Archive of Our Own

Alex is running out of time.

And the frustrating thing is, it’s not a decision that can be rushed. He’ll be gone for a month, minimum — a five-hour plane ride away. The person they choose has to be the right fit for his dad.

He takes off his glasses and flings them on his desk with a little more gusto than is wise. Rubs the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes and sighs.

Maybe this kid will be the one. 

“This is a pain in the ass, I know.”

Dad is standing in the doorway, leaning on his walker. Alex pops up from his office chair and walks over. Since Parkinson’s came, Dad hunches over when he stands, which makes it easier than it used to be to drop an arm around him and squeeze.

“It is,” Alex says, smiling down at him, “but you’re worth it. Now let’s go get ready to meet our next candidate.”

“What’s this one’s name?” Alex hangs back as Dad painstakingly maneuvers the walker toward the living room.

“Don’t know. I just remember he’s a lot younger than the first two. I’ll check the email the agency sent in a minute.”

The first time Alex was staring at his phone while he was supposed to be watching Dad walk, Dad stumbled and ended up on the ground. Alex learned a lot of things the hard way at the beginning.

Because it doesn’t come with a manual: How to go in the span of six months from having a parent whose changes seem to be a result of the normal aging process to a Parkinson’s diagnosis and a dad who’s now almost entirely dependent on you.

Alex has done his best. But he’s fucked up pretty bad a few times.

He will not fuck this up.

It’s the first time he’s had to be in DC since Dad started needing this level of care. And it’s up to him to figure it out.

It’s certainly not Mom’s responsibility. And June and Nora finally made the move to Paris last month they’ve been wanting for years. June worked her ass off for so long after their parents’ divorce, trying to maintain some semblance of family. He feels with his whole heart that she earned this: The chance to live out from under the Former First Daughter shadow, to write the things she never could have if she'd stayed in the US.

The Secret Service worked with the caregiving agency to vet the three finalists vying to be Dad’s helper. Which means he and Dad can focus exclusively on compatibility in the interviews.

Passing on the first two was a no-brainer.

It’s a live-in role, so their choice has to be someone Dad really clicks with — someone intelligent and interesting as well as physically strong enough to perform all the care tasks.

So far the disease has mainly affected his motor skills; Dad’s still smart as hell. Anyone he’s going to spend this much time with has to be able to keep up.

If this third guy isn’t a match, Alex isn’t quite sure what he’ll do. There’s next to no chance his petition to work from home during this Congressional session will be accepted. So he has to plan to be gone.

He’s leaving in a week. It’ll work out.

It has to. 

When the doorbell rings, Dad shuffles to the front door. And Alex gives thanks once again that Dad chose a single-story house when he moved to Los Angeles after he and Mom divorced. He never dreamed that 30 years later he’d be living here, too.

But that’s life.

You truly never know what’s around the next corner.

It’s important to him that Dad take the lead on this. Alex stayed in the background during both of the previous interviews, only jumping in with a thought or question if it seemed necessary.

This is about Dad: His decision, his dignity, his life. Alex is support staff.

Dad opens the door.

The first two candidates had the same issue. They were around Alex’s age and so overawed by being in the presence of the former First Son (now a sitting US Senator) and a former Senator that they had trouble giving satisfactory answers to even the most basic questions.

There’s time, as Dad greets their third interviewee, for Alex to see that may not be a problem here.

First of all this guy was, like, five years old when Alex was First Son.

The smooth, unblemished skin of his face gives that away immediately. And Alex learns another thing as the man responds to Dad’s introduction.

He’s British.

Tall and blond and looking a lot like he just stepped off the Paramount lot after a day of shooting. Only he’s dressed too nice, in his duckling yellow long-sleeve button-down and khakis.

Alex has been a Southern Californian since he relocated from Texas five years ago to run for Dad’s Senate seat when he decided not to seek reelection. He’s gradually gotten used to seeing aspiring Hollywood entertainers at the grocery store. Or like last week, when he’s pretty sure the dude waiting in line with him at the pharmacy was in the Netflix movie he watched the night before. But their third candidate is good-looking even by LA standards.   

He’s smiling and holding out a large hand.

Alex recovers.

He’s a politician. Recovery — from blunders, misinformation, opponents’ attacks — is what he does.

“Alex Claremont-Diaz,” he says levelly as they shake.

“Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor.”

His blue eyes are shining and his fingers are strong. Alex’s smile ignites. “That’s quite a name. You’re not trying to compete with me, are you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Henry answers, in about the most delightfully posh and proper voice Alex has ever heard.

Holy shit. 

Time to fade into the background.

_______________________

Henry follows as Dad heads slowly for the sofa. But Alex diverts to the piano bench in the corner of the living room, making it clear he won’t be an active participant in the conversation.

“Henry,” Dad says with an encouraging smile. “Tell me about yourself. You’re obviously not from around here.”

“No, sir –”

And that’s as far as he gets. Dad is so predictable.

Still smiling, he holds up a hand. “Let me stop you right there. We don’t do ‘sir.’ I don’t care how young you are. I’m Oscar. And that…” He points across the room. Alex salutes on cue. “…is Alex. Okay?”

Henry is blushing — a bright spot in the largely gray and beige living room. He’s like a heraldically-colored Easter egg: Yellow shirt, wide blue eyes, pink face. If an Easter egg could be six feet tall and drop-dead gorgeous.

“Okay, Oscar,” he says softly. “I can do that.”

“So how old are you, anyway?”

“I’m 26. I finished uni a few years back with a music degree and looked around a bit before making the decision to move here.”

Now Alex remembers the resume. Oxford.

“So why here? And why this job? It doesn’t have anything to do with your degree. Damn, I miss the piano. Can’t get my fingers to do what I tell them anymore. Do you play?”

A toothy, unfettered smile replaces the more sedate one Henry’s worn since he entered the house. It makes him look even younger. “Piano is my specialty,” he says.

“And one of my favorite things in the world. Score one for you.” 

Dad likes him. Smiling, Alex relaxes a little on the piano bench.

“I spent a lot of time here as a youngster,” Henry goes on. “My dad was in Hollywood, and I was allowed to do a good part of my schooling here while he was filming. My brother and sister preferred to stay in London. But I followed him as often as they’d let me.”

Alex forgets about his observer status. “Would we have seen him in anything?”

“Yes, s—Alex. He played James Bond for a number of years.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Dad exclaims. “Of course you’re Arthur Fox’s son. I can’t believe I didn’t see it til now.”

Henry nods with a slightly resigned expression, like he’s heard those particular sentences more times than he cares to think about.

“He’s the reason I chose this field, actually. I was still in school when he got sick, but I spent all my spare time with him, learning from the helpers my family brought in. I saw the difference they made in his life. I’d planned on pursuing music professionally in some capacity after uni. But what I ended up wanting more was to help other families like Dad’s caregivers helped ours.”

Henry’s face is flushed and eager, his body leaning toward Dad in self-forgetful sincerity.

Alex forces his mouth closed with what he hopes isn’t an audible snap. Dad looks as spellbound by Henry’s story as Alex feels. He clears his throat loudly before asking his next question.

“Okay, Henry. So you understand all the things I need help with? On a good day, it’s not too bad. On a bad day…not just unglamorous. We’re talking downright degrading.”

Henry chuckles. “Yes, s—Mr.—Oscar. Yes. I’ve cared for clients with needs like yours before. The only piece I’m unfamiliar with is the live-in role. But I’d like to try it.”

“Well, in that case, why don’t we go take a look at what would be your room. And you can see how the house is laid out.”

Dad stands shakily, and Alex sees it coming. Henry has turned his back to straighten the couch cushions. Dad’s losing his balance. 

Henry whips around when Dad gasps but is a moment too late. He drops to his knees at Dad’s side, and Alex comes forward automatically to help. Henry’s eyes shoot up to him suddenly — blue darts that find their mark.

I can do more than just play the piano and talk to your dad about James Bond, they say. Let me show you.

Not sure how he’s telepathically communicating with a guy he met less than an hour ago, but it seems to be happening nonetheless. Alex takes a step back.

“Nothing hurt but my pride,” Dad says with a wry groan. “Per fucking usual.”

Henry laughs quietly. “Put your arm around my neck.” Dad complies and is lifted from the ground and carried easily to their in-case-of-emergency wheelchair nearby. As if he didn’t weigh 150 pounds.

Alex is staring. His dick gives a faint wiggle.

Holy fucking shit.

He’s tried everything. Except the pills. He doesn’t want to do the pills. All he needs is a little more distance from his and Trenton’s divorce – he’s sure of it.

This is the first time in his post-pubescent life his body won’t respond to porn. He still doesn’t feel ready to date, and on-line hookups are dangerous in his position, even with NDAs. Plus he just…doesn’t have the energy. On any level. 

Over a year of not being able to get hard. Even semi-hard. Then he’s standing here in the living room, watching this beautiful young man lift his dad off the floor as if he weighed no more than a bag of groceries. And his cock reacts.

Just a little, but — a reaction. A real reaction.

He’s divorced, not dead, for fuck’s sake.

When his parents decided to end their marriage, they each reimagined and pursued new futures for themselves. “It’s not ideal, but it works,” Mom always says. He’s figuring out how to make it work, too. And just because Dad never found love again doesn’t mean that’ll be Alex’s story.

He recovers. It’s what he does. There’s hope for him — for all of him — yet. Henry’s effortless display of strength just reminded him of that.

And he plays the piano.

Alex squats down next to the wheelchair to look Dad in the eye. “I think we’ve found our guy,” he says. “What do you think?” Dad is already nodding.

So much for the background.

__________________________

When Alex hears the word “unanimous,” he lands ponderously in the office chair, phone momentarily forgotten. “Alex? Alex? Hello?” Dennis’ voice whispers weakly through the speaker that now rests against his thigh.

Unanimous.

Unbelievable.

He brings the phone back to his mouth. “I’m here, Dennis. I’m just — stunned.”

Dennis laughs. “You and me both. It was sounding pretty certain you’d get the majority, but I figured we’d have at least a few negatives. Then again, your situation is unprecedented. No one’s ever asked to stay home in order to care for a parent who also served in Congress.”

Alex’s mind is already racing ahead, tackling the logistics. “So. I’m available all day, every day for calls and messages. And on FaceTime for every session?”

“Right. The time difference will be a bitch, but we’ll work it out. I’ll make sure you know the schedule. I need to go. Just text me any questions. And Alex — congratulations. You deserve this.”

He’s not sure. Anyone would do what he’s doing under these circumstances. Still. Congress voting unanimously to let him work from home through a session? No one even got that during Covid. And a lot of people applied. A major win.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, he finds Dad still working on his breakfast. Meaning his reading glasses are on and he’s scrolling through his phone while the eggs and toast Alex prepared get cold. Ordinarily he would have something to say about that. Dad needs to eat. But.

“Hey. Have you ever known Congress to do anything unanimously?”

Dad looks at Alex over his glasses, shoulders bouncing in silent laughter. “Not even when we were picking the coffee caterer. Why?”

“Dennis just called. I get to work from home this session. Unanimously.”

“You’re fucking with me.” 

“That’s basically what I said.” Alex runs a hand through his hair. So much to do. But the first priority is obvious. “I’ll call Henry and let him know.”

Dad squints up at him, frowning. “Alex, leave the kid alone. He starts tomorrow. We can tell him then. Let him enjoy his last day of freedom.”

“That’s the whole point. I need to call him so he doesn’t bring all his stuff to move in. Since it’s just a day job now. I’m sure he was counting on the income for the overnights, so I was thinking we go ahead and pay that for a week or so. Since we’re the ones changing the terms?”

“Alex.” Dad has that look. Like Alex is missing something extremely obvious.

“What?”

“I don’t think we should change the terms.”

“What? Why? I’ll be here.”

“You’ll be working. You’re going to need your rest at night.”

Alex shakes his head. He can handle this. 

“Don’t take it from me, though.” Dad smiles indulgently at him. “I know you’re as stubborn as your mother. Ask the pro. Call Henry and see what he thinks about it.”

________________________

“It’s your decision, of course.”

He picks out a telling quaver in Henry’s voice on the last word of that sentence. Henry’s going to be more diplomatic about this than his dad was, but Alex has a feeling he’s about to say essentially the same thing. “But Alex, how many times a night does your father need help?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe two or three?”

“And have ever tried doing that while working full-time?”

“No.”

Henry is silent for a moment, like he’s waiting for Alex to get there on his own. Jesus, he’s quick. How does he already know that’s the only way Alex can make a decision? He can’t take somebody else’s word for it — whatever it is. Dad and June both say he gets it from Mom. 

“It’s not about the salary,” Henry resumes. “I — I’m fine there. I just think you’re going to be tired after working all day. And needing uninterrupted sleep to recharge.”

Hell. So two against one, and he knows what they’re saying is valid. He just thought he could take care of things.

“Well…”

“Here’s an idea,” Henry says. “Shall I try living in for a week or so? Then we can reevaluate?”

It’s an issue to be considered logically. Emotion shouldn’t be a factor. But Henry’s voice is so calm, so soothing and competent. And sometimes. Just sometimes, Alex feels a little alone in this role. He never saw himself as the caregiving type: Chronically impulsive, not very nurturing, too antsy to be attentive. And yet here he is.

He imagines, while Henry waits on the other end of the line, what it would be like to have a partner in Dad’s care. Someone to talk to about it. 

Someone who, in spite of being 15 years Alex’s junior, has already traveled this road. He knows he can pick up the phone day or night and call June. She insisted on that when she moved. But Henry’s been here — where Alex is now. He knows the terrain. 

Tears prick his eyes with horrifying suddenness.

Fuck.

“Okay, Henry. Let’s do that. See you tomorrow?”

“All right. I’ll see you then.”

Henry is smiling. Alex can tell by his voice. So probably that big, unrestrained one, like when he found out Dad loves the piano.

When Alex hangs up he realizes he’s smiling, too. It feels like a good start.

________________________

Alex stumbles into the kitchen, cursing under his breath when his toe catches on the chair leg. Damn, he needs some coffee.

It’s been nearly a week now, and he’s still trying to acclimate. They’re three hours ahead of him. That means the calls start coming in about 4 a.m. Sometimes earlier.

He keeps meaning to prep his coffee the night before, but. Not quite there yet.

His mug is sitting by the machine, and there’s a note next to it.

Good morning, Alex. Just press start.

Holy shit. 

Henry’s here to take care of Dad, not him. But Alex can’t deny the swell of gratitude he feels. June was always calling when she and Nora were still in DC, asking if he was eating and taking time to exercise. Those calls are harder to coordinate now that she’s in Europe and working more. So, yeah. It does feel good to know someone’s looking out for him.

Like last night.

He started hearing the sweet, nostalgic notes of the piano through his office door while he was on his last call. Something smelled good, too — like meat and potatoes. Possibly carrots? It had been a long time since he threw together that sandwich for lunch.

“Let’s talk more tomorrow, Kate, all right? I’m on board. But I do have concerns about the feasibility of funding it, so I look forward to hearing your plans. Right now I should go see how Dad’s faring.”

“Sounds good, Alex. And listen. I know how these things can go. Are you taking care of yourself?”

“Trying. Thanks. Talk soon.”

He peeked around the corner into the living room. Henry’s head was bent toward the piano, his hair a dazzling shade of gold in the sunset light. Alex leaned against the doorjamb and closed his eyes for a moment to listen.

“Hey kid,” Dad’s voice roused him. The music stopped. “You hungry? Go look in the ‘fridge. Henry says he isn’t a great cook, but it tasted pretty fucking good to me.”

Henry looked over his shoulder. Even from across the room, Alex could see his eyes were quiet and blue, like an ocean untroubled by storms. Then he smiled. “I’m afraid I made so much we’ll be sick of it before it’s gone,” he said before turning back to the keys.

The roast was amazing. And it was carrots. And green beans. And onions.

Alex sat at the table alone, eating and listening to the new music. His phone buzzed tirelessly. But he was off the clock, and he’d had enough of Nevada Thomas for one day. He turned it over.

Henry was still playing when Alex finished cleaning up the kitchen, so he wandered back in and settled into his favorite chair. Dad looked over from the sofa and smiled. His face was peaceful and without the pinch of pain, and Alex felt free to lean back and close his eyes again. He put out of his head Kate’s ambitious environmental bill and the disturbing texting exchange with Nevada Thomas, letting his crowded mind drift.

The music carried him out onto the tranquil sea of Henry’s eyes. He floated there, resting. And he saw Henry’s long, pale fingers moving fluidly over the keys.

He opened his eyes to a completely dark room.

Henry’s face was close to his own. A dream.

“I’m sorry,” Henry whispered, and Alex came completely awake. Henry laid the blanket in his hands across Alex’s supine body. “I didn’t want you to be cold when you woke up.” Only the outline of his tall form was visible in the darkness.

Alex lay still. He felt drowsy and safe and content, so he didn’t answer. But his eyes followed Henry as he walked away.

And now, standing in the shadowy kitchen at 4 in the morning, it’s all back to feeling dreamlike again. But he knows it must be real — that Henry’s support is real — because the coffee is ready to go. 

He presses Start.

________________________

When he closes the laptop 14 hours later, Alex looks up to see Dad leaning on his walker in the office doorway. Henry hovers close behind.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Dad says, as if Alex hasn’t been counting the hours.

“Yeah. About fucking time.”

“Henry and I were wondering if you wanted to do some pool time with us tomorrow. Or Sunday.”

Alex looks questioningly past Dad to find Henry’s eyes. “Pool time?”

He steps around the walker and into the light of the office. Alex has spent all day staring at stressed-out screen faces, and by comparison Henry’s seems to radiate with health and life.

“Since I’m still learning about your dad, I’d feel better if both of us went in the water with him this first time. Would that be all right?”

Alex stands and stretches, and the immediate relief to his muscles nudges a laugh out of him. “Would it be all right? Sun and water and you two, after being stuck in this office all week staring at Screen People? Fuck yeah. Let me get my coffee in the morning, and I’m good any time after.” He levels his eyes at Henry. “And I haven’t had a chance to thank you for that yet. My coffee elf.”

Henry gives him a slow, pleased smile. “It’s my pleasure, Alex.”

Between the elegant accent and the beguiling curve of Henry’s full, soft-looking lips, it’s hard for Alex not to look at his mouth. He’s going to have to watch that. The last thing he wants is for Henry to be uncomfortable, especially since they’re about to be spending time together in swimsuits.

Henry doesn’t look uncomfortable, though. He’s smiling wide when he turns from Alex to Dad and says, “Bath then dinner? Or dinner then bath?”

Watching Henry smile makes Alex want to smile. Which feels good.

It’s been a long week.

________________________

The Southern California sun. Always so cooperative.

He does miss Texas weather sometimes: Those mercurial skies, decorated by clouds one day and washed in crisp blue the next. The hellishly hot summers that compromise with no one.

But today Alex is craving unfiltered, reliable sunshine. And it greets him when he steps out the patio door, reflecting off Dad’s dark skin and Henry’s white skin where they stand by the side of the pool. 

Jesus, that’s a lot of white skin. 

“Thanks for giving me time to get all the coffee I needed, guys.”

“It’s your day off,” Dad chuckles. “I remember how good those felt during Session — believe me.” He straightens over the walker and looks behind him, including Henry in the conversation. “This doesn’t need to be a big deal. I just want to float around on one of those air mattresses. It’s been awhile.”

But Henry doesn’t appear to be listening. 

His large, unblinking eyes are fastened on Alex.

And now they’re not. 

Did he imagine that? Alex was focusing on Dad while he spoke, then he looked at Henry just in time to see him yank his eyes away from Alex’s swimsuit-clad body. He would be 100% sure he imagined it if Henry’s face weren’t now the color of a tomato.

Well, holy shit.

It’s an egregious stereotype that guys as beautiful as Henry are gay as a rule. Some of the most attractive men Alex knows are straight.

Regardless, he might have just caught Henry checking him out.

Alex has a mirror. Several, in fact. And they all tell him the same stark truth: He doesn’t look bad, but nothing like he used to back in the days when Trenton cold-approached him at the gym and said, “There’s no way in hell I’m leaving this room without your number.”

The gym isn’t part of his life anymore. He swims when he has the time and energy. So he’s lean and firm and reasonably toned, but that’s about it.

And yet. 

Henry’s still blushing.

And maybe it’s just natural curiosity. Here’s this person you’ve only ever seen fully-clothed, and now they’re standing in front of you almost naked. He’s curious in that sense about Henry, too, but his body is almost completely hidden behind Dad.

Which reminds Alex they’re all here with a very specific goal.

He looks into Henry’s scarlet face with what he hopes is casual ignorance. “Are you ready? Let’s get this man on an air mattress.”

Then all thoughts of who was or wasn’t staring at whom are pushed aside while they work together to get Dad safely on his back. Now he’s lying there, sunglasses in place, ready to float. Alex exhales and smiles.

“So we just stay within reaching distance? Is that the plan?”

Henry runs a dripping hand through his hair. “Right. He can enjoy his float, but we’ll be close if he needs us.”

Alex gives Dad an obliging push and swims after him toward the center of the pool. The previous owners built it with their kids in mind, so it’s no deeper than four feet at any point. He dives down, swimming under the float and coming up on the other side. Shit, the water feels good. His body feels good — muscles tensing and relaxing, contracting and extending.

He comes up laughing. “I don’t know whose idea this was,” he sputters, slicking his curls out of his eyes, “but I owe you. Jesus, I need to get out of that fucking office more.”

Henry, hair still only slightly damp, grins at Alex over Dad’s resting form. “You have your dad to thank. He knows you well.”

“I do.” Dad drawls. He already sounds intoxicated by the delights of sun and water and open air. “And that reminds me,” he says, looking at Henry over the top of his sunglasses, “when do you need to know if we want you to stay in the live-in role? Is this probationary period fucking up your lease somewhere else?”

“No, not at all. I’m between places and was staying with a friend. Take all the time you need to decide.”

“Oh, I don’t think we’re going to need much more time.” Dad’s head swivels in Alex’s direction. “Are you ready yet to admit how right Henry and I were?”

Laughing, Alex aims a splash at his feet. “So ready. I don’t know how I would’ve survived this past week without you.” He moves toward the end of the air mattress, down where Henry is, so there’s nothing separating them. He wants to be sure Henry can see his eyes. See that he’s serious. “I mean it. You’re a lifesaver. Will you stay?”

“Of course,” Henry says quietly.

Now his view is unobscured. So Alex discovers that, when Henry turns red, the color trickles all the way down his chest. Interesting: He hasn’t seen that happen to anyone before.

But it’s not the best place for his eyes to be — roving over Henry’s smooth, muscular torso. No one could carry Dad the way Henry did and not look like that underneath his clothes. It’s an undeniably strong, young, handsome body, but that doesn’t give Alex the right to be staring at it.

And staring at it is causing him to remember his physical reaction when Henry lifted Dad. His cock hasn’t taken an interest in anything since, and he’s been too focused on work to think about it. Until now.

He swallows.

Dad saves him. Back to business.

“We haven’t even talked about days off yet. You ask for them, anytime you need them, and we’ll make it work. Right, Alex?”

“Absolutely. And also, everybody seems pretty fucking concerned about my rest.” He works up an intimidating glare for Henry. “But are you getting enough rest?”

Henry smiles serenely at him. “I nap whenever Oscar naps. So, yes.”

“I do nap a lot,” Dad pipes up. “And Alex, have you told him about our very special event next weekend?”

Oh, perfect. This will get his mind off Henry’s nipples. And his shoulders. And his collarbones. “Dad. Can we please not make a big deal about this? I’m already old as fuck.”

Henry makes an unidentifiable sound in his throat at exactly the same moment Dad says, “Um. Excuse me. You are not old as fuck. I’m old as fuck. I’m not proposing a fucking fiesta, but I want to do something for you.”

“Yes,” Henry says so quietly it's nearly lost under the rumble of a plane heading for LAX.

Alex looks from one to the other. “Well, I already know what I want. I want to take a solo run on the beach. And I want one of those special English breakfasts I’m always hearing about.” He smiles at Henry with what could be construed as a flirty fluttering of eyelashes. Hey, he’s allowed. It’s almost his birthday. “Will you make me one?”

Henry takes a step forward, and Alex doesn’t know what his excuse is for being flirty. Because all of that bare skin is now much closer than it needs to be. Henry may or may not be queer, but he assuredly knows Alex is.

And Alex can’t control his eyes this time. They slide from Henry’s neck down his chest and back again, and he realizes with a giddy shock that his dick is starting to fill.

“You want the full English, Alex? Are you sure?”

“Um. What?” They were talking about his birthday — he remembers that much. All his attention is now on what’s happening between his legs.

One corner of Henry’s mouth lifts in a lazy smile. Bastard. He may not know what’s going on under the water, but he must have noticed Alex is having a hard time staying focused on his face. “You said you wanted an English breakfast for your birthday next weekend. I’d love to make one for you, if you’re sure that’s what you want.”

He can think of a few things he’d rather have, but those aren’t really options, so…

“Yep, that’s what I want.”

Meanwhile, Dad’s floated away to the other end of the pool.

Alex shoots Henry a sheepish grin and dives, swimming toward the air mattress. His limbs feel lithe and limber as they propel him through the water. In the sanctity of that blue underwater silence, he rejoices in how good it feels to be aroused again — no matter how briefly.

And he realizes he’s much better at being mentally present when Henry’s wearing more clothes.

________________________

Alex is lying on his back that night, hands behind his head, thinking about the day. The pool and what happened to him there. Then playing cards for hours with Dad and Henry at the kitchen table.

He can still hear the laughter: Dad’s husky and rasping, his own a livelier version of it. And Henry’s. Bright, soaring, breathless — like summer wind off the ocean. 

But then another sound intrudes on his memory.

Thump.

Something heavy just hit the floor.

By the time Alex gets in the room, Henry’s talking quietly to Dad as he lifts him into bed. He pauses for a deep breath before they notice him. The last thing he wants is to add an adrenaline-fueled freak-out to the situation. “Everybody okay?” he asks. 

Dad punches the pillow a few times before lying down on his back. No grimacing. Good.

“You know how it is, kiddo,” he says. “You lived with it yourself for long enough. Henry turns his back for two seconds and my legs forget how to function.”

Henry arranges the blanket around Dad’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Oscar,” he says, his voice trembling.

“Oh, no you don’t. Henry, I don’t want to say all your goddamn last names but I will, if it’ll get your attention.” Dad works a hand out from under the blanket Henry just finished meticulously tucking around him, for the purpose of pointing an emphatic finger at his face.

Once an orator, always an orator.

“Do not apologize to me for something that isn’t your fault. I’m going to fall sometimes. There’s nothing you can do about it, kid. Just be there to pick me up, okay?”

Alex watches in profile as Henry’s throat spasms. It looks like he’s having a hard time responding. “Yes, sir,” he finally says, and it’s a testament to Dad’s sensitivity that he doesn’t reprimand him for the slip-up. It’s clearly not the time.

“Dad, we’re going to let you rest. Sure you’re not hurt?”

“Sure. ’Night, boys.” Then he closes his eyes, bringing the confab to an indisputable end.

Henry turns to him as soon as they’re in the hall. “I’m so sorry for waking you, Alex.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. It’s not that unusual. I was about to head to the kitchen for some water when I heard Dad fall. Want to join me?”

Almost all of that was true. He’s never seen Henry looking shaken and beleaguered like he does right now, and he isn’t ready to leave him yet.

Henry nods without really meeting Alex’s eyes. “Okay.” 

Alex doesn’t turn on the kitchen light. He’s not usually very aware of this sort of thing the way June is, but there seems to be a vulnerable feeling in the room that jarring light could damage. So he opens the curtain on the window above the sink instead. The streetlight sends in a subdued glow that shows him Henry’s seated form.

When Alex sets the glass of water in front of him, Henry is staring at his hands where they rest on the table.

“What happened with your dad — I got distracted. I’m sorry.”

Alex leans toward him in an attempt at eye contact, but Henry won’t look up yet. “I’m not going to threaten you with all your names like Dad did. But I don’t want to hear you say that again, any more than he does. There’s no expectation of perfection here. We’re all doing the best we can in a difficult situation. So stop apologizing.”

“Thank you. It’s just…your dad was singing.”

Alex blinks. “Singing? Yeah, he likes to do that. And that’s what distracted you? I mean, I know his voice isn’t the greatest, but —”

“No, no! It’s wonderful. I love when he does it. It brings back a memory for me.”

Henry hasn’t looked at him yet, so Alex goes on watching the dense blond eyelashes rise and fall. He tries to hold very still. He doesn’t know what’s coming, but he knows he needs to be quiet to hear it.

“Toward the end,” Henry says, just above a whisper, “we had to move my dad into a care facility. And there was a man there — Lucio. A blind man from Spain in his 80s with double leg amputations. He didn’t talk much. But he always smiled. And some days, he would sing in Spanish. There was something about it I can’t really explain.”

Henry glances up, but his eyes descend quickly to his hands again.

“When Lucio sang, I felt like everything was going to be all right. I couldn’t understand a word of his song. It didn’t make any sense to feel that way. But I still did.”

Alex looks out the window where the streetlight is shining. “You know, I have a cousin Lucio,” he says. “He told me his name comes from the Latin lux. For light.”

And, finally, Henry looks up into Alex’s eyes. Not just a glance — a real, lasting look. And Alex’s heart jolts when that blue cord of connection snaps back into place.

“Yes,” Henry answers. “That’s what it was. Lucio’s song was a light. A light in darkness, for me.”

Alex merely nods, fearing a misplaced word. This isn’t Flirty Pool Henry or Confident Caregiver Henry — this is a Henry he’s never met before. And he knows this Henry has just trusted him with something. 

In the silence, Henry stands and gives Alex’s shoulder the most perfunctory of squeezes. “Thank you,” he says, “for understanding.”

After he’s gone, Alex sits alone for a while.

He thinks about Henry and Lucio and Arthur Fox. And about his own dad. When he feels ready to sleep, he carries their water glasses — Henry’s untouched — to the sink. And he closes the curtain.

_____________________

Laundry.

The source of he and Henry’s first — and so far only — squabble.

Henry wanted to do it every day, all the time. Alex demurred. “You’re shopping and taking care of meals and doing everything for Dad. Even cleaning a little on the agency’s off-weeks. Let me do the laundry.”

“There’s no need, Alex. It’s part of my job.”

“Only if I want it to be. And I don’t want it to be.”

Henry’s mouth quirked slightly in the corner. “Well, technically, my job is whatever your dad wants it to be.”

Motherfucker.

He stared hard at Henry. The cool blue eyes stared back, impassive.

“Well played. We’ll ask Dad.”

And Dad, in his wisdom, suggested a compromise: They would alternate.

Today — Tuesday — is Henry’s laundry day, but Alex is going to make sure it’s taken care of by the time he gets back from…wherever he is. Alex doesn’t know. Because last night, while he and Dad were watching a movie, Henry came in with an apologetic expression on his face and asked for today off.

“I’m glad you felt like you could ask, kid,” Oscar said without hesitation. “Anytime you need it that’s all you have to do, and it’s yours. Right, Alex?”

“Of course. Yes.”

It was the right thing to say, and of course he meant it. But something was still wrong. 

Wrong with Henry.

As he stood there in the light from the TV, animation was missing from his eyes, and the typically expressive smile seemed insipid. Alex was still seeing those unfamiliar eyes and that odd smile when he went to bed. It was similar to how he looked the night Dad fell. But – worse.

It’s none of his business. He needs to put it out of his mind and start the fucking laundry so he can get back to his office to work with the door open, in case Dad needs him.

He gathers the dirty clothes from his and Dad’s rooms before heading to Henry’s.

The door is closed. Alex pauses.

Will this be a violation? No. He and Henry have already been washing each other’s underwear for a couple of weeks. And he’s not going to rummage — just look for a basket or a hamper or something, since Henry doesn’t strike him as the dirty-clothes-on-the-floor type. If there isn’t one, he’ll go.

The room is dark, the air stale. And Henry’s lying in the bed. He’s on his side, facing the wall, and Alex is certain he heard a sniffle.

Fucking shit.

He backs out, as quietly as he came, without any laundry.

______________________

That night, he’s lying awake. He shouldn’t be — after doing double duty all day, he should be exhausted. He just keeps hearing that fucking sniffle. And asking himself the same question, over and over: Who takes care of a caregiver?

Who takes care of Henry?

He’s not sleeping anyway, so his lamp is on. And he’s got the door to his room open to listen for Dad. Then he looks over and Henry’s standing in the doorway, like an image Alex conjured up by the power of his thoughts.

“May I come in?”

Alex sits up quickly. He’s not wearing a shirt, but that’s all right. The rest of him is under the covers. “Yes, Henry. Please.”

Henry advances slowly, and Alex thinks for just a moment that he might sit down. But instead he stops by the side of Alex’s bed. The dark circles under his eyes make him look more tired than usual, but the vacant, disengaged expression from the night before is gone from his face.

“Am I right that you came in my room earlier today and saw me?” he asks softly.

Alex runs a rueful hand through his curls. “Fuck, Henry, I’m so sorry about that. I thought you were gone. I wanted to do the laundry and surprise you. I would never deliberately trespass on your privacy like that.”

“No, it’s okay,” he answers quickly. “I wanted to let you know I’m alright. I just have these…dark days. I take medication that helps me, but sometimes I need to be alone for a day or so. I’m feeling better now. The last thing I want is to be a burden to you and your dad. I promise it doesn’t happen often.”

Alex shakes his head, sitting up straighter and clutching the blanket against his stomach, leaning toward Henry in his zeal. “You could never be a burden. Ever.” 

Henry stands there watching him, and his large eyes seem guarded. But he’s not leaving. So there’s that. Alex decides to say what’s on his mind and hope for the best. “If it’s okay to ask — have you eaten today?”

“No, not yet. But I’m on my way to do that now.”

“Will you let me fix you something? Something to eat?”

It’s the first genuine smile in over 24 hours. Fuck yeah.

“You’re so kind, Alex. But no. You’ve done the work of two people today. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gets all the way to the door before turning back. When he does, Alex sees the wariness is gone from his eyes. They shimmer with emotion in the lamplight. 

“I think I had a hard time getting over your dad’s last fall,” he says. “I know I can’t be — that no one can be — perfect. But when those things happen, it can be a reminder of how helpless we are. Of how little we can truly do.”

Alex’s fists tighten again around his blanket. He wants to cook for Henry, hug him, do his laundry — something. Fuck. Then, miraculously, he stumbles upon the perfect words.

“You’re right. In the end, there’s only so much we can do. I guess that’s why we have to remember Lucio’s song.”

Henry’s eyes open wide and his lips part, clearly shocked Alex remembers that. It was the most personal thing Henry’s shared yet. Of course he fucking remembers.

“I suppose so,” Henry answers. “Even though I have no idea what he was singing about.”

“Oh, but I think you do. You told me: Everything’s going to be alright.”

Henry’s smile conquers his face slowly this time. Then he walks away, heading for the kitchen to get some food.

And Alex turns off his lamp and sleeps.

______________________

The sand yields to his pounding feet and Alex plunges into it even harder, arms pumping, flying down the beach.

The final sprint.

He slows to a walk when he reaches the self-appointed finish line: A lone cliff jutting out into the water, with a scattering of black boulders at its feet. The duo of his hammering pulse and blasting breath eliminate every other sound.

Damn, he’s out of shape.

But it feels great to goad his body beyond its comfort level, especially after that fucking English breakfast.

What was he thinking?

Bacon, beans, bread, and a bunch of fried shit. Do the Brits eat like that every day? He’ll have to ask Henry. 

The best thing about it, other than witnessing Henry’s brow-furrowing determination while he cooked, was that Henry needed help with the planning. So he called his sister. And Alex just happened to walk through the living room yesterday while they were FaceTiming.

“But what I don’t understand, Bea,” Henry said, a whine of frustration in his tone, “is how do you make sure everything gets finished all at the same time?”

Alex wasn’t close enough to see the screen yet, but he heard a lighter, higher version of Henry’s laugh. “I don’t really know — it just works out. Don’t worry. He’s going to love it.”

“Hey, you two.”

Henry turned on the couch to face him. “Oh, A-Alex,” he stuttered, a swath of pink painting his cheeks nearly instantly. “Would you like to meet my sister?”

“It’s about damn time,” he said. “Of course I would.”

And he flopped down next to Henry on the couch, leaning toward the phone, pushing his chest against Henry’s shoulder. He had to get that close. Otherwise they wouldn’t both be in the picture.

“Bea,” he said, trying to ignore the proximity of Henry’s face, “I’m Alex. Thanks for sharing Henry with us.”

A smiling, brown-haired, female Henry looked back at him. “Just remember he’s only on loan to your country — like one of those zoo pandas. You don’t get to have him. Hey, Alex. Happy early birthday.”

“Thanks,” he grinned, “I’ll let y’all get back to it. I just wanted to say hi.” He looked quickly into Henry’s eyes, just inches from his own. “She’s right, by the way. I’m going to love it.”

And he did. And now he’s trying to sweat it out.

He pulls his vibrating phone from his shorts pocket and takes a seat on the rocks. Mom and Leo already called and sang to him, so it’s not them.

Fuck.

It’s Trenton.

Alex looks out over the water. The waves, lackluster when he got here, are starting to gain height and strength. Their crashing rhythm falls into sync with his heart.

He glances back at the phone, now indicating there’s a voicemail.

It’s been…over a year. Their lawyers handled everything.

He closes his eyes, listening to the surf’s consoling voice. Then breathes deeply until he’s ready.

“Alex, hi. I wanted to say happy birthday. And that I’d really like to see you. To apologize in person for the way everything went down with us. Will you call me back so we can set that up?”

The way everything went down with us.

Alex stands. Brushes off his ass and stretches his legs.

The way everything went down was that, on some random-ass Thursday, one of what turned out to be several of Trenton’s boyfriends showed up at their front door and demanded to know where he was.

Alex is a big believer in second chances, fresh starts — all that — and he really hopes Trenton has found them. Maybe he needs to apologize to get closure.

He’ll try to be open to that at some point. But it’s not going to be today.

It’s his fucking birthday.

Goddamnit.    

His leg muscles protest with an offended burn when he starts to run back the way he came, but that’s all right. He can’t get home fast enough. Maybe there’s some leftovers from that full English.

_______________________

He’s undoing all the good of his run with English Breakfast 2.0 when his phone buzzes. Alex’s breath fails him for a few moments, until he looks at the screen. Then he smiles.

“Alex, you motherfucker!” Raf’s voice shoots into his ear like caffeine. “How can you be 40-fucking-2? That makes me — oh hell no, I’m not doing that. How are you, mijo?”

Alex’s voice finally fights its way through his laughter. “Hey, Raf. Hang on, let me put you on speaker. Dad’s right here.”

“Los Bastardos live!” Dad crows.

“You’re damn right they do. How are you, Oscar?”

“I’m good. My boys take good care of me.”

“Your boys? Did Nora figure out how to clone Alex once she got to France? I know she’s been working on it for a while.”

“Oh no,” Alex interjects, looking toward the sink where Henry stands with his back to them, washing dishes. “This is way better than a clone of me.”

“I can see there’s catching up in order, but right now…” The switch flips, and Raf is instantly in work mode. “…Alex, I hate to do this to you. But I think we need you here. Just for a couple days.”

He and Dad look at each other across the table. Henry, without pausing in his work, turns slightly in their direction. 

“The transgender rights bill is in trouble. And I know you’re doing everything you can from there. But Alex, yours is such an influential presence, and I’m not just stroking your fucking ego. It’s the truth. There are some fence-sitters that I think would come down on our side with just the right push. And pushing is so much more effective in person. Do you think you could spare him, Oscar, just for a couple days?”

Alex is shaking his head. Dad and Henry are nodding.

Fuck.

“Of course I can, Raf. What if I send him your way mid-week? That’ll give me and Henry a little time to get our shit together. Will that work?”

“That’ll work,” Raf answers. “And who the fuck is Henry?”

Alex is still shaking his head. “Um, excuse me. Do I have any say in this?”

“Look, Alex, this is how we thought it was going to be all along, remember?” As Dad speaks, Henry dries his hands and takes a seat next to Alex. “We didn’t expect to have you here at all. There are people in this country who need your help even more than I do right now. Go out to DC and do what you can for them. We’ll be alright. Won’t we, Henry?”

“Again — who the fuck is Henry?” Raf’s presence, briefly forgotten, charges back into the room through the iPhone’s tiny speaker.

Dad grabs Henry’s eyes with his own and gestures toward Alex’s phone. Laughing, Henry leans forward. “Hi, Senator Luna. My name’s Henry. I’m Oscar’s live-in helper. He and I will be fine while Alex is out there with you.”

“Hey, Henry. I can’t wait to hear the story of how those two clowns managed to find you, but that’ll be for another day. Alex, I’ll see you — what? Tuesday? Wednesday?”

Dad opens his mouth, but Alex silences him with a withering glance. “Let’s make it Wednesday, Raf. See you then.”

Raf hangs up, and Dad stands. “We’ll talk details later, boys,” he says, already rolling away on his walker. “Right now, I need a nap.” He holds out a hand when Henry rises to follow him. “I got this, kid. You and Alex relax a little.”

Relaxing sounds amazing, actually, especially if Henry wants to do it with him. The day has been a whirlwind.

He looks over and finds Henry watching him with soft blue eyes.

“I’m headed for the couch,” Alex says. “Would you want to talk a little bit? About next week?”

____________________

He loves the living room, especially this time of day. Windows all along the front mean it’s almost always full of sunlight. It took years for him to make peace with this house, since he first came to know it during the traumatic time of his parents’ separation. 

But it’s not just “Dad’s place in the valley” anymore. It’s home.

“If I ever ask you for a full English again, please say no.” He leans back into the couch and smiles at Henry, sitting in the chair beside him.

Henry chuckles. “Did your stomach not like it?”

“A little. But honestly, the boiling feeling in there probably has more to do with the call from Raf. That bill is so fucking important.”

“Your job comes with a lot of stress, Alex.”

“It does. But I wouldn’t do anything else. And I don’t think a job exists that doesn’t have stress, even the ones that seem most ideal.” He tilts his head to see Henry better. “That reminds me of something I’ve wanted to ask you for a while. Did you ever consider Hollywood for yourself? With your dad’s connections and your —” Fuck. What now? “—your assets, it seems like that could’ve been a fit.”

Assets? What the fuck? Maybe he’s getting too relaxed.

Thankfully Henry, missing or ignoring his gaffe, heads straight into an answer. “I don’t have the right temperament for acting. I learned that pretty young. So, no. I. Um. Write poetry.”

And here it is: Finally.

Alex has been patiently watching for an opportunity to test his theory: Since even before he saw Henry possibly checking him out in the pool. A week ago, it would’ve seemed a little intrusive. But now it just feels like the natural next step in getting to know him.

And Henry seems all right with how personal the conversation is getting. His body language is loose and open, his quiet eyes resting attentively on Alex. Sure, he’s a little red, but that’s not unusual.

“So you’re a piano-playing poet. Why am I not seeing a literal line of women waiting outside the front door to get to you?”

Henry turns even redder, and he lowers his eyes. But he replies without hesitation. “First of all, I haven’t dated much since I moved here. And secondly,” he sneaks a look at Alex through his thick eyelashes, “if there were a line, it wouldn’t be a line of women.”

Bull’s eye. 

Alex is going to be so cool about this. He’s had his stoic response to the confirmation of his suspicions planned for awhile. He bobs his head objectively.

“Okay. Men, then.”

“Right. And the last guy I dated broke it off because he said I was boring. You know — the whole piano-playing poet thing.”

“That’s the dumbest shit I ever heard,” Alex blurts out before he can stop himself, “and I’m a US Senator.”

Instead of responding, Henry turns in his chair to look out the windows, twisting his neck to get a better view. What the hell is he looking at? All Alex can see is blue sky, a couple of palm trees, and an empty sidewalk. He looks back to find a teasing smile on Henry’s lips. “I’m trying to find your line, Alex. If anyone would have one, I’d expect it to be you.”

Damn.

He may be a tiny bit pink himself now. At least he camouflages better than Henry. And he’s a veteran at rushing to the refuge of words when he’s uncomfortable. Or confused. Or wrong. Or, in this case, flattered. 

“You were already living here — in California — when my divorce finalized,” he says quickly, “so I’m assuming you remember all the publicity.”

Henry offers a brief, sympathetic nod.

“My opponents saw it as a chance to point out the instability of queer relationships. Even though a heterosexual marriage is no more statistically likely to last.”

His chest tightens instantly, and it’s hard to get enough air. He never talks about this shit. It’s been awhile since he last panicked, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to do it now, in front of Henry. But he needs to sit and breathe a minute.

Henry is watching his face. “Alex,” he says quietly. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

A few more seconds, and he’ll have it under control. There’s just something so tender, so trustworthy about Henry. Like he’s someone it would be okay to go there with. And Alex realizes he wants to.

“No, it’s alright,” he says on a long exhale. “So the marriage ended a year ago, but dating takes a level of time and emotional availability I just don’t have. And as far as hook-ups go —”

The silence hangs heavy while Alex fights a private inner battle.

Opening up is good. But that’s enough.

He doesn’t need to tell Henry about his problem. Just say the NDAs are a pain in the ass. That other information is on a need-to-know basis, and Henry doesn’t —

Oh fuck.

He’s going to tell him.

“Since Trenton filed for divorce I haven’t been able to. To. Perform.”

Henry looks at him uncertainly for a single second. Then his eyebrows fly up, and his mouth forms the universal “O” of astonishment and dismay.

“Bloody hell, Alex. I’m sorry. But you can still…take care of yourself, right?”

He needs to laugh. This is insanely embarrassing. So he does — loudly. “Nope. Not even that. I know I need to get on the pills. I just haven’t been able to give up hope that it’ll get better on its own, you know? But at my age, it’s probably just time to admit I need them.”

Henry frowns. “I don’t agree with you.”

“No?”

“No. I don’t see an age when I see you. So that’s hard for me to accept.”

A guffaw tumbles out of him. “You don’t see an age? What do you see, then?”

“A public servant trying to make life better for people,” Henry says tentatively after a pensive pause. Then his words gradually gain speed and conviction. “An ex-husband working through the loss of love. A brother enabling a sibling to follow her dream. A son sacrificing his own life to care for a parent.”

Alex’s cheeks are simmering with heat. The camouflage he was so sure of a few minutes ago is definitely failing. “Holy shit, Henry,” he says with a self-deprecating laugh. “You make me sound like some kind of hero!”

Henry looks out the windows again, his smile thoughtful.

“I don’t believe in Marvel heroes — Disney heroes. I think we’re all imperfect and have our struggles. But I do believe in everyday heroes. People who get up in the morning and do the right thing, just because it’s the right thing.”

His eyes meet Alex’s shyly. A fresh batch of color creeps up his throat and touches his face. “And you’re one of those, Alex. You are good. Most things are awful most of the time, but you’re good.”

Henry closes his mouth but his words remain, settling between them in the sunny silence.

The serenity shatters a few moments later when Alex’s phone screams with an incoming FaceTime call.

And then things get even louder.

June and Nora launch immediately into an spectacularly off-key rendition of Happy Birthday. Then, like Raf, they get straight to business.

“Alex, we love you,” June begins before Nora commandeers the phone, her face pushing June’s out of the screen. “Yeah, we sure do,” she interrupts, “but put Henry on. We want to meet the Wonder Boy.”

He looks over at Henry. “That’s not what I call you. Promise.”

Henry leaves his chair and comes to sit beside Alex on the couch. He accepts the phone with some trepidation, and Alex doesn’t blame him.

He leans back and watches over Henry’s shoulder as their expressions change. Both sets of brown eyes widen. Smiles grow broader. Eyebrows reach for the sky. He can’t blame them, of course, since he’s pretty sure he looked exactly the same way when he met Henry.

June’s the first to recover. “We just want to thank you, Henry. Dad can’t say enough about all you’re doing. Thank you for being there for him. And for Alex. And for us.” Tears pool in her eyes.

“Of course,” Henry says gently. “It’s an honor for me, really.”

“And just know if they get to be too much you can call and bitch to us anytime. Really.” Nora’s smile just gets bigger and bigger. “Now, can I talk to Alex for a little bit?”

Alex hears her telling June, “You can have him back in a minute,” as Henry hands the phone over. He drops a few friendly pats on Henry’s back, then heads for his office. He has a feeling he’s going to need some privacy for what’s coming next. 

“Alex.” June is no longer in the picture. It’s all Nora — dark eyes still huge and hyper-alert — and Alex clicks his office door closed. “What the fuck?”

“What?” he demands.

Nora flattens her lips into a self-possessed smile.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to give me shit about Henry. He’s smart and strong and Dad loves him. And he loves Dad. So — what?”

“Damn.”

“It’s not like we asked applicants to include a picture. I’m not sure that’s even legal. He aced the Secret Service requirements, and Dad liked his resume. My role in his hiring was minimal.”

She’s stopped cursing. Now she’s just staring.

“And we didn’t find out until the interview that he’s Arthur Fox’s son,” he volunteers.

“So he’s James Bond’s son.”

Alex nods.

“That’s all very interesting,” she resumes. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Alex laughs, thankful he had the foresight to get behind a closed door. “Not what you’re talking about? You haven’t even said anything, Nora, other than ‘what the fuck’ and ‘damn’! Just looked at me with those crazy eyebrows and that know-it-all smile.”

“I may not know it all,” she grins, “but I do know this much: You’d better watch yourself."

 “He’s 15 years younger than me. Oh, wait — 16 now. And could walk out the front door and just about have his pick of queer guys in a city full of them.”

“Oh. So he’s gorgeous and gay. You already know this for sure?”

“Everyone in the world who gives a shit knows I’m queer. What could be more natural than for him to bring up something we have in common?”

Her eyes narrow. She’s getting her cross-examination in order. 

“Okay, Alex. Since he started living with you and Oscar, how many dates has he had?”

“He told me he hasn’t dated much since he moved to the US.”

“And let me guess — not at all since he started living with you.”

“Not that I know of. But he doesn’t submit his social schedule for my approval.”

She tilts her head, silently scoffing. Enter June.

“Alex, listen. I have something to say, too.” She shoots a warning look in Nora’s direction. “Don’t you think it’s possible that, after everything you went through with Trenton, you tend to underestimate your own appeal?”

“I don’t know, June. But I can tell you for sure that none of this matters: What I think of Henry personally or what he does or doesn’t think of me. Because he loves Dad. Dad loves him. And I would never do anything to jeopardize that.”

Nora says something to June he can’t hear, and then her face fills the screen once again.

“We get it. Your dad comes first — of course. But you can be famously clueless about this kind of thing, and you may be old but you’re also hot as hell. And you have power. A lot of people get off on that, so just be careful.”

June elbows her way back in front of the camera. “Call us anytime. And happy birthday, dumb-ass.”

_____________________

He knew Henry did a lot for them.

Of course he did.

But he didn’t realize just how much until the day before he leaves for DC. When he’s sitting at the kitchen table, staring haplessly at the paper and pen in front of him. He was about to make a list of all the tasks he does that Henry will need to take care of in his absence.

It’s blank. 

Oh wait.

Laundry. Which Henry already does most of the time, anyway.

He’s smiling when Henry walks into the kitchen. “Hey! I have about an hour til my next call, so I’ve been working on a list of all the jobs you’ll be taking over for me while I’m gone.” He holds up the paper with Laundry Every Other Day written on it. “You, my friend, are the true Everyday Hero. Seriously. Thanks for everything you do around here.”

Henry smiles back, but it looks a little wobbly. 

“It’s nothing compared to what you do,” he says, stopping behind the chair next to Alex. “I hope it helps — you going there, I mean. I hope you’ll be able to get the backing you need for the bill.”

Henry’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and his fingers are ghostly white where they’re now gripping the chair.

Oh shit. Is he starting to worry about Alex leaving? It’s so much responsibility.

“Hey—”

“Alex—”

They laugh. “Please. You first,” Alex says.

A blush begins to travel over Henry’s face. Alex can see it migrating down under the sagging collar of his T-shirt. “Okay. I wanted to tell you I’ve been thinking about your…issue.”

If Alex had any doubt about what he’s referring to, Henry’s agitation and increasingly pink complexion negate it. “You have?”

“Yes. I’m sure you’ve tried porn.”

Oh fuck. They’re going to talk about porn in the kitchen. In the middle of the afternoon. On a weekday.

“Where’s my dad?”

“He’s napping.”

“Okay.” He still can’t believe he told Henry about the impotence. What a fuck-up. But he certainly never would’ve raised the subject a second time; Henry initiated this conversation. So there’s that. “Oh yes. Lots and lots and lots of porn. Of almost every variety.”

“What about massage?”

“No. I never thought about there being a connection.”

Alex watches his flushed throat bounce as he swallows. Then Henry begins talking very, very fast. “There’s so much pressure in your life, and I was thinking massage might help you relax, and that relaxing might help with the issue. Would you be interested in trying that? Fully clothed, just a back massage.”

Why is Henry so stressed about proposing this? It’s a great idea. Alex never was great about prioritizing and planning self-care. As June loves to remind him.

“That’s fucking brilliant, Henry! Do you know of a good masseur?”

Henry lets go of the chair and holds up his hands. “Oh, um, well. I don’t have any training, but I have these long fingers. And people have told me I’m pretty good at it.”

Henry wants to give him a massage. With his own hands.

Alex needs to say something. Now.

“That’s. Yes. If you’re sure you’re comfortable, I’d love to try that.”

“How about now? Since you have a break for an hour and your dad’s asleep.”

Alex tries to say “Now?” But something misfires in his larynx, and his attempt at speech degenerates into a coughing episode. 

But Henry understands. “Yes. If you want to.”

He’s not even going to try to talk again. He just stands up. 

Henry suddenly seems more at ease, smiling cheerfully at Alex and heading toward the hall that leads to their bedrooms. All Alex has to do is follow. Which is about all he feels capable of.

Henry’s bedroom looks completely different than when Alex went in to look for dirty laundry. The blinds on the two windows are open, the bed is made, and it smells like soap. All the anxiety seems to have abandoned Henry’s body and possessed Alex’s. He’s picking at his fingernails while Henry stands there and smiles.

“Don’t be nervous, Alex,” he says. “I think it’s going to be very relaxing. Go ahead and sit down.”

Henry’s right. People get massages all the time; there’s nothing particularly intimate about it. Henry is a helper, and he wants to help. People have told me I’m good at it: That’s what he said. He’d do this for anyone he cares about. He already has.

Armed with these assurances, he lowers himself to Henry’s bed, sitting sideways so one foot is curled back toward him and the other rests on the floor. “Yeah, if I’m stressed about getting a massage it defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

He hears Henry chuckle behind him. And then, suddenly, Henry’s hands are on him. “Just tell me if anything I do doesn’t feel good, okay?”

Doesn’t feel good? Nothing’s ever felt this good. 

Henry’s fingers are strong and sure, pressing into the muscles along his shoulders and then over his upper back. Alex’s head falls forward with a groan. Henry laughs again. One hand comes to the back of his neck, dealing with the tension there. Alex sucks in a breath. Because while that hand is on his neck, Henry’s other hand is wrapped around his hip. 

And it’s completely involuntary. What he sees. In his imagination, Henry’s hand slides past his hip and reaches around to the front of him.

Reaches between his legs.

Alex’s cock begins to harden.

Henry’s hand is gone from his hip now, working with the other down the muscles of his back. It's a very slow, deliberate descent. Alex has the chance to take a group of cleansing breaths, but they do exactly nothing to distract his dick. Henry's fingers go on moving lower and lower. When they reach the dense band of muscle just above his waistband, Alex’s spine stiffens, and a moan breaks free from his mouth. He has a full hard-on now.

“Henry.” His voice comes out gravelly and way too deep. Fuck. He sounds like he’s turned on. He is turned on. Fuck. But Henry knows what’s going on here; he suggested this. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.

He clears his throat and tries again. “Um. It’s working. Right now.”

“Oh.” A delicate puff of air touches the back of Alex’s neck, and he grinds his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. He had no idea Henry’s mouth was that close to him.

“So…um.” Henry stands up behind him, peering over Alex’s shoulder. “Did you want to go take care of that?” Alex glances up and sees he’s staring down at the lump in Alex’s shorts.

He thought he was already as hard as he could get, but he was wrong.

“Uh, yeah,” he manages. “Probably. Thanks, Henry.”

He heads for his bedroom without looking back. 

Locking the door behind him, he works his shorts down and falls backward onto the bed. But it’s weird. Henry is right out there. He knows what Alex is doing, and he’s going to ask if it worked out. What if it doesn’t? It’s already not working out.

The erection slowly, steadily retreats until it’s gone. He closes his eyes and lets his hand fall to the bed beside him.

And he makes a choice.

He’s not going to let it discourage him; this was farther than he’s gotten in such a long time. Sure, it’ll suck to have to tell Henry he wasn’t able to finish. 

But he started. And that feels like victory.

_______________________

Day Two. Done.

He throws his jacket on the hotel room chair and swipes off his tie. Face-plants onto the bed. 

Raf was so right. He needed to be here. And it’s draining, spending all day trying to convince people to do what they know is right but might end up costing them their job. If not this voting cycle, then next.

Because this is that kind of bill.

All he can do is try. 

He raises up on his elbows and opens his phone. Fucking Trenton — again. Now he’s texting.

We need to talk, Alex. Please respond.

There was a time when they definitely did need to talk. But they didn’t, and now it’s history. He doesn’t need Trenton’s shit after the day he’s had. He needs to hear from home. In case Dad’s asleep, he decides it’s best to text Henry.

A: How are you? How’s Dad?

H: We’re both doing well. How are you, Alex?

A: Tired as fuck. But good. I think we’re making progress. I’ll prob get an early flight out of here Sat

H: That’s wonderful. But please don’t feel you need to rush back. We’re doing fine.

A: Nobody misses me, huh?

H: We both do.

A: You both do?

H: Yes. For example, last night I forgot and made your coffee. I used one of your favourite words when I realized my mistake.

A: Which one?

H: Fuck

Fuck is right. Alex’s cock just jerked alive inside his briefs. Because Henry texted the word fuck. His hand strays down his stomach automatically, but — no. He wants to text with Henry. And he knows how the other would end, anyway.

A: One of Dad’s favorites, too. I don’t think we’re very good influences.

H: Maybe not on my vocabulary. 

A: Is fuck starting to turn up in your poems?

H: What makes you think it wasn’t already there? It’s true poetry can be lilting and lovely. Other times its uncensored boldness is considered obscene.

Alex looks away from his phone for a few moments to picture Henry sitting by Dad’s pool, writing obscene poetry.

A: How would I know what’s already there? You’ve never shown me any.

H: Is that something you’d be interested in?

A: Fuck yeah.

Alex’s dick is getting harder. Texting with Henry about poetry. Holy fucking shit.

H: Noted. And are you getting a chance to exercise? Is there a pool?

A: Yes. Haven’t used it yet, though. Where do I sign up for another one of those massages?

Is he going to regret that? Will Henry think that’s now one of his employment expectations? Fuck. He gets a little hard and suddenly loses his mind.

“Alex?” Henry picks up right away.

“Hey. I, um. I need you to know that massage thing — I was just joking.”

“I don’t think you were, Alex. I think I know what’s concerning you, and you don’t need to worry. There’s no chance of me confusing what your dad pays me to do for him with what I choose to do for you. As a friend.”

As a friend. Okay.

Henry sees him as a friend in need, and he wants to help — just like Alex thought. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Oh. Okay. Good. I just wanted to make sure. Because you, me and Dad are a winning team. I don’t want to fuck that up.”

“You won’t, Alex. You can’t. Oh, and speaking of massages…”

Here it fucking comes.

He doesn’t have to hide anything from Henry; he can be honest.

“…how did things go that night? After your massage?”

“Not great, actually. But you have to start somewhere right? That was a helluva start for me.”

“Right. I’m so glad you see it that way, Alex. Okay, well. Get some rest, and send us your itinerary when you have one.”

“Okay. And Henry. Thanks. Just thanks.”

The line is silent for so long that he looks at the phone to see if Henry’s hung up. Nope. He’s still there. Alex opens his mouth to speak when Henry’s quiet voice says, “Good night.” And then he disconnects.

Alex stares at the phone for a few more seconds, just to be sure. Then he lays it down and looks at himself. 

It’s a modest bulge.

But it’s a bulge.

And it hasn’t receded yet, even after he and Henry’s conversation.

He runs his hand over it, through the briefs. The ripple of pleasure flows out from there and through his entire body. He pushes the underwear down and reaches for the lube he stashed in the bedside table — just in case.

If there’s even a chance this is going to happen, he has no illusions anymore about what’s going to get him there.

Henry’s fingers: Long and strong, pressing into his back, his shoulders. And it’s his fantasy, so of course there aren’t any clothes. Henry’s hands find their way around to Alex’s front. His bare body presses against Alex’s back as one of his hands runs over his chest, squeezing at the nipple. Henry’s other hand skims over his stomach and slides down his rigid cock.

Alex pushes his hips up. His dick is filling under his own hand, and when he strokes up and down the slippery shaft, the sensation is so powerful it drags a loud groan from his lips.

“Oh fuck,” he moans into the darkness.

Henry’s lips are on his neck and he’s straddling Alex from behind now, his erection pressing against Alex’s lower back. He runs his thumb over the head of his own cock. His body shudders under the now-unfamiliar intensity of the stimulation.

Nothing’s ever felt as good — not even the massage — as Henry’s hand on his dick, jerking him off with slow, methodical precision. His lips and tongue are warm and wet on the back of Alex’s neck. The palm of his other hand rubs circles over Alex’s nipple.

“God, Henry, oh shit,” he hisses as his hand increases its speed. His dick is throbbing, and he grabs roughly at the sheets with his other hand.

He comes in long, slow, glorious pulsations. And in the stillness that follows…a tear, slipping from the corner of his eye and running down his temple. Thank God he’s alone. He wasn’t expecting that. But as he lies there, his breathing returning to normal, it begins to make sense. He hasn’t come since before he found out about Trenton’s affairs. 

Nearly a year and a half.

And he’d always thought there might be a link between his impotence and the emotional impact of his divorce. The failure of his marriage broke him, in a way. Because he’d been promising himself since middle school that he’d never end up where his parents did.

But divorce wasn’t the end for his mom and dad. And it’s not the end for him. Getting to orgasm after this long may be a relatively minor thing, but it’s still an indicator of new life. 

A spark of hope and a sign of healing.

He closes his eyes and smiles. No one ever needs to know it was Henry’s kind selflessness that made it possible.

That’s Alex’s secret.

________________________

Alex flips onto his back and lets the water support him. A few stars flicker in the murky night sky, refusing to be outshone by the overwhelming lights of LA. 

He didn’t get out of DC as soon as he’d hoped. But it’s Sunday night, and now he’s home. 

And they were waiting for him at the door: Dad leaning on his walker and beaming and Henry, taller and more beautiful than Alex remembered after a four-day separation.

He hears the patio door slide closed and stands up in the water.

“Your dad decided to go on to bed,” Henry says as he walks over and sits on the side of the pool. The calves of his long legs disappear under the surface, miniature waves licking at the skin when Alex begins wading toward him.

“I was wondering, if it’s not too personal…” Henry pauses, and Alex stands still and waits, his eyes on Henry in the muted pool lights. “…did you have any opportunities to — try again? Like you tried after the massage but it didn’t work out?”

“Actually, I did get an opportunity. And this time it did work out.”

Henry blinks slowly several times, and Alex can see he’s debating. “Oh. You don’t have to — but. Was it just you? Or did someone else help?”

Now that’s a complicated question. Henry has no idea how complicated. Alex grins. “Yes. And no.”

“Yes and no? Oh so — porn? It finally worked?”

“No, not porn.”

Henry’s face is pinched in concentration like he’s trying to solve a riddle. No way. This is Alex’s secret.

“Let’s just say I finally found the inspiration I needed. After about 15 months.”

“That’s…that’s wonderful.”

“I agree. It really fucking is.” 

Henry’s eyes linger on his face for a few more seconds, and then he slowly stands. Alex watches the water run down his pale legs. “You mentioned you’d like another massage,” he finally says. “It’s a good evening for me if it’s good for you.”

Hopefully the generic, politician’s smile he puts on is masking his relief. Because texting is one thing, but he really wasn’t sure he’d be able to find the courage to ask Henry in person.

“I would love that. Let me grab a shower. Then your room?”

“Yes. And if you’re comfortable, I could do a better job if you left your shirt off. But that’s completely up to you.”

Oh fuck. He’s going to need to stay in the water a bit longer. Just the thought of Henry’s hands on his skin is making him horny. He nods quickly. “That sounds great. Yes. So I’ll…get cleaned up and head your way. You’ll check in on Dad?”

Henry’s fond smile glimmers in the night lights. “Of course.”

______________________

It’s a massage.

Just a massage.

He stands in his own doorway: Taking tremulous breaths, blowing them out.

The only difference between this time and last is he’s not wearing a shirt. No reason to worry or over-think. Henry’s doing something good for him, like Henry does for people.

He walks down the hall.

“Hey.”

Henry’s propped up on his bed reading, bare legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. “Hi, Alex. Come on in.”

“So, just sit in the same place as before?” he asks as Henry stands.

“Yes. And are you okay with oil? It’ll help my hands slide better.”

Oh God.

Just a massage.

“Sure.”

He sits down so fast he bounces a little, then jumps at the first contact of Henry’s fingers. “Is my hand cold?” Henry’s concerned voice asks. “Or the oil?”

“No, no,” Alex chuckles. Jesus. “I’m just a little nervous. Again. It’ll pass.”

Henry begins sliding the palms of both hands in slow, firm circles through the oil on Alex’s back. Alex closes his eyes. “Hmm,” he hums. “Feeling better already.”

Henry’s gentle laugh puts him even more at ease. “Good. Maybe we’ll just start there, then.”

His hands travel in widening patterns, until they’re skimming over Alex’s shoulders and the length of his arms, then down his sides all the way to his waistband. 

Oh no. 

His dick is waking up. And the fucking massage hasn’t even started yet. This is just the pre-massage.

But his dick reacted last time, too. Henry knows this, and he still answered enthusiastically when Alex asked if they could do it again.

It’s okay. He’s okay.  

“Thanks for being patient with me. I think I’m finally ready for the main event.”

“Okay, Alex. But I’m not in a hurry.”

Henry’s fingers begin to press against his flesh, probing expertly into the tight muscle. It’s so much more intense without a shirt. And Henry’s hands are ranging farther this time, running down his sides again and, just for a moment, reaching around him and slipping over his chest.

Alex’s erection is growing. He’s trying to ignore it.

Then Henry runs his hands down Alex’s lower back, so far that his fingers slip under the elastic of his shorts. He kneads into the muscle at the top of Alex’s ass. The motion pulls Henry forward, and his face makes glancing contact with the back of Alex’s neck.

“Oh my God,” Alex groans. “Henry.”

Holy fuck. That was out loud.

He doesn’t know what touched him — whether it was Henry’s mouth or his nose or his forehead. All he knows is Henry’s face is that close. And those words popped out because of it.  

“Alex.”

His spine tenses, because he knows what that was for sure: Henry’s lips just brushed the back of his ear. He felt the warm breath.

“I promise I won’t take it personally if you don’t want to do this. And if you don’t, I’ll never mention it again.” His mouth trails down the side of Alex’s neck. “But could I suck you off?”

Alex nods slowly, his thoughts sluggish under the influence of Henry’s strong hands, his soft lips. Henry wants to suck him off. And all he can think is yes.

Yes.

“Yes.”

Henry moves swiftly off the bed and onto his knees, grasping Alex’s hips and rotating them so his feet rest on the floor. Then he pulls off all that remains of Alex’s clothes.

After that, they both go still — one of Henry’s hands on each of Alex’s naked thighs, Alex’s erect dick straining toward Henry’s mouth, just inches away. The noise of his own uneven breathing seems deafening in the otherwise silent room. “Please say yes again.” Henry looks up at him, desire glinting in his eyes.

Henry’s face is eager in the half-light, his shining lips parted and ready. Alex wants to reach out and let his fingers trace the slope of his cheek.

But even in his hungry haze, he knows his yes has to have limits.

Henry isn’t in love with him. He just wants to suck Alex’s dick.

And Alex wants that, too. 

“Yes,” he says, as calmly and clearly as he can, and crams a hand under each side of his ass.

But Henry doesn’t take him into his mouth right away. Instead he reaches up, laying a hand at the top of Alex’s chest and letting it run down: Over his pec and stomach, past his hip and down his thigh. Then he slides it along Alex’s cock.

Alex bites his lower lip to keep from yelping.

“You’re — amazing,” Henry says, his voice low. “You look amazing.”

He gulps. What a fucking rush. To hear that from Henry. 

But the instant Henry’s lips touch the head of his dick, Alex realizes the problem. The damn door is closed. “Henry,” he gasps. “Do you think Dad is okay?”

He looks up at Alex through his eyelashes. The wet lips curl into a smile. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

And Alex doesn’t move. He’s actually not sure he could if he wanted to. He feels suspended in mid-air, weightless, hands still corralled under his own ass, watching the door for Henry.

He’s back within minutes. He closes the door behind him, then crashes back to the floor between Alex’s legs. Alex winces. 

Oh yeah. Twenty-six-year-old knees can handle that.

Henry sinks down, sending his tongue gliding over and between Alex’s balls before running it up the shaft. Then he meets Alex’s glazed-over eyes.

“He’s fine,” he says, dropping kisses around Alex’s damp tip.

“Who’s fine?” he mutters.

Henry sits back on his heels and laughs. “Your dad.”

“Oh. Right. Good.” He might be aghast if he weren’t so utterly fixated on Henry’s moist mouth. It comes forward again, opening wide, making room for all of him. Henry’s lips slide and keep sliding until they reach the base.

Alex’s hands elude their bondage and rush right into Henry’s thick hair. “Fuck, Henry. Oh. Oh fuck, ” he moans, throwing his head back.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but he must have willfully forgotten how good this feels as an act of self-protection. Or it’s never felt like this. Because…

… “Henry,” he gasps as those unbelievable lips move up and down his length, “Henry, I’m gonna die. Fuck me.” 

The blue eyes turn up toward him, cloudy with heat. Henry pulls his mouth away and replaces it with his hand. He shivers as Henry’s breath brushes the inside of his thigh.

He comes up looking for Alex’s eyes. But when he finds them he doesn’t speak, only smiles enticingly. He bends Alex’s knee gently so his foot rests on the mattress, then gives the same leg an authoritative push. Alex grunts when his back hits the mattress.

All he can see is ceiling. 

Henry’s hand goes on stroking his dick, which is beyond wonderful. But…Henry’s mouth. Where is it?

He finds out when the moan he hears vibrates against his hole. And suddenly Henry’s tongue is there, seeking entrance.

“Yes, Henry! Oh yes – motherfucker!” Alex bursts out. Henry’s hand never slows as his tongue slips inside, and Alex wants so, so much more of all of it. But there’s no delaying the orgasm that hits him with a series of what feels like seismic jolts.   

He only thought he was immobilized before.

Now nothing is working but his lungs. They’re pushing air diligently in and out of him, fast and hard, but other than that his body is non-functional. He can’t even open his eyes.  

But he can still feel things. 

He feels Henry rise to the bed beside him. He feels it when his mouth begins moving over Alex’s body, licking cum off his stomach, his chest, his hips. 

“Fuck, Henry,” he whispers, his flailing hand finding the soft hair.

Eventually, he realizes the pressure of Henry’s lips is gone. Did he fall asleep for a few minutes? He looks over and finds Henry sitting next to him, his hair completely fucked from Alex’s groping fingers. He sits up.

“I guess it’s okay to tell you now. That it was you before, too.”

“What do you mean?” Henry asks, his eyes examining Alex’s face.

“When you asked if somebody helped me get off in DC, and I told you yes and no. It was you. I pictured you touching me. And that’s what finally worked.”

Henry’s swollen lips slip into a smile. Alex wants so badly to put his mouth on them, to run his tongue over them and taste himself there, but he knows he can’t. Henry said he was doing this as a friend. Kissing can be even more intimate than what they just did.

“I’m so glad,” Henry says softly.

He looks down at the large bump in Henry’s shorts. God, he wants that. His mouth fills with saliva and he swallows hard. But he has to be careful. There’s a lot at stake here.

“What about you, Henry?”

“What about me?”

“Will you let me return the favor?”

Henry shakes his head before he speaks, and Alex’s stomach plummets in disappointment. But it’s better this way. Of course it is.

“I don’t want to take advantage of…this situation,” Henry says. He’s still smiling, but the easy, satisfied set of his lips is missing. This smile seems more forced. He stands, straightening his shorts and walking toward the door, and Alex reminds himself not to stare at his crotch.

“Sure. I understand. But if you ever change your mind, just know I’d love to. So. You know where to find me.”

Light returns to Henry’s eyes for a moment, but his face quickly sobers again. “Okay. Thanks,” he says, opening the door.

Oh. That looks a lot like Alex’s cue to leave. He stands a little unsteadily. 

And he was on his way out. He really was. But when he pauses in the doorway to smile and say something apropos, surprise interrupts his exit. Because Henry is looking at him with undisguised longing. And Alex’s excellent resolutions can’t prevent him from saying, “For fuck’s sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me good night.”

Henry laughs. Then he reaches down and deposits a quick, fraternal kiss on Alex’s cheek.

Not exactly what he had in mind. But it’s fine.

“Good night, Alex,” Henry says, looking down at their feet.

“Good night,” he echoes.

Better this way.

Definitely.

______________________

Alex hasn’t been in the vicinity of a tornado since he left Austin. Until today. Monday is always a shit storm, but today was another level.

He shouldn’t complain. The non-stop meetings were actually extremely productive, and he can’t always say that. Things are looking better and better for the bill. A few of the “fence-sitters” have promised their support. But every time he got ready to bask in that a little, he forgot and picked up his phone. And there sat the latest unopened text from Trenton, staring accusingly at him.

Are you just going to ignore me?

The bastard doesn’t miss much. That’s Alex’s whole plan.

He’s looking at his home screen again, thinking he should probably get out of the office for the day, when the first evocative notes come dancing down the hallway and waft under his door. Henry’s playing the piano.

Alex hasn’t seen him at all today, since he only left his desk for bathroom breaks and to dash to the kitchen for coffee and protein bars between calls.

But he’s been thinking about him. A lot.

It didn’t help that, nearly every time he changed position in his chair, he detected the cinnamon undertone of Henry’s massage oil. Clinging to him like a memory.

Standing, he stretches his arms toward the ceiling. He hasn’t even seen Dad today.

Fuck that.

The tomato-y, herb-y smell hits him as soon as he opens the door: Pizza.

He’s not sure how many of those bars he’s eaten today, but his stomach is instantly excited about the prospect of something different. Something warm.

“Hey kid,” Dad says, and Henry stops playing. He looks over at Alex from the piano bench, his smile so sweet and confiding Alex feels his face heat up. Fortunately, Dad’s mind is elsewhere. “Henry made pizza. Did you get some?”

“Oh,” Henry says, his cheeks as pink as Alex’s feel, “it’s not actually homemade. I didn’t make the crust, I bought it.”

There’s no reason for anyone to be blushing that hard about not making pizza dough from scratch. Is Henry remembering, too?

Because Alex is remembering.

But it’s clearly his turn to say something pizza-related. Dad and Henry are both looking at him expectantly. “I’m hungry as fuck,” he finally says.

Alex watches as Henry’s lips part and his gaze travels the length of Alex’s body. Fuck. So he’s not the only one.

“There’s also salad,” Henry says bashfully, eyes now tethered to the floor.

He wants Henry in his mouth so damn bad it’s distracting. But he already offered. And the way they’re situated, that’s all he can do. So he eats pizza and salad and listens to Henry’s talented fingers coax beauty from the keys.

Then just a couple more hours in the office, and he’ll really be done for the day.

_________________

“Alex?”

He goes from lying on his back — and probably snoring — to sitting upright in bed. Henry’s white face detaches itself from the midnight darkness of Alex’s bedroom. “Is it Dad?” he croaks.

“No, love. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Holy fucking shit.

Love? Is he awake?

“I was wondering. Wondering if your offer still stands?” Henry lowers himself to the side of the bed.

“Oh, you mean…?” He’s so fucking groggy. Is this happening?

Henry starts to stand again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

That brings Alex to full consciousness. He grasps Henry’s arm gently and lowers him back to the bed. “Yes, you should have. Yes, I want to. God, yes. In fact, I want to so much I had a hard time concentrating on work today. Just imagining you might decide to come see me.”

Henry’s eyes, huge in the dark, slip away from Alex’s face and down to his own hands where they rest in his lap. His lips twitch like he’s trying to suppress a smile.

He’s failing.

And that empowers Alex to reach over and stroke a few of Henry’s fingers with his own.

“I do have one — I can’t call it a condition. Because I want to give you head so bad I don’t have the strength to stipulate conditions. Let’s call it…a request.”

Henry looks up from watching Alex’s fingers move over his own. “Okay. What is it?”

Alex turns on the lamp next to his bed. He really needs to see Henry’s face when he says what he’s about to say.

“You said you gave me the massage as a friend. And after last night…and now you’re here…so I’m assuming I’m a friend you’re attracted to. And plenty of people have arrangements like that. It doesn’t have to be personal.”

Not the most cohesive point he’s ever made, but Henry’s blue eyes are lucid and steady. Now for the hard part. The risky part.

“Here’s my request: Henry, I really, really want to kiss you. But that doesn’t mean I expect anything from you, whether you want to do that with me or not. This is your home. No one should ever feel —”

And that’s the end of his heartfelt though not very cogent speech. Because Henry leans forward suddenly and presses his lips to Alex’s.

They're so much softer than he expected. And so warm. Alex just sits there helplessly while they move over his mouth. They travel from the top lip to the bottom and back again. And Alex is mesmerized.

Maybe he doesn’t remember how to kiss. 

No. That’s not it. It’s just that Henry’s mouth feels so good against his. And he smells so good when he’s this close, like soap and fresh laundry. And now one of his hands is on Alex’s face.

Holy. 

Shit.

Henry’s tongue is gliding along Alex’s top lip. And the bottom now.

Alex’s lips part, and a sighing moan escapes. Henry’s other hand comes up to his face.

“Alex,” he whispers, “you can kiss me back. Do you still want to?”

Does he —?

How can he explain to Henry how terrifying it suddenly is to want to? Because if he kisses that enchanting mouth, he may never come back from it. He may never recover.

And then Alex remembers a different version of himself. A younger version, less knocked around by life. That Alex would jump and just hope it wasn’t a cliff.

That Alex has had to pick himself up off the rocks too many times.

But the alternative is to miss this. 

What will it mean for Dad, for Henry, for himself? There will definitely be consequences. But he can’t miss this. There’s only one Henry in the world: A piano-playing poet who dropped into his and Dad’s lives and made them immeasurably better. And he’s waiting, both hands on Alex’s face, to find out if Alex still wants to kiss him.

So he jumps. Again. And if it’s a cliff, he’ll pick himself up off the rocks.

Again.

“Yes,” he says, threading his fingers into Henry’s hair, “I still do.”

Henry’s soft mouth draws him in immediately. It draws him in, deeper and deeper, until all Alex can think about is Henry’s tongue and Henry’s breath and Henry’s hands that are pulling his hair a little. 

Then Henry moves away, jerking his T-shirt off over his head. And Alex freezes.

His muscular chest seems to glow in the dim room. Alex’s fingers itch to touch it. But can he? He doesn’t know. He told Henry he wanted to kiss him, but can he do other things, too? What are the terms?

He was married; then he wasn’t. And he hasn’t been with anybody since. What the fuck is he doing here? He doesn’t know how to do this anymore.

Panic looms like an intensifying storm. His eyes reach desperately for Henry’s. “Alex,” he says quietly, slowly. “Please put your mouth on me. Anywhere you want. Please.”

He nods reflexively. 

Okay. Anywhere he wants. Henry doesn’t look frightened or frustrated. His lips are open, and the quick breaths passing them are causing that smooth chest to rise and fall. He’s staring at Alex’s mouth.

“I — I can?”

But Henry doesn’t answer.

Instead, he leans forward and lowers his mouth to Alex’s neck. His lips and tongue move along the skin there, then glide over his throat. A hand comes up and rests on either side of Alex’s chest. His palms rub roughly over the nipples.

“Ohhhh fuck,” Alex breathes.

“Please,” Henry sighs into his ear. “Please put your mouth on me.” Then he turns and climbs farther onto the bed, lying down on his back. Alex’s gaze takes in all of that long, sublime body — on display for him — waiting for him. Henry’s wearing nothing but shorts. His erection pushes urgently against them.

And Alex suddenly remembers.

How he longed to taste Henry, to hear him moan and curse until he comes. How he wanted to make him feel the same way he made Alex feel.

Desirable.

Satiated.

Accepted.

He lays a hand on one of Henry’s shins, sliding it up and over his knee and onto his thigh. Henry’s hips shift beneath his touch. “Alex,” he groans, “please.”

His fingers move on, climbing Henry’s covered cock. Alex’s own erection aches. He pushes the heel of his other hand against it. “Henry,” he murmurs, “I want you so fucking bad.”

Henry’s head bobs frantically on the pillow. “Yes. Yes. Have me. Now.”

Alex takes hold of Henry’s shorts and works them off. 

Henry's pink-tipped cock arcs up toward his stomach. And Alex is suddenly, emphatically done being afraid.

He leans over Henry and, without using a hand, takes it halfway into his mouth. Henry’s fingers close around a handful of curls. “Alex, good God. Shit.” Alex smiles around Henry’s dick.

Fear never stood a chance, because giving Henry head is the most fun he’s had in a long time.

A long fucking time.

Henry goes on pulling recklessly at Alex’s hair, dragging up yearning moans from the depths of that capacious chest. And Alex watches and listens and learns. He takes him farther, licks him harder, until Henry’s sweating and panting.

“Alex, Alex,” he cries, “you’re so fucking good! I’m—”

But Alex already knows.

He can feel Henry’s dick beginning to quiver against his lips in a new way. And he’s ready. He hasn’t swallowed cum in a long time. But he’s so fucking ready.

And it’s a good thing he is. Because Henry comes and comes…and then he comes some more.

Alex is laughing and choking, and some of it is dribbling out the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t care. Henry is wrecked — chest heaving, limp fingers now tangled uselessly in Alex’s curls — and Alex is so fucking happy he could cry.

Instead, he wipes his mouth and goes up to check on Henry.

“Hi,” he whispers, kissing lightly along Henry’s chest.

Henry opens one eye and aims it in Alex’s general direction. He looks a little drunk.

“Alex.” It’s a sigh that sounds like a confession. Alex is just beginning to wonder if it’s ethical to question someone in Henry’s state about the nature of their post-orgasmic sighs…when he hears it.

Dad is calling.

Henry’s entire body jerks. He opens his eyes wide in a valiant imitation of awareness. Alex smiles and places his hand, fingers splayed, in the center of Henry’s chest. “No way. I’ve got it this time. Just rest.”

Henry’s body relaxes, and his eyes droop closed again. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

Alex helps Dad to the bathroom and back to bed. He’s glad he didn’t expect Henry to be waiting for him when he got back to his room.

He isn’t.

Alex sits down on the bed, smoothing the crumpled sheets where Henry was lying. Of course he wasn’t going to be waiting. Alex promised him there were no expectations. They’re not in a relationship.

He leans down and presses his nose into the pillow. Yep: That soapy-clean Henry smell.

Not only are they not in a relationship, there’s also no guarantee anything that happened the last two nights will be repeated. 

He turns off the lamp and lies down on his back, smiling into the darkness. Because even if he never gets to be with Henry that way again, the memories — how he sounded, how he felt, how he moved and breathed — will be enough to sustain Alex for a long-ass time.

And yeah, it may be a lie he’s telling himself, but it’s affecting him like a lullaby. He lets its comforting sound soothe him to sleep.

_____________________

“So are you seeing any chance at all that you’ll have the votes you need?”

“There’s a small chance,” Kate laughs wearily, “and you and I both know that’s not the same as no chance. So what we’re hoping is that…”

She’s still talking, but Alex’s phone has slipped away from his ear.

Henry just opened the door to his office. If he knocked, Alex didn’t hear it. That’s uncharacteristic by itself; Henry never interrupts him while he’s working. But on top of that, Henry is white. He’s always white, but this is sickly white. 

Alex is used to seeing the full spectrum of red on that face. He’s never seen alabaster.

“Hey, Kate,” he says, eyes on Henry. “Can I get back with you? Thanks.”

“I’m really sorry,” Henry says the moment he hangs up, “but you have a visitor.”

He’s never seen Henry’s mouth look like that before, either: Like he just tasted something atrociously sour.

“Who?”

“It’s Trenton.”

“Oh fuck.”

“Right,” Henry agrees.

“Why do you look like that? Did that fucker say something to you?”

“Don’t worry about it, Alex. But he’s in the living room talking to your dad right now.”

He stands and walks over to stand close to Henry. “Did Dad hit him over the head with his walker yet?”

“Not yet.” There’s a smile. It’s pretty lame. But Alex feels more optimistic just seeing him make the effort.

He reaches up and grips Henry’s arm for a moment. “I’m going to go get Dad and send him your way. Is that okay?”

“Of course. Yes.” Henry opens his mouth as if to say more, then closes it again.

“…so I really didn’t have any choice but to come here.”

Judging by Dad’s face, he’s not finding Trenton’s defense of his unannounced pop-in very compelling. 

“Dad,” Alex says, positioning himself between the walker and Trenton. He was only partially joking about the possibility of Dad using it as a weapon. “Henry wants to see you. He’s in the back.”

“My ass,” Dad grumbles, but he still shuffles accommodatingly out of the room.

Alex faces his ex-husband. As he probably should’ve done before now. It would’ve saved the three of them some discomfort.

Trenton’s gone a shade lighter with the dye this time, so now he’s almost as blond as Henry. He looks incredible. He always did.

“Sorry about intruding —”

“Then why are you here?”

“Why didn’t you just call or at least text me back? I’ve been trying for weeks.”

Alex wanders over to the windows, just to prompt himself to breathe. His blood pressure is not good. “I’m not obligated to do that, and you know it. What’s so important that you’re showing up here and upsetting everybody in the middle of a work day?”

“Upsetting everybody, huh?” Trenton’s hazel eyes kindle suspiciously. “Are you really that concerned about your dad’s caregiver? Or is he more to you? Based on the way he acted toward me, I’m assuming he is.”

Alex inhales slowly. He has about five seconds to get himself under control before this goes off the rails. “That is absolutely none of your business. You said in your voicemail you wanted to apologize. Is that what you’re here to do? Because if so, it’s time for you to do it and leave.”

Trenton takes a step toward him, his face softening. “Well, I’d hoped to do more than that. I’d hoped to ask — to beg, if necessary — for another chance. But if my competition is some British Adonis half our ages…” 

And then he stops. As if waiting for Alex’s reassurance. 

Alex considers addressing the erroneous half our ages comment, but it’s pretty far off-topic. He has to stay focused. “There’s no going back for me,” he answers firmly, “and that has nothing to do with him. I’ll always wish you well, but…” he walks to the door and opens it, “…it’s really over. It took me a while to be glad about that. But I finally am.”

Trenton nods grimly. His features may be as handsome as ever, but there’s something else there, too: Fatigue haunts his face and seems to compress his shoulders. Compassion for him stirs in Alex’s heart for the first time since he discovered the infidelity. 

“Then goodbye, Alex,” he says, then walks out the door.

Alex doesn’t respond. He closes the door and leans back against it, closing his eyes. “Goodbye,” he whispers.

When he opens them a minute later, Henry and Dad are standing there.

“You okay, son?” Dad asks.

“I am. But I think I need to get out of here for a while. Will y’all be alright?” 

The empathy in Henry’s eyes holds him like a hug. “Take as long as you need, Alex. And we look forward to seeing you when you get back.”

____________________

It’ll probably just go to voicemail. But like Kate was saying about her environmental bill before Henry came into his office: A small chance isn’t the same as no chance.

“Alex!”

June’s voice is so laden with delight Alex chokes up a little. He clears his throat aggressively. “I didn’t expect to get a hold of you since it’s evening over there. Figured y’all would be drinking wine and eating cheese in the Eiffel Tower or something Parisian like that.”

Her laugh goads his mouth into a smile. That’s one of the reasons he called. Because she does that for him.

“I can assure you we don’t spend our evenings that way. I was actually just about to bathe the dog. So I’m really, really glad you called.”

Alex glances around him. The lunch crowd has thinned at the outdoor cafe; it’s only him and a couple of elderly ladies catching up over BLTs. “So you’ll never guess who just came by the house.”

“Trenton.”

“That’s fucking creepy, June. How the hell did you know that?”

“Big-sister intuition. What did he want?”

“Hard to say,” he fibs. “Dad took it in stride, of course, but it messed Henry up a little. I think Trenton may have said something to him. Maybe accused him of something. It sucked.”

“Accused him of something? Like what?”

Alex’s cheeks are burning. He looks around him again, as if Trenton or maybe Henry is lurking behind that big-ass potted plant. “Possibly being involved with me? I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet.”

“Is he involved with you?” 

Talking to June makes him feel good — it’s true. But she also asks the hard questions that hold him accountable. And that more than the other is probably why he decided to call today.

“A little bit,” he says meekly.

June laughs, and he instantly sees her flicking that long hair over her shoulder and rolling her eyes. “He’s involved with you a little bit? What does that even mean?”

“Well, we…um…”

“Alex, are you sleeping with him?” Her tone isn’t harsh. But it is uncompromising.

“You could say that. But it’s only been a couple times, and it’s just physical—” He rests his elbow on the table and lets his forehead fall into the palm of his hand. Fuck. “—I think.”

“You think?”

He can do one of two things: Obfuscate so he doesn’t have to handle the aftermath. Or deal with this now. He didn’t deal with Trenton; he avoided him. And that didn’t end well.

“I’m fucking crazy about him, June!” he blurts in a noisy frenzy. “What should I do?”

She’s silent for a few moments. He waits, pulling anxiously on his curls.

“I think you should talk to Dad.”

“To Dad? Why?”

“Because you told us on your birthday you’d never do anything to jeopardize Henry’s care for him. And I don’t think you’ll be able to live with yourself if you go about this another way and their relationship gets damaged.”

How does she do it? Only a few years older. But so much fucking wiser. 

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “Thanks. Can I hear about you now? Tell me everything.”

“I will, baby bro, but not tonight. I really do need to wash this dog. Nora says he stinks, and you know Nora’s always right.”

He laughs. “She certainly was right about me and Henry. She totally called this when we talked on my birthday.”

“She did. And I’ll be hearing about it for the next year. So thanks for that, Alex.”

___________________

The backroads connecting the cafe with home are so familiar he barely has to concentrate. He hums a little to the bizarre (but catchy) song Spotify picked.

He promised himself a lighter load today after yesterday’s 12-hour work extravaganza, so he only has one meeting scheduled for the afternoon. And it’s perfect timing. Because what a fucker of a day it’s turning out to be. Not all unpleasant. Just…surprising.

And it’s a little surprising, too, that nothing but vacuous silence welcomes him when he opens the front door. He expected them to be watching out the windows for his car.

What an egotist.

But seriously. Where are they?

He continues toward the kitchen. It smells like they had a meaty lunch — Dad’s favorite kind. But all remnants of it are put away, the dishes are drying in the drainer, and the towel hangs straight and unwrinkled on the oven handle.

Alex smiles. It’s all so Henry.

And he’s not worried. Henry’s car is in the driveway. If there’d been an emergency, Henry would’ve called or texted.

So he keeps going. Through the kitchen and all the way to the patio door.

Dad and Henry are lying on their backs, side-by-side in loungers – shirts off, sunglasses on. Nobody reacts when Alex opens the door and slips through.

They’re asleep.

The peace is so tangible it seems like he might be able to feel it on his fingers, if he were to reach out. He creeps hopefully closer.

And that's when his phone screams its news: Dad’s prescriptions are ready. They both sit up gasping. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Alex groans. “I’m going to the pharmacy to get your refills, Dad.”

Henry leaps off the chair, sunglasses clattering to the concrete. “No, Alex, let me go. You stay.”

A strong hand on Alex’s shoulder, a touch of blue warmth on his face, and Henry’s gone. Alex watches the door slide closed behind him. Then he stretches out over the indentation he left in the patio chair.

“What did Trenton want?” Dad’s looking at him over his sunglasses.

“I think he wanted to go back in time. And you know how well that usually works.”

Dad snorts. “Do I ever.”

Alex squints up at a pair of seagulls, spiraling across the seamless blue sky. Is he ready for this? Probably not, but he has to say it anyway – June was right. He owes it to Dad. And Henry. And himself.

He sits up and puts both feet on the ground so he can see Dad better. “I want to talk about Henry for a minute.”

“Everything all right?”

“I don’t know. I. Um. I think I may be falling in love with him.”

“Of course you are.”

Alex gives his head an incredulous shake. “What the fuck, Dad?”

“I can see how it would be easy for someone who’s inclined the way you are to fall for him,” Dad answers with an unconcerned shrug. “He’s a great guy. And very pretty for a man. Especially one that big.”

“Holy shit!”

“I’m just being honest.”

“Yeah — that’s…good. But don’t you see why this is an issue? He’s your caregiver. Your employee.”

“Yeah. Mine. Not yours.”

“But he lives with us!”

“So?”

“You don’t see that as a conflict of interest?”

“Alex — son.” Dad isn’t ready to give up his recumbent position just yet. But he does sit up straighter, and he even takes his sunglasses all the way off. Alex knows the signs: A major point is coming. “Take it from someone who’s learned a lot in a very short time about what does and doesn’t matter in these brief lives of ours. There’s only one relevant potential issue here, and you haven’t mentioned it yet.”

“The age difference,” Alex supplies quickly. It’s always on his mind.

“No, dumb-ass. Love has nothing to do with age. Come on. You’re old enough to know that.”

Alex blinks. This conversation is not going the way he anticipated. “So what’s the issue I’m missing, then?”

“Does he or does he not feel the same way about you?”

Alex sits silently, elbows on his knees, drumming his fingers together. Watching Dad watch him.

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question.”

“I don’t know, Dad.”

“You haven’t talked about it?”

“Well, no. We’ve…done things. But that could be nothing more than physical. Or Henry just being nice.”

Dad doubles over, laughing so hard he starts wheezing. It’s fortunate their neighbors are cool…in addition to being very used to he and Dad’s raucous, profanity-filled poolside debates. “Just being nice? What the fuck are you talking about, Alex?”

“He’s a caregiver. Maybe he…feels sorry for me. Wants to help me.”

“I’ve been out of the game for a while. But I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works. Talk to him. And for what it’s worth —” he smiles, teeth bright in the afternoon sun “— I think you’ve got a good shot.”

“You do? Why?”

“I can’t say.”

Alex bounds out of his chair and into Dad’s, his hip bone pressing relentlessly into Dad’s thigh. The chair tips toward Alex and Dad curses. 

“Wait – hang on. Did Henry say something to you? About me?”

“Why are you in my goddamn lap, Alex? And I can’t answer that. All I can tell you is, you two need to talk. I’m not going to pass him a note in fucking home room.”

Alex stares speechlessly, motionlessly down at Dad. He thinks Alex has a good shot. And whatever his reason for thinking that, he would never give Alex false hope. An ecstatic smile explodes across his face. Then he throws his arms around Dad and squeezes til he squeaks.

____________________

One scheduled afternoon meeting becomes three impromptu meetings, which snowballs into two absolutely-cannot-wait, balls-to-the-wall emergency meetings.

At 6 p.m., he gets a text from Henry.

H: I made that roast you like. Can you join us?

A: that sounds so fucking good H

I’’ll try can you make me a plate

H: Of course!

At 8 p.m., he stumbles into the kitchen. Henry’s sitting at the table reading a book.

He’s too tired to apologize. He just flops down in the chair next to Henry, makes a pillow with his arms, and lays his head on them. 

Completely unsanitary. Totally necessary.

He realizes gradually that gentle fingers are stroking through his hair. He sits very, very, very still, and his lungs push a bumpy sigh of utter contentment through his lips. But it’s not long before the fingers are gone. He sits up to see Henry putting a plate in the microwave.

“You’re –” There really aren’t any more words. He’s said too many already today. “Thank you,” he finishes, hoping an appreciative smile helps make his point.

It seems to. Henry smiles back, his eyes serene and shining, and sets the steaming plate and a cup of coffee in front of him. Then he goes back to his book. After two helpings of roast and a fuckton of coffee, Alex feels much more ready for social interaction. He touches Henry’s forearm with the pads of his fingers. The soft eyes meet his, and the book slips to the table.

“I haven’t had a chance to tell you yet how sorry I am about Trenton coming over here,” he says carefully. “I don’t know what he said to you, and you don’t have to tell me unless you want to. I’m just – sorry.”

The color begins rising in Henry’s cheeks. “I’m glad he came,” he says with stunningly simple candor.

“You are?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Because it gave me the courage to talk to your dad. About you.”

So he was right. They did talk. Holy shit. “About me?”

“I told him I can’t just sit back and watch, feeling the way I do, while you start a new relationship with Trenton —”

Alex interrupts, crassly but inevitably, with an uncouth mouth noise. It sounds less like the unmitigated disgust he intended and more like a cat coughing up a hairball. But whatever. Alex has to make it clear Trenton is no longer an option for him. On any level.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “But you need to know that is never, ever going to happen.”

Henry goes on doggedly, with no break in his momentum. He’d be great in Congress.

“— okay, so not necessarily with Trenton. I can’t just watch while you start a relationship with anybody. Because I don’t only want sex with you after your father goes to sleep. I don’t just want to be your friend. I want to be with you. And I asked your dad how he felt about that.”

Alex reminds himself to blink. And to breathe. It’s covered by a 21st-century veneer, but he knows what this is. Henry asked Dad for his permission. To pursue Alex.

He’s a brown Elizabeth Bennett. With a dick.

Focus, Alex. Jesus.

“What did Dad say?”

“He said I would always have a home here, whether or not you want to date me. That we’d all be adults about it either way.”

Surely it’s his turn now. He wants all the fucking words out of the way so he can get his arms around Henry. He’s made a career of talking, but right now he’s over it.

But Henry takes a deep breath. He’s got more to say.

So Alex pacifies what feels like a chaotic smile and folds his restless hands. Henry has the floor, for as long as he needs it.

“And even if you do feel the same way, that doesn’t mean you’ll want something this abnormal: An instant live-in boyfriend who bathes your dad.”

Henry pauses, eyebrows raised. It feels like he wants a response to that, so Alex seizes his chance. Never did he dream he’d get out-talked by Henry. “Have you ever wondered,” he asks, scooting his chair closer, “if normal is overrated?” 

“I’ve always suspected it is, actually.” Henry’s eyes move rapidly over Alex’s face as if searching for something. “I just don’t want you to feel any obligation to me personally because of my role with your dad. No matter what, I want to be there for him, caring for him. He’s very special to me. And you are, too. I just…I just want you in my life, Alex.”

And Henry closes his mouth. His vibrant young face looks both exhausted and exhilarated. Henry just emptied his heart, right there in the kitchen, and Alex is staggered to find just how much it’s felt for him. How much it’s wanted him. 

His recent antipathy for words vanishes. His mouth is suddenly full of them.

“My turn? Okay. First of all, Henry, I think I’ve been nuts about you from the moment the door opened and I saw you standing there in your yellow shirt. You couldn’t possibly want more with me than I want with you — trust me. I want all you’ll give me.”

Henry leans closer. His eyes slip down to Alex’s mouth, seductive as fuck, and Alex’s dick is taking notice. But he really needs to hear Henry’s thoughts on one last topic.

Dad doesn’t think it matters. Henry doesn’t seem to think it matters. Alex needs to know for sure.

“And I’m way more concerned about our age difference than I am about the ‘abnormal’ circumstances with Dad, now that I know you and he are both okay with that. Aren’t you going to miss out on a lot of twenty-something fun if you’re with me?”

“I’ve never had more fun with anyone than I do with you,” Henry says, reaching out to caress Alex’s cheek with his fingertips. “And I’ve told you before: I don’t see an age when I see you.”

Alex fights to concentrate on what they’re both saying. Henry’s so close, and his fingers are so warm. “You did tell me that before. Seems like a long time ago. What do you see now?”

“Still just an everyday hero.” Henry slowly, gingerly takes off Alex’s glasses and lays them on the table. “Still just the guy I want to wake up next to every morning.”

“Still? So...?”

“I think since the door opened and I saw you standing there in your glasses and curls. I’d seen pictures and videos, of course, but they didn’t do you justice, Alex. And you were standing behind your dad. So careful to make sure he went first.”

And that – officially – is all the words Alex can bear.

He presses his lips to Henry’s. The hand that was on his cheek slides into Alex’s hair and their mouths open together, tongues pressing in with unabashed thirst. Alex’s cock is so hard now he’s squirming in his chair. He pulls back breathless.  

“So where is he right now?” he gasps. “Dad.”

Under the table, Henry’s hand starts on his knee and glides up his thigh.

“Sleeping.”

Alex nods, his eyes on Henry’s pink lips. “I’ll go make sure of that. Then I’ll come to your room?”

“Yes,” Henry answers. Then he smiles with such happy anticipation that Alex jumps up and practically runs down the hall, leaving his glasses behind.

He finds Dad perched on the side of the bed. “Hey,” he grunts, “I was just about to call. Henry okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good. I was closer.” But Alex has never been great at controlling his own face, and this is no exception. It’s a quality some of his colleagues have called “refreshingly honest.” But most of the time it’s just a pain in his ass.

Like now. He smiles with all the excitement he feels at the thought of Henry waiting for him at the other end of the hall.

“So you two talked.”

Damn.

“We did. Yes.”

“Good,” Dad mutters, then accepts Alex’s help getting safely in and out of the bathroom. His dark eyes sparkle up at Alex as he settles back into bed. “At least it won’t be a mystery why y’all are obnoxiously cheerful in the morning.” 

Alex should probably be embarrassed. He doesn’t have time. 

Instead, he leans down and kisses Dad lightly on the cheek. “I’m guessing it'll be a bigger, nicer breakfast, anyway, if I know Henry at all.”

“It better be!” Dad calls after him.

______________________

Henry is standing in the middle of the room in nothing but his boxer briefs, which are under an extraordinary amount of pressure from his erection. Alex pauses in the doorway. He’s been at least semi-hard ever since Henry started sidling up to him at the kitchen table, so it hadn’t even crossed his mind until this moment.

What if he can’t –?

“Come here,” Henry says. 

Alex obeys.

And the long, lonely struggle is suddenly behind him.

Henry’s hands slide up his back and he pulls Alex’s body in, hard cock pressing against Alex’s pelvis. “Holy shit, Henry,” Alex chokes out. Then Henry’s mouth reaches down and covers his.

“Did you mean it?” Henry murmurs. His lips have dropped to Alex’s neck, and his hands squeeze Alex’s ass spasmodically, their dicks rubbing together with each thrust. It’s all so intense Alex feels a little faint.

“Huh?” he exhales dazedly.

Henry pulls back to look at him, forcing words around his quick breaths. “You said you wanted all of me I was willing to give. And I – I want you to have all of me. If you want that, too.”

Those big, trusting eyes are watching him, waiting on him. And it helps Alex’s mind regain its clarity. To this point, he’s felt swept along by a wild, irresistible current, simply responding to Henry's magnetism and passion. But Henry is asking for something else. He’s asking Alex to initiate. He wants him to.

And that’s normally been his role in the bedroom, even before Trenton. But there’s been nothing normal about the bedroom for Alex for a long time.

And now Henry’s inviting him to reclaim that. If he wants to.

Fuck, he wants to.  

“Because if you do…” Evidently Henry’s decided Alex has had enough time to think about it. He grasps one of Alex’s hands and winds it around his body, pushing it under the waistband of his underwear and into the cleft of his ass. Henry’s entrance is wet and loose.

He’s ready. Right now.

“You’re. You’re,” Alex gulps.

Henry laughs quietly. “I had some time while you were with your dad. I couldn’t wait, Alex.”

Henry’s hand is gone, but Alex’s stays where it is, his index finger sliding over the hole and then slipping easily inside. Henry is warm and wet and close. And Alex’s need to fill him with his own cock disarms every doubting and fearful thought. “You are so fucking hot,” he groans.

Gusts of breath blow erratically past Alex’s ear. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Hell yes,” Alex gasps.

He pulls his hand away and begins ridding himself of clothes while Henry steps out of his underwear. Then Henry crawls onto the bed and lies down on his back.

And he looks up at Alex with expectation so confident it could be intimidating.

But as he climbs up beside Henry, Alex remembers what he knows: Henry believes in him – believes that he’s good. Believes he can do this. And he’s wanted Alex since the door first opened.

 He lowers himself onto Henry, who immediately twines all his limbs around him and pulls him closer. “Christ,” Henry mumbles into his mouth, “ready for you, Alex.” He responds by pushing down with all his weight, reeling at the barrage of pleasure as Henry’s cock presses against his own.   

The direct contact is thrilling. But it’s not enough. It’s just the beginning.

Alex sits up and scoots back, opening Henry’s legs gently and fitting himself between them. Henry angles his hips up. “Please,” he breathes, his flushed face fixated on Alex’s, “Will you? Please.”

He watches Henry’s mouth fall open heedlessly as his cock begins to slip inside. Then he has to close his eyes and focus entirely on breathing. Because the heat and moisture of Henry’s body seem to draw him in and hold him, and it feels so good Alex might come before anything has even happened.

Breathing and blind, he waits. He hears Henry whimpering quietly below him.

“It’s all right, baby,” Alex stammers, “I’ll take care of you.”

He has no idea where that came from. Never in his life has he called anyone baby. 

And when he says it, Henry makes a strange sound. Alex’s eyes open slowly. Henry’s lock on them immediately: Big and blue and eloquent. 

“Alex.” It’s the sigh-that’s-a-confession again.

But this time Alex doesn’t wonder what it means, because this time he already knows. Henry’s eyes just told him.

“Me too,” he says and pushes all the way in.

Their bodies begin moving together in a primal, unnegotiated rhythm: Alex thrusting down, Henry pushing up. Slow and deliciously deep at first. Then, when Alex can’t hold back anymore, a breathtaking ascent into frantic. Alex’s throat is useless for anything besides panting, but he keeps his eyes always on Henry’s damp, red face.

“God, Alex,” he groans, “please, love, more. More.”

Alex’s curls are wet with sweat and his heart rate feels sprint-on-the-beach fast, but he knows what to do. He grabs both of Henry’s legs and pushes them forward so his hips rise higher. It allows Alex to slide in so much farther than before that Henry’s entire body spasms off the bed.

“Right there, Alex!” he yells, covering his mouth with his own hand to stifle his voice. “Please, oh please! Fuck!”

And Alex uses the very last of his strength to give Henry what he needs.

His own climax seems to trigger Henry’s so that they come nearly simultaneously, Alex’s cries buried in Henry’s neck, Henry’s in his own hand. Eventually, he becomes aware that Henry’s fingers are moving over his back and through his hair. He’s way too comfortable to move. He knows he needs to.

“Okay –” 

But Henry’s hands on his back tighten, and the strong arms pin Alex’s torso against him. “Just a few more minutes,” he whispers. “Then we’ll get up.”

Alex decides to make the most of the moment. He lifts up just enough to press his lips tenderly to Henry’s. Then he looks down into the sleepy blue eyes. “So what did Trenton say to you?” he asks.

Henry rolls his eyes at Alex’s impertinence. But then he smiles, and Alex knows he’s going to answer.

“He asked me how long I’d been working here. And if I get tired of you staring at me all day.”

“Well? Do you?”

“Actually, I rather like it.”

“Good to know,” Alex says, trailing kisses down Henry’s throat. “Because it’ll probably be even worse going forward. And speaking of the future: Dad expects a big, fancy breakfast in the morning.”

Alex lays his head on Henry’s chest and concludes there’s no better sound in this world than that warm, bright laughter.

_______________________

The first time Henry got out of bed to help Dad, Alex only partially woke up, reaching out into the sudden emptiness beside him and grumbling, “Come back.”

Henry’s gentle chuckle found him in the darkness. “I will, love. You rest.”

And he remembers Henry coming back: Smooth, soft, clean-smelling skin wrapping itself around him. Then he passed out again. This time, though, he didn’t hear Henry leave at all. The room is still dark. But there’s just enough light to see a piece of paper lying on the pillow where Henry’s head was.

Alex rolls over and switches on the lamp. And of course his glasses are lying there, right where he needs them to be, because Henry noticed he ran out of the kitchen without them. Smiling, he puts them on and lifts the paper off Henry’s pillow.  

You said you wanted to see one of my poems, and I wrote this one tonight.

I learned the tune from Lucio. But you taught me the words. 

Alex’s Song

The end is no end

Light

never fails, only fades

then enters another place

and shines

The end is no end

Love

silenced in one mouth

finds its voice in another

and sings