made reservations so he couldn’t talk himself out of it. He’d had an entire plan to tease Henry when he got home, knowing he’d already be desperate to have Alex alone. Take him out to a long, luxurious dinner in their best attire, watch him try to keep a straight face in public as Alex slid the key across the table and let Henry piece together what exactly Alex was hiding underneath his clothes. Henry would have gone all slack-jawed and red-faced the way Alex fucking adores and Alex would make him wait until the check came to rush home and let Henry strip him out of his tie and button up, all the more gratifying after so much build up. It would’ve been perfect.
But this is really fucking good too.
“Fuck, baby,” Alex pants, craning his neck up and to the side to give Henry more room to sink his teeth into the skin, both of them eager to see the bruises bloom afterward. “Hen.”
“Clothes. Off,” Henry instructs, short and to the point.
They hadn’t even made it to the bedroom. Alex widens a leg against the back of their couch and revels at Henry’s hand slipping underneath his shirt, pushing it up and eventually off as they chase each other’s mouths back and forth. The fabric thuds when it hits the ground beside them, and Alex stops Henry’s wandering fingers just before they dip below his waistband.
“Wait,” he breathes, catching his breath. “I have something for you.”
Henry’s eyes sparkle as he leans back only enough to let Alex sit up straight, still pressing a hand to his cheek and his lips to the opposite one. “And all I got you was a lousy postcard,” he murmurs.
Alex rolls his eyes, shoving him bodily away until he can turn enough to reach for his discarded shirt again. He sorts through it until he can pull the small box from the breast pocket, then hands it over to Henry on the cushion beside him.
“Alex,” he accuses, suspicious as he eyes the small and thin velvet gift box. “What’s this?”
Without giving a direct answer, Alex loops his hand around Henry’s wrist and drags it over to his own chest, down over his abs and his hips, until it rests firmly over the fabric-covered apex of his legs, the cage obvious when Alex tightens their combined grip.
“You told me not to get off until you got home,” he pushes against Henry’s palm pointedly. “I listened.”
Henry blinks once, twice, seemingly bluescreening for a moment before he rips his hand away to toss the lid off of the box and reveal the key inside. He picks it up to examine it—and Alex takes a moment to appreciate how fucking right it looks between his fingertips—then drops it back into its spot and sets it on their coffee table, turning his half-lidded eyes now fully back to Alex.
“Show me. Now.”
Stumbling over himself to get out of the rest of his clothes, Alex only gets his pants and boxers to his knees before Henry’s pushing him back down on their sofa, going boneless as Alex watches Henry and Henry watches him.
“Look at you,” Henry exhales.
Alex whimpers when he does as instructed, his lip caught between his teeth. He is quite the sight, he’ll admit—his cock nestled into the smaller cage, his skin dark, dark pink and attempting dutifully to escape through its enclosure, to no avail. The tip of it feels as if it’s pulsing, pushed right up against the front of the cage and leaking nonetheless, milky white smeared over the small bars and a little, now, on his trembling thigh as well.
Henry seems to notice it around the same time he does. He fits Alex snugly against his side and pulls him close, his nose against Alex’s cheek when he talks.
“Can’t believe you did this. Can’t believe how good you were for me,” he emphasizes. The hand not currently rubbing Alex’s shoulder slides up his thigh softly, but Alex knows better. Henry collects some of his excitement from his leg and raises it to Alex’s lips, allowing him to taste himself, salty and thick on his tongue, slipping into his role as if no time had passed since he’d left. “All this time you had yourself locked up and I had no idea, hm? Did you like that?”
Henry’s now-clean finger slips from between his lips, drifting down between Alex’s tense legs once more. He nods against Henry’s side.
“Yeah,” he admits. “But I—m’glad you’re here now.”
“I’d imagine so.” Henry smiles, that half-patronizing, half-tender thing that makes Alex’s head spin. His knuckles nudge the side of the cage when he slides them up the inside of Alex’s thigh again. “What, have you forgotten how to get off on your own?”
The shift is as obvious as it is subtle, the flip of a switch that Alex will determine the trajectory of. He knows that if he taps Henry’s shoulder twice right now, he’ll take the cage off and make Alex come however he wants.
Henry’s way is much more fun though.
“No,” Alex rasps, fighting to keep himself from bucking up into Henry’s retreating hand as it strokes over his taut lower stomach.
A slight twitch of Henry’s lips shows that he understands. Alex is struck by the thought that he could probably never have this kind of connection with anyone else. It’s terrifying. It’s all he needs.
“No?” Henry echoes, suddenly flicking the tip of the cage with his finger. Alex curls in on himself as his eyes roll backward, a moan caught in his throat. “What’s all this, then? Am I to get on my knees to reward such basic self control?”
“No, no,” Alex gasps, shaking as he attempts to straighten himself out again. “I just wanted—I wanted to—”
“Wanted to what, Alex? I’ve only been gone a few weeks and suddenly you’re unable to function, evidently.” Henry’s palm is hot against his pelvis, smooth where it meets the roughness of Alex’s trimmed hair and grips firmly around the base of the cage. Alex’s entire cock moves with the motion, and he tosses his head back on Henry’s arm, his head going blissfully empty. “We’ll start with an easier question, I suppose: how badly do you need to come?”
“No,” Alex says blindly once more, tossing his head back and forth. “No, no, no.”
“You don’t need to come?” Henry clarifies, a brow raised as he hovers above Alex’s slumped body, holding him up.
“You—you choose,” Alex finally finishes his thought from before.
“Mm, so that’s what you needed.” Henry’s voice shifts into a filthy croon, sweet and low and reserved for Alex’s ears only. Henry takes the lobe of it between his teeth, teasing Alex with a fingertip through the gaps on the sides of the cage until he’s babbling mindlessly on the cushion, clinging to Henry’s words like a lifeline. “Just wanted to be all mine?”
“Always wanna be yours,” Alex slurs, the syllables all mushed together as he hides his face in the side of Henry’s neck. Henry rewards him with another teasing finger, pushing his legs open wider.
“I see,” he murmurs. “You couldn’t have my hands or my mouth or my cock, so you needed something else to remind you that you’re mine, even when I’m not there to do it.”
“Yes,” Alex nods frantically.
His touch spreads carefully over the whole of Alex’s locked dick, which is now able to be fully covered by Henry’s big hand with the cage hindering his usual length when he’s hard. It’s too light to provide any relief, and Alex chokes on a sob, watching helplessly as Henry hovers.
“Whose are you, then?” Henry whispers against the corner of his lips, squeezing for just a fraction of a second around his cock before he lets go. “Who does this belong to, Alex?”
“You—” Alex wrenches out, blinking blearily as his hips fuck up to chase the pressure, “fuck, Hen. You. M’yours. All yours. Please.”
“Ah-ah, no begging. If you’re mine, surely I know what you need, yes?”
“Always,” Alex breathes. “You always know.”
Tipping Alex’s face toward him, Henry presses their mouths together, softer and slower than anything else tonight has been. He strokes a hand over his cheek and through his hair, then taps his jaw twice as he pulls away, his lips slick with Alex’s spit.
“Fetch me the key, love.”
Henry’s obviously more than capable of doing it himself, but the idea of successfully completing a task is too enticing to pass up, especially in the hazy, cottony headspace Henry’s dipped him into. Alex scrambles forward and whimpers when the motion puts pressure on his cock, quickly swiping the key from the box on the table and practically flinging himself back into Henry’s embrace.
He takes it graciously from Alex’s trembling hands, lifting them to kiss his knuckles briefly in the trade off. Then he glances at the key fleetingly, bringing it up to Alex’s mouth and tapping it against his lower lip until Alex opens for him.
It’s rough and a little metallic on his tongue, but Alex feels settled by the presence of something filling his mouth. He lets his eyes fall shut and sucks on it as Henry fucks it slowly in and out of his mouth, then drags it, wet with his spit, down the curve of his chin and over his throat, dipping toward it’s destination.
“You had this the entire time,” Henry says lightly, admiring Alex’s reactions as he drags the serrated side of the key against Alex’s sensitive nipple. “You could have backed out at any point. Could have lied to me about it. Could have just decided it wasn’t worth it and that it’d be easier to simply take your pleasure whenever you deigned to have it.”
The cool metal dips into and then below his navel, tracing the lines of his hips and the trail of dark hair leading down to his cock. Alex feels like he’s teetering right on the edge, the headiness of the past few weeks finally catching up with him.
It doesn’t matter now. Henry’s got him.
“And, instead, you decided to give it to me,” he finishes, his breath warm and reassuring against Alex’s cheek. “Do you have any idea how great of a gift that is? How much I cherish the ability to play a part in your pleasure? In making sure you’re fulfilled and happy?”
The reverence in his tone makes a fresh wave of tears spring to Alex’s eyes, the few that escape quickly gathered up by Henry’s tongue. Alex tilts to chase his mouth as it goes.
“Henry,” he begs.
“Hush, I have you,” Henry assures him. “I always have you, Alex. I know what you need.”
He taps the key against the cage twice like his finger had earlier, and Alex’s scream is swallowed up by Henry’s tongue before it can escape his lips. It takes all of the strength left in his body to stave off his release, his teeth grinding and eyes shut, his abdomen clenched so hard that it aches.
“I’m going to unlock you,” Henry murmurs sweetly, “and you’re going to keep being a good boy for me until you come. You’ve done so well, love. Made me so proud. I want you to feel good now. Do you understand? You’ve earned this, and I want you to take it.”
“Yeah,” Alex nearly bumps their heads together nodding, words falling from his lips without his control anymore as the pain dissolves and everything begins to turn up pleasurepleasurepleasure. “Yeah. So close. Please, Hen, please let me—”
Alex comes before they even get the cage off. He hadn’t even known that was possible. It’s the most confusing, intense, sort of painful, fucking perfect orgasm of his life, and he gets to spend every second of it with Henry’s hand around him, Henry’s earnest good boy’s in his ear, Henry finally here to watch it happen. He did it. Alex fucking did it.
It lasts for so long that Alex can’t be certain it didn’t happen twice somehow, Henry wringing every last drop out of him as he strokes Alex’s unlocked, bare cock until he simply can’t take it anymore. His head craned back over Henry’s arm, Alex laughs deliriously at their ceiling, feels Henry’s grin against his throat, and finally settles, the key forgotten somewhere on the floor.
Until next time, anyway.