Chapter Text
Look, Henry never claimed he wasn’t easy.
There’s a reason why men saunter up to him, why they even dare try their luck with with the hottest man on campus. Why they flash their teasing grins at him, eyes fixated on Henry’s lips. He doesn’t know why they even bother wasting their time flirting with him—he’ll fuck anything with a cock, really.
Henry loves sex, that’s all it comes down to. He loves the weight of a cock on his tongue, the fullness when someone pushes into him with a stuttering breath. He likes to be pushed over the edge until he’s crying, his lips red-bitten from kisses. He loves everything that comes with it, too. There’s nothing more satisfying than the ache he feels in his bones the next day, the twinge in his back if he moves too fast. He loves the soreness—a physical reminder of what had occurred the night before.
He revels in that same soreness as he sits down next to Pez, his best friend, wincing slightly. They’re at the café on their campus, and even though Henry isn’t looking at him, he can picture the grin on Pez’s face.
“Long night?” Pez asks, amused.
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Henry says, smirking.
“C’mon, Hazza. That’s so vague, tell me everything.” Pez nudges him, knocking their shoulders together.
“I absolutely will not be doing anything of the sort.”
“Don’t be a prude,” Pez pouts. “You used to enjoy telling me things. Don’t bring back Modest Henry, I beg you– he’s so boring.”
Henry shakes his head, chuckling fondly. He should’ve been this coming.
“Fine. Four rounds. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten head that good in my entire bloody life. 10 out of 10. No notes,” Henry says, biting his lip to hide his smile.
“Henry, you absolute dog!” Pez exclaims, grinning. “Where did you pick him up this time?”
Henry looks around the café, raising an eyebrow.
“Here?” Pez asks, tone scandalously delighted.
“Here.”
“Good God, man. Do you know how much I adore you and your slutty, slutty tendencies?” Pez laughs.
“I can stand to hear it more,” Henry says, pulling his cup of tea towards him. “Go on then.”
“Henry,” Pez says seriously, turning in his chair to look at him. He reaches out to hold his hands, his face sincere. “Please don’t change. I adore you and your slut era so damn much.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Henry grins, finally taking a sip of his tea.
“Are you seeing him again? That man?” Pez asks, taking a bite of his scone that’s lathered in a thick layer of jam.
“You know I never do,” Henry says, wrinkling his nose when he realises his tea has gone cold. “It just makes things needlessly complicated.”
“I fear you’re just afraid of commitment, love,” Pez says. They’ve had this conversation several times before, and Henry is not in the mood for this today.
“That’s not true,” Henry grumbles, signalling the waitress to get him another cup of tea. “I just think it’s unwise to pursue someone while I have feelings for someone else. Get their hopes up when I have nothing to offer.”
“Giving someone a chance can’t hurt, Henry,” Pez says, squeezing Henry’s knee. “Especially when you think there’s no possibility of you actually dating our dear Alex.”
Alex. Alex Claremont-Diaz. The absolute bane of Henry’s life. He had seen him at a party three years ago, dancing with a girl, and had immediately fallen in love with the man. He’s a walking cliché, that’s what Alex is. He’s the frat president, the lacrosse captain, seen with a new girl every single week. Hell, every two days. He’s painfully straight, or so Henry thinks. Pez insists that he’s at least a little fruity, but Henry knows he won’t believe it until he sees it for himself.
It isn’t like Henry is saving himself for Alex. He knows it’s not a possibility, not even remotely. It’s just that he’s giving himself some time to sit with what he feels for Alex. He wants to allow himself to truly feel this love that he holds within him before he tries moving on after they graduate. He’s too captivating, and Henry knows there’s not a single chance of forgetting Alex when he sees the man all around the campus, a gorgeous grin on his face. Just a few more months, Henry thinks. A few more months and he’ll be able to close this chapter of his life. Alex will be nothing but a memory Henry will look back on. He’ll think about the boy with the pretty eyelashes and the loudest laugh, and he’ll feel a slight pang in his heart.
And then, he’ll fall in love with someone else.
Deep down, Henry knows nobody else will ever compare. He may have never talked to Alex, but he knows the cadence of his voice, how it dips when he’s angry. He’s seen him on the field, absolutely ruthlessly crushing his enemies, his skin glinting with sweat that Henry wants to lick off of him. He’s seen his head thrown back in laughter, his wild joy clear on his face for the whole world to see. He’s loud, unbashful, and unapologetic and Henry wants to drown in him until he’s suffocating. He knows he’s never going to love anyone like he loves Alex Claremont-Diaz. That’s a fact he keeps repeating because he knows it’s the truth. He’ll say it a thousand times more.
He watches Alex’s Instagram Lives with hundreds, hell, even a couple thousand other people as he rambles on about whatever has caught his fancy that day. Henry has listened to him talk about politics, about barracudas, about instant coffee, about bloody gerrymandering. He’s unbelievably intelligent and Henry is in constant awe of him. Listening to Alex’s stream of consciousness has become oddly comforting as Henry putters around in his shared apartment, his airpods shoved in his ears. Whenever he listens to these Lives, he finds himself smiling more often than not and he wishes he could reach out through the phone to hold Alex close. Henry can picture what Alex looks like when he’s frustrated, when he’s happy, when he’s angry. It’s a curse. Henry loves him. It’s ruining his life.
It might be a problem, but it’s not the one he’s going to be dealing with today.
“I’ll give dating a try,” Henry promises his best friend. “After we graduate.” After he’s far, far away from Alex.
He knows Pez wants to fight him on this. He has a long list of friends he wants to set Henry up with, but he simply nods, biting into his scone. Henry loves Pez, too.
The first time it happens, it tilts Henry’s world on its axis.
He’s in the kitchen at one of Alex’s parties, making himself a drink as Pez leans against the fridge next to him, ranting about one of his classmates. They’ve been hiding there for a while, especially since Henry has had a long day. He lets Pez’s soothing voice wash over him as he unwinds, shoulders untensing. He’s pouring vodka into a cup when Alex walks into the room. He makes a beeline to the counter, standing next to Henry, giving him a smile as he reaches for a bottle of tequila.
Henry drops his drink on the floor.
Pez laughs loudly and stalks off to find some towels to clean the mess Henry has made, ruffling his hair affectionately as he does so. He throws Henry a wink as he tilts his head towards Alex, urging him to make a move.
He’s blushing, Henry knows. He can feel the heat creeping up on his cheeks and he bites his lip, looking at the spilt liquid on the floor. Make a goddamn move, you coward.
He wonders what he can say to Alex, how to start the damn conversation. This is his only chance. He’s wanted this for years and he has one chance and he absolutely cannot fuck this up at all or he’ll curse himself for the rest of his life. Before he can say anything, it’s Alex who turns to him, reaching out a hand to squeeze his forearm. Henry swears he almost combusts on the spot, feeling the heat of Alex’s hand, even through the fabric of his shirt.
“You alright, sweetheart?” Alex asks, a furrow between his brows. Henry wants to smooth it out so badly that he has to clench his fists to resist the urge.
There’s no reason for Alex to touch him. There’s a slight tendril of hope that has made home around his heart, and he takes a deep breath to calm himself down.
“I’m fine,” Henry says, stepping away from the puddle of liquid, slightly shaking his shoe that’s soaked in alcohol. The hem of his trousers have wet splotches on them. “I’m all wet.”
He registers what he’s just said then, wincing in embarrassment. This is how he dies, he thinks. Embarrassing himself in front of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.
Alex’s eyes practically light up in response, slowly dragging over Henry’s form. They’re dark as he looks back at Henry’s face, pupils so dilated that Henry can’t even make out the brown in them, a slight smirk on his lips.
“Not completely,” Alex murmurs, stepping closer. “I’m sure we can get you there though.”
Henry’s breath stutters in his chest. This cannot be happening, he thinks. This is straight out of Henry’s fantasies, and he begs himself not to mess this up for the millionth time.
He closes his eyes. Pulls in a deep breath. Puts on his seductive persona. He knows he can pull Alex if he tries hard enough now that Henry knows he’s into men. No man has ever been able to resist Henry, and he knows how to use it to his advantage.
“Yeah?” Henry asks, his voice purposefully breathy as he takes a step towards Alex, eyes dipping to his lips.
Alex steps closer, too, reaching out to slide a hand over the dip of Henry’s hip. It settles there like it has always belonged there: a perfect fit. His touch is scorching, and Henry never wants Alex to stop touching him. Henry raises a hand to Alex’s chest dragging it over the curve of his shoulder, and he slowly cups the back of Alex’s neck, pulling him in.
“Yeah,” Alex whispers, looking at Henry’s mouth. “So… so wet.”
“How wet, Alexander?” Henry asks. “You going to make it worth my while?”
There’s a movement in his periphery and Henry slightly lifts his head over Alex’s shoulder to see that Pez is about to enter the kitchen, towels slung over his shoulder. As soon as he registers how Alex has Henry almost pressed against the counter, his eyes widen in delight. He throws Henry a thumbs up then, and spins on his heel, sauntering away, an extra swing in his step. Henry almost smiles.
“Sweetheart,” Alex says, using the arms around Henry’s waist to press them flush together. “I’ll make you scream my name until you can’t remember anything else– until your throat has gone all sore.”
Henry wants to tell him he’s already done that a million times as he stretches himself open. How he imagines Alex doing the same with his long, elegant fingers. Henry knows he’d reach that spot inside him without much difficulty, how he’d press against it, teasing Henry until he’s crying. He’d bully him until Henry is begging him to come. He’d laugh at Henry with fondness. He knows Alex can never know just what Henry has pictured when he gets himself off. It. It’s not just Alex’s fingers.
Alex is slightly taller than him like this, the tip of his nose brushing the bridge of Henry’s, their lips inches apart. They’re both breathing shakily, eyes locked. A minute, Henry thinks. He takes a minute to savour the moment, to map the lines of Alex’s face, to commit it to memory. This is his first chance; this is his last chance. He’s never going to have Alex after this.
He feels the drag of Alex’s hand over his spine, the weight of it as he settles a hand over Henry’s lower back to pull him closer until there’s no space left between them. Henry wonders if Alex can feel how Henry’s heart is beating wildly in his chest. Henry tilts his chin out, wanting Alex to close the gap between them. He’s not going to be the one who does it. That’s what always happens in his fantasies, and if this is going to happen, he wants to make them a reality. Alex smirks like he knows what he’s doing.
“Going to make me do all the work?” Alex teases, their lips brushing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Henry says, giving Alex’s hair a light tug.
He sees how Alex’s eyes slip shut, a quiet moan escaping his lips. Henry’s hips stutter, pushing closer. They’re both hard, and they haven’t even kissed. Why haven’t they kissed? Fuck. Fuck, this is going to end him, isn’t it?
“Sure, you-” Alex starts to say, moaning again as Henry gives the hair at the base of his neck another light tug. Alex tries again. “Sure, you don’t, you whore.”
“Alex,” Henry smiles.
“Mhm?”
“Kiss me,” Henry commands.
He watches how Alex’s pupils dilate, and Henry stops breathing as he watches that gorgeous grin take over Alex’s face. It’s blinding up close and Henry can’t stop staring. God, Alex is so beautiful. He’s so beautiful and he’s never going to be Henry’s, and Henry is going to take all the scraps he can get, even if it’s the last thing he does.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Alex says, smiling.
As Alex is leaning down to close the gap between them, someone from his lacrosse team rushes into the kitchen, looking for him, calling his name. Alex pulls away with a groan but keeps an arm wrapped around Henry’s waist, not letting him stray away. He rubs little circles over his hip absentmindedly as he talks to his friend in rapid Spanish, mouth pinched. Henry feels the room getting hotter at the sound. He pulls at the collar of his polo, stepping away from the circle of Alex’s arms as he makes himself another drink. He needs more alcohol to get himself through this or he fears he will end it all.
“Alright,” he hears Alex groan in frustration as Henry is mixing his drink, pouring more vodka than he usually would. “I’ll come, okay? Christ.”
He throws Henry an apologetic glance, shrugging helplessly. “Sorry, sweetheart. Gotta go. I’ll see you around?”
Henry nods. He knew it was too good to be true, anyway.
Henry fixes another drink as he leaves the kitchen to find his best friend. The taste of disappointment sits heavy on his tongue, and he washes it down with another sip of his vodka. He’d been so close to getting everything he’s ever dreamt of, everything he’s ever wanted. He swears he can still feel Alex’s hands on him. He fears he’s been branded by his touch, and the feel of it was addicting, no matter how brief. Henry wants more. He always wants more. He’ll never stop wanting more.
“Henry!” Pez exclaims when he spots him, hurriedly detaching himself from the group he’d been chatting to. “What happened with your strumpet? You must tell me everything this instant!”
Henry hands over the drink he’d made for him, gesturing towards the balcony. Pez nods his thanks, leading the way. Henry feels like he can breathe for the first time as the door shuts behind them, isolating them from the noise. From the unfortunate love of his life.
“That was quick,” Pez teases. “Is he a five second wonder or what?”
“Nothing happened,” Henry mumbles, toeing at the ground.
“Nothing happened?” Pez repeats incredulously. “The man was practically dry humping you against the counter!”
“He was about to kiss me,” Henry corrects. “Someone from his lacrosse team came to get him for something, and he left. He said sorry sweetheart, and that he had to go, but he’ll see me around.”
“That’s so cute,” Pez croons. “Sweetheart,”
A beat of silence.
“Oh,” Henry breathes, snapping up his head to look at Pez. His chest feels tight, and his hands are tingly for all the wrong reasons, and he feels like he needs to jump off of the balcony right this second so he can put himself out of his misery.
“What is it, poppet?”
“Sweetheart,” Henry repeats, voice wobbly. “He called me sweetheart because he doesn’t know my name. He didn’t even bother to ask.”
“Oh, Hazza,” Pez sighs, opening his arms. “Come here.”
Henry readily steps into them, wanting to be held; he wants the comfort. Pez rubs his back, kissing his head.
“It’s alright, Hen,” he says. “One day, you’re going to find a man who will absolutely worship the ground you walk on, and he’ll mean everything to you. You won’t even remember the boy who didn’t ask for your name at some lame frat party.”
It’s a lie, they both know. Henry is never going to forget Alex, but they say nothing, willing to pretend, even if it’s just for a night.
“Thank you,” Henry says. “I love you.”
“And I, you,” Pez says, booping his nose as he pulls away. “Ready to go back, or do you need a moment?”
“No, I’m alright,” Henry says, and he even means it a little. “Let’s go back.”
So, they go.
Henry is dancing when Alex finds him again.
Henry doesn’t dance. It’s just not a thing he does. But there is a man leaning against the wall who’s been eyeing him, and he’s been feeling himself, so he slinks onto the dance floor, head thrown back, laughing with Pez. He’s pleasantly tipsy, and when Pez says he’s going to get them another drink, he doesn’t think about it too much. He nods, he thinks. Isn’t sure. He’s busy trying to move to the beat of the music, feeling the bass deep in his bones. The alcohol helps with the embarrassment he feels when he fails.
“You look like you’re having fun,” a voice says in his ear, his chest flush against Henry’s back, strong arms slipping around his waist.
Henry freezes, just for a second. He’d recognise that voice anywhere.
“It’s all in the hips,” Alex advises. Henry tries to turn around, but Alex tightens his grip, swaying them to the beat of the music.
He slides a hand over his waist to rest on Henry’s stomach, pulling him closer. He leaves his hand there, and Henry leans his head back to rest it against Alex’s shoulder, closing his eyes. There’s no space between them, and Henry is in heaven. He lets Alex dip his head lower as he presses his lips to Henry’s neck for everyone to see.
Let him ruin me, Henry thinks. He’d rather have this than nothing at all.
He feels Alex breathing against the shell of his ear and he shudders as his lips brush the skin. Murmurs, “You never told me your name earlier, sweetheart.”
“You never asked,” Henry says, turning his head so that his forehead is pressed against the side of Alex’s neck. He flicks his tongue out to taste the sweat that has been gathering at the hollow of Alex’s throat and he swears he almost dies when Alex whines, low in his throat.
“I’m asking now,” Alex says, hand still pressed to Henry’s stomach, his fingers giving it a little tap.
“I don’t hear a question,” Henry says, just to be difficult.
Alex laughs, sliding a hand under Henry’s polo to settle it over the skin that's exposed. The feel of Alex’s touch against his is almost too much and he wants to escape it, but he doesn’t. Can’t. No, instead, he suggestively presses closer, grinding back against Alex. Alex shudders.
“Please. What’s your name, baby?”
Henry has a visceral reaction to the term of endearment. He’s always had an affinity for baby, but hearing it in Alex’s sinful voice has his blood rushing south, head dizzy. He shivers, letting out an obscenely loud moan. It’s drowned by the music, but he can feel Alex’s smirk pressed against his skin, his fingers digging in.
“Oh?” Alex asks, teeth scraping Henry's skin as he gives him a little nip. “What was it? Me begging or me calling you baby?”
Henry’s head falls back on Alex’s shoulder, breaths coming out in short pants. He exhales shakily, eyes slipping shut, He’s hard, painfully so, and he can’t hold back the whimper that escapes his lips as Alex squeezes him through his pants, licking his neck.
“Both, then?” Alex laughs. “I can work with that.”
Henry’s too far gone, too lost in pleasure as Alex traces his fingers over the bulge in his pants lightly, still on the dance floor, teasing him.
“Tell me your name,” Alex repeats, kissing the corner of Henry’s mouth, his lips lingering. “Tell me it and I’ll fuck you so good you’ll never forget it, baby.”
“Are you bribing me?” Henry laughs. There’s sweat gathering on his brow.
“Depends,” Alex chuckles. “Is it working?”
“I could be persuaded more,” Henry says. “You aren’t that convincing.”
Before he can process what has happened, Alex spins him around, fingers cupping his face. His thumb presses into a freckle that sits high on Henry’s cheek, and he leans their foreheads together. His gaze drops to Henry’s lips as he leans closer. The anticipation has been building and building and building tonight, and Henry knows that this is the breaking point.
He watches Alex under the pink and blue lights, heart in his throat. He wonders if Alex knows his kisses are going to devastate Henry, and that he’s never going to recover from them. They’re going to send his walls crashing to the ground. He wonders if Alex knows that the second he kisses Henry, he will be ruined for anyone else forever.
He watches Alex’s eyes soften, flitting around Henry’s face as if he’s trying to drink him in.
“Are we going to stand around all night, or are you actually going to kiss me?” Henry asks because the look on Alex’s face makes something in his chest flutter, and he can’t have that. This is just physical, and it has to be quick and hard and rough.
As expected, Alex rises to the bait, his eyes fiery. He grips Henry’s chin to wrench it upwards as he leans down, covering Henry’s mouth with his. Henry’s hands dig into the back of Alex’s t-shirt as Alex manoeuvres Henry’s head sidewards to better the angle, fingers firm. His tongue is hot and insistent, tangling with Henry’s with such force that Henry stumbles backwards slightly. He tries to pull away, but Alex only pulls him closer, sliding a hand in Henry’s hair as he leans down, kissing him harder. Henry tastes the slight tang of blood on his tongue as Alex presses closer still, never breaking the kiss. He presses his fingers down against Henry’s jaw a little harder as Henry lets out a moan, shivering as his other hand traces the length of Henry’s spine. Henry has to break away then, his feelings too intense to ignore.
Without wasting a moment, Alex wraps a hand around Henry’s wrist to pull him away from the dance floor to drag him up the stairs. They stumble over their feet, and they giggle. Once they’re in the hallway, secluded, he pushes Henry against the wall, blanketing his body with his.
“Convincing enough?” Alex asks, pulling aside the collar of Henry’s shirt to press kisses against the skin there. His teeth dig in sharply, and Henry wants to cry at the thought of seeing Alex’s kisses tattooed on his skin. Alex’s other hand is pushing the shirt up higher, keeping it in place, leaving his stomach exposed for anyone to see. Henry feels filthy.
“Baby.”
“Huh?”
“Your name, sweetheart,” Alex says, sucking the lobe of Henry’s ear between his lips, giving it a little nip after.
“Henry,” he gasps as Alex pinches his nipple. “It’s Henry.”
“Henry what?” Alex asks, his nail flicking the nipple slightly. He soothes the sting by swiping a thumb over it and Henry moans, loud.
“Fox,” he says, head thudding against the wall.
“Henry Fox,” Alex breathes in the space between them, lips curling. “I’m going to absolutely ruin you.”
Henry thinks: You already have.
They make it to Alex’s bedroom somehow. They stumble through the door, still kissing, Alex’s hands curved around his hip. They haven’t stopped touching each other ever since they’d started—Alex’s hand pressed against the small of Henry’s back as he guides him to his room, Henry’s shoulder blade pressed against Alex’s chest. There’s no space between them, and Henry doesn’t understand how he’s supposed to go back to not having Alex in any way at all. He doesn’t understand how anyone else goes on with their life after touching Alex like he has.
He lets Alex pull his polo off in one fell swoop as he pushes Henry on the bed, climbing over him. He doesn’t get a chance to catch his breath. Just as quick, Alex’s deft hands undo his trouser buttons, his lips pressed to Henry’s stomach. He flicks his tongue against the dip of Henry’s navel, his teeth digging in, just for a quick second. Then, he smirks up at Henry as he rips his trousers off, leaving him in his pants.
Look, it’s not as if Alex is bad at what he does, at least from the rumours Henry has heard. The thing is, everyone knows Alex is constantly running, jumping from one person to the other, so it is a shock when he sits back on his haunches to just look at Henry, his hands reverently tracing Henry’s thighs. There’s miles and miles of skin on display, and the fact that Alex is still fully dressed makes the blood rush to Henry’s head. He tugs at Alex’s t-shirt, asking him to take it off. Alex shakes his head, batting his hands away.
Then, he leans down to mouth at the inside of Henry’s thighs, his lips mapping the skin. He punishes Henry with a sharp bite when Henry tries lifting his hips, rutting against nothing, too impatient to get Alex’s mouth right where he wants it. In retaliation, Henry tugs at Alex’s hair harshly, and the moan that slips out of his mouth surprises Alex just as much as it surprises him, if his wide eyes are anything to go by.
“Oh,” Alex grins, chin resting on Henry’s hipbone. “You’re fun.”
Then, without breaking eye contact, he mouths at the bulge in Henry’s pants, flicking his tongue out. He takes his time, teasing Henry until there are frustrated tears building up at the corners of his eyes, making him whine.
“Fuck me,” Henry begs. “Please, Alex. I can’t. Fuck me. Fuck me.”
“God,” Alex groans. “You’re a fucking whore.”
“Please, I need it,” Henry cries when Alex hooks his fingers underneath the elastic of his pants. “Please, hurry up.”
“You sound so pretty when you beg for me,” Alex whispers, pressing a kiss to the tip of Henry’s cock once he has him naked.
“Alex!”
“Need my cock, sweetheart?”
“Need your cock,” Henry nods rapidly, his hair falling in his eyes. Alex nods sharply.
Once Alex gets rid of his clothes, he lifts himself up on elbow, slithering over Henry’s body to gaze down at him. He brushes the hair off of his forehead, hands gentle. It’s a juxtaposition, really. His hands are careful, but his mouth is not. He kisses Henry like the world is going to end tomorrow, but his hands take their time to trace Henry’s skin like they have all the time to spare.
Alex opens Henry up with practised, precise movements and Henry shifts his hips ever so slightly, accommodating the intrusion with a slight wince. Alex kisses him through it– once, twice, thrice, over and over – until Henry’s shoulders lose their tenseness, his body going lax. He teases Henry until there are tears falling from his eyes, his fingers bullying that spot that has him seeing stars. He tries hiding his face in Alex’s pillow, but Alex doesn’t let him. Every time Henry turns his face away, Alex shifts his fingers away from that spot, making Henry whine in disappointment. He’s rewarded by a press of Alex’s fingers right where he wants them every time Henry looks back at him, so Henry doesn’t dare close his eyes.
He keeps looking at the man he’s in love with, watching how he smirks down at Henry with smug satisfaction every time Henry has to bite back a mewl, his mouth slick from how he’s started drooling a little. Just when Henry thinks he’s about to fall over the edge, Alex pulls away with a blunt scrape of his fingertips, pressing a kiss to Henry’s brow.
He’s softer than Henry was expecting. Alex is attentive, which shouldn’t be a surprise, but somehow, still is. Henry feels seen, feels cared for, and isn’t that the worst thing ever?
As Alex pulls a condom on, Henry has to cover his eyes with his forearm, Alex’s attention too much for him to handle. He’d expected Alex to fuck into him with quick thrusts, chasing his release, make them come, and roll away carelessly. He wasn’t expecting Alex to prepare him with his nimble fingers, kissing him until he goes pliant in his arms, checking in regularly. Fuck, Henry loves him.
He wonders if it would be different if Alex loved him back. If he’d talk to Henry more, if he’d place soft kisses all over his face until Henry breaks down in giggles, if he’d weave his fingers through Henry’s hair to rest their foreheads together. If he’d tell Henry he loves him as their lips brush, their smiles too wide to actually kiss each other.
“Henry,” Alex says, pulling Henry out of his head.
Henry hums in question.
“Henry, baby, c’mon. Don’t hide your face,” Alex urges, wrapping a hand around Henry’s wrist to pull it away. Henry lets him. There’s nothing Henry wouldn’t let Alex do.
“There you are,” Alex says once Henry’s blinking up at him. “So gorgeous. So beautiful for me.”
He’s fisting his cock as he says it, and Henry whimpers, back arching. “Come on, come on, come on,” Henry chants, slapping the side of Alex’s thigh.
“God, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you beg for me,” Alex says. There’s something reverent in his tone, and Henry pulls him in so he doesn’t have to look at his face.
“Fuck me already, God!” Henry begs for the umpteenth time, his pride forgotten.
Alex trills out a laugh.
“Ready, baby?”
“Yes!” Henry exclaims, his hand hitting the mattress in frustration. “Fuck me before I bloody die of sexual frustration!”
“You’re funny,” Alex says, tone amused.
“I’m not fucking laughing,” Henry snaps, too impatient.
Alex guides himself inside Henry then, kissing the freckle on Henry’s cheek. He keeps his mouth there as he slowly bottoms out, his breaths hot. He’s panting slightly, the hand that’s pressed besides Henry’s head to hold him up straining with effort to stay still. He kisses Henry as he gets used to Alex’s girth, until he starts shifting. Henry nods his consent, and Alex starts moving, starting off slow.
It’s intense. Alex’s thrusts are calculated. Measured. He knows what he’s doing, and Henry feels a stab of jealousy shoot through him. Just how many times has Alex done this with other men? How often?
Just as suddenly, his mind goes blank as Alex presses down on his stomach, picking up the pace. He’s started thrusting his hips earnestly now, setting a rougher rhythm.
“Feel that?” Alex asks, his hand a solid weight over the soft dip of Henry’s abdomen. “Me? Deep inside you?
Henry nods, too fucked out to speak. Alex is filthy when he speaks, and Henry lets the soft cadence of his voice wash over him as he pounds Henry into the mattress. He pushes Henry to his limits until he’s stretched taut, right over the edge of his orgasm. He comes right when Alex does, his head buried in the crook of Henry’s neck. There’s pressure on his hips, and Henry knows he’s going to bear marks from this for days. He can’t wait to admire them in the mirror.
“Gripping me like fucking vice,” Alex murmurs as he flops over Henry, not pulling out. Henry doesn’t want him to.
Then, when Henry starts wiggling, Alex groans. Turns Henry over until his stomach is flat against the mattress, as he tells him to ‘not worry about the mess.’
The smack of Alex’s hand against his left arse cheek is a surprise.
Henry jolts, his cock giving a weak twitch.
“What are you doing?” Henry asks, not having seen this coming.
“Your ass,” Alex replies. “Is a goddamn sin, Fox.”
Alex kneads the flesh, his voice awed as he whispers in Henry’s ear. He slaps Henry’s arse again, murmuring about the jiggle it gives should be illegal. He traces the red flesh with featherlight fingers until Henry melts against the mattress, letting Alex admire him.
Then, Alex parts his cheeks and ducks his head down to eat his arse.
Henry shouts as he feels the wet heat of Alex’s tongue against his rim, his tongue licking a broad stripe over his hole. He spends several long minutes, hours, eating Henry out until he’s a sobbing mess, begging Alex to stop because it’s too much, rutting against the mattress like a bitch in heat.
Alex comes on him, rising up on his knees, painting Henry’s back– his arse– with his come, and that makes Henry come, too. He cries through his release, his face wet, lips red and bitten. Alex places a kiss on the small of his back as he rolls off Henry, settling in next to him.
“That was good, baby,” Alex says, panting, turning over to pick up his phone from the nightstand. “You can go now. If you want.”
He’s texting someone back as he says that, not even bothering to look at Henry. He settles down in bed, legs falling open, a smile on his face as his phone pings.
Henry doesn’t think Alex means to be cruel, but he is. He’s dismissive in a way that leaves Henry’s skin crawling, and he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. It isn’t as if he expected to stay the night, but he’s still covered in his own come, his chest heaving. It’s barely been a minute since Henry came and he’s being kicked out.
He feels his cheeks heat up with shame as he walks into the en-suite, hastily cleaning off the mess from his stomach and his back. He pulls his clothes on, his hands shaky with the devastation he’s feeling. He blinks back tears as he washes his face, taking deep breaths. Stares at himself in the mirror. Once he’s calmed down a little, he walks out of the bathroom. Alex is still in bed, texting someone, and Henry’s stomach turns at the thought of him already flirting with someone else.
He nods at Henry once he sees him, and Henry walks out of Alex’s room without a backward glance, his head held high.
It is so humiliating when Henry realises Alex doesn’t remember him.
Five weeks ago, he’d ambushed Henry at a party, bothered him until Henry had given in, and he’d dragged him to Alex’s room on the second floor of his frat house. He’d fucked Henry until he was barely conscious. Had flipped him onto his stomach and eaten him out until Henry had to beg him to stop, his eyes teary.
And then he’d kicked Henry out.
Now, as he stands in the café on their campus, waiting in the line to order his tea after a particularly grueling exam, Henry realises that Alex doesn’t even remember his name. He’s there, arm thrown around a blonde girl, sitting in a booth, head thrown back in laughter. The girl is nested under his arm, sticking close, and she laughs at every joke Alex makes. Henry is sure they’re not even that funny. He can’t even blame her, he thinks. He’d do the same.
He doesn’t even register the fact that he’s staring at Alex until he looks up at Henry and their eyes meet. A stab of electricity rushes through him, turning his cheeks scarlet. It brings back memories of that night, of how Henry was in tears because of the overwhelming pleasure Alex had made him feel. He’d never felt that way before. Doesn’t know if he ever will again. Sure, he sleeps around a lot, but there was nobody who’d made him feel like Alex had.
Now, he watches as Alex’s stare settles on him for a second, his face blank. There isn’t a single hint of recognition on his face as his gaze meets Henry’s, and he feels bile rise up in his throat as Alex turns away just as quickly. He doesn’t look back at Henry. He watches as Alex tilts his face downwards to accommodate the girl that’s whispering in his ear, her hand resting on Alex’s chest. Watches as he laughs at whatever she says, ducking his head to kiss her.
Henry leaves the café without ordering his tea, that’s the worst part.
The thing about being in love with a frat bro is that it’s really hard.
Henry had known what Alex was like since his damn freshman year, really. He’s seen him throw parties every weekend, making out with different people each time. People talk. People talk a lot about beautiful boys who’d fuck anything. It’s no wonder Pez waltzes into their living room with a bottle of vodka in hand, beaming from ear to ear.
“What?” Henry groans, looking at Pez’s smug face.
“I brought reinforcements,” Pez sing-songs, shaking the vodka bottle. “A little birdie told me Alex was kissing Cassandra all over the campus today.”
Henry frowns, snatching the bottle away from Pez. He gestures for Pez to get the shot glasses as he unscrews the cap, nose wrinkling as the liquid sloshes over the rim and spills down his fingers. He licks the drops away.
“Why would you bring that up?” Henry whines. “Seeing it first hand was hard enough.”
“I thought you’d want to talk about it,” Pez says, pouring some crisps into the snack bowl. “Come on. Hit me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Henry mumbles. “If I were to talk about every time I got upset over Alex hooking up with someone, we’d have to include it in our daily routine. It’s fine. I don’t care.”
“I don’t believe you,” Pez says, pouring them a shot. “Go on, have one. Tell Auntie Pezza your problems, white boy.”
Henry glares at him, but it lacks heat. He picks up the glass and gulps down the liquid quickly, wincing slightly as he feels the burn in his throat. He pours himself a second one and downs it, too.
“Careful,” Henry rasps. “This white boy is the only person who truly has your back.”
Pez’s eyes soften for a second before that grin slides back on his face. He nudges Henry with his toe, winking at him and Henry shoves him away with a laugh.
“Disgusting,” he says, chuckling fondly. “Get your nasty feet away from me.”
“I get regular pedicures, thank you very much,” Pez says, affronted. “Now, tell me about your boy.”
“He’s not my boy,” Henry snaps. Softens. “He’s not my boy.”
“Well, on the contrary-” Pez starts to say, but Henry cuts him off.
“Just because we slept together once doesn’t mean he’s my boy, no matter how much I’d like him to be,” Henry mutters.
He throws back another shot, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His grandmother would be horrified if she saw him right now. The thought of that makes him smile as he pours them another shot.
“Alright,” Pez says, clapping his hands. “Not your boy, then. Tell me about not your boy.”
“Pez,” Henry groans, but he can’t stop the laugh that’s already spilling from his mouth. “You’re terrible.”
“You love me,” he says, blowing Henry a kiss. He pretends to catch it, slapping it on his cheek with a cheeky grin. Pez laughs.
“It better go on your mouth the next time,” Pez smirks. “You’re a catch, and I’d hate to see my kisses go to waste like this.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I blame you,” Pez sings. “You never set me right when we were children.”
“I have created a monster,” Henry agrees.
“You have, and the monster demands to know what happened with Alex today.”
Henry groans in exasperation. Pez is never going to let this go.
“Fine. Fine. He didn’t remember me, alright,” Henry grunts, pouring them another shot. It’ll be fine; they don’t have classes tomorrow, anyway.
“Didn’t remember you…?” Pez trails off, his voice gentle.
“I went to the bloody café on the campus to get some tea after my exam, even though the sludge they sell there is a disgusting excuse for tea. I mean, the next time I’ll find out that they actually heat their water in the microwave-”
Pez clears his throat, raising an eyebrow. Henry flushes. He’s just really bloody passionate about his tea, alright?
“Anyway, as I was waiting in the queue, I saw Alex hanging out with his friends. Cassandra was sitting next to him, and they were flirting, and I didn’t even realise I was staring, but I was. I was staring so hard, Pez,” Henry confesses. This is what he loves about their friendship—he can tell Pez every detail, every time he comes off as a fool, but he never feels embarrassed.
Pez hums, gesturing to Henry to carry on.
“Well, Alex looked up and our gazes met. He looked at me blankly like he’d never even seen me before in his goddamn life. Like he hadn’t changed mine when he kissed me like he’d die without it.”
Pez frowns, pulling Henry into him. He curls into Pez’s chest, letting him rub Henry’s back. It’s been like this since they were children. Physical touch is their love language and Henry finds extreme comfort in being blanketed by his body, his face tucked in Pez’s sturdy chest.
“I’m sorry, love,” Pez says, running a soothing hand over his spine. “That’s got to hurt.”
“It does,” Henry confesses, voice small. “I wasn’t expecting us to jump into dating, obviously. Or even being friendly. I just…”
“You just expected him to remember you,” Pez finishes his sentence. Henry can’t do anything but nod.
“That’s absolutely valid, dove. You’ve slept with, like, a thousand men this year alone and you remember them. Expecting him to remember you is not asking for too much, you know.”
“I know,” Henry mumbles, voice muffled. “It just sucks.”
“Well, he is a fuckboy,” Pez says. Henry lets out a watery laugh.
“What?” Pez asks, and Henry can hear the smile in his voice. “He is.”
“He is,” Henry agrees with his own smile.
“You know,” Pez starts, and Henry knows he’s going to say something outrageous. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone.”
“That’s terrible advice,” Henry says, shoving at Pez’s chest so he can grin up at him.
“Never failed me once, poppet,” Pez winks.
“Well, it can’t hurt, I suppose.”
“Atta boy,” Pez smirks, pouring them more shots.
The night is just getting started, anyway.
Saturday night finds them at the bar, even if Henry is in a maudlin mood. Pez has slinked off to the bathroom leaving Henry alone. He’s spiralling.
The thing about sleeping with someone you love but can’t have, Henry thinks, is that it destroys you.
Sure, he’d thought about how that would feel. Had told himself countless times that sleeping with Alex was not a good idea, even though he’d known that if the opportunity ever came up, he’d snatch it with desperate hands. Now, as he’s standing by the bar nursing a drink, he wishes he would’ve listened to his past self.
He doesn’t understand how he’s supposed to just move on now that he knows what Alex tastes like, how his hands encompass Henry’s hips. Henry now knows that Alex buries his face in the crook of Henry’s neck when he’s about to come, his teeth sinking into the skin.
Henry can’t have him, not again. Never again.
Just like Henry, Alex never sleeps with the same person twice. He’s always looking for the next person to be with, never staying. Henry does it because he’s afraid of genuinely falling in love with someone. He can’t risk that when he’s already in love with a mouthy American. He's been in love with Alex for ages, really. He remembers the first time he’d seen him at a fraternity party three years ago.
“I’m going to marry him someday,” Henry had said to Pez, eyes fixed on Alex Claremont-Diaz who was dancing unabashedly, a carefree grin on his face, his skin bathed in the colours from the strobe lights. He looked absolutely breathtaking, the purples and pinks complementing his dark skin.
“Him?” Pez had snorted. “Good luck, Haz. That man is a commitment-phobe. The word monogamy is not even in his dictionary.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’ll buy him a new one then,” Henry had smiled. “I’m going to marry him someday, just you wait and see.”
So, in truth, Henry knows if he even decided to give someone else a shot, he’d feel terrible about it. He’s not going to be that person who pursues someone else while having feelings for Alex. He’s not going to play with someone’s feelings like that, he’s not going to fall that low. He doesn’t have the energy for casual dating at the moment, so picking people up for a night is what’s truly convenient for him. He loves sex, sue him.
Look, he knows sex is not the best way to cope with a broken heart, but it’s all he’s ever known. It’d started when his dad had passed away—he remembers the endless nights of drinking, the drugs, waking up in places he’d never even been to before.
He’s not proud to admit it, but when his sister, Bea, had started losing herself in drugs, he wasn’t too far behind, the pain too much to bear on his own. It had taken root in his chest and it kept growing and growing, and growing, but he found out that he didn’t care for it too much when he was snorting a line of coke at house parties, his sister’s laugh tinkling in the background. He remembers how the euphoria filled haziness made the pain of losing the only man he’s truly cared about—the only man who has cared about him—go away. He remembers having to take more every time he woke up because not taking any drugs made him physically sick. He remembers finding solace in the arms of strange men, no matter how temporary. He remembers how safe he’d feel when he was blanketed by their bodies, the memory of his father too distant to actually remember it. He was good at it, sex. He wasn’t particularly safe with it. He didn’t care about what happened to him.
It was an endless cycle of drugs and sex and self-loathing. Bea was his enabler, just like he was hers. It wasn’t a healthy way to cope, but that is all they had; their mum was too lost in her own pain to give a damn about them.
It was Philip, their brother, who had pulled them out of that self-destructive cycle, surprisingly. He’d driven three hours out of London with Pez at four in the morning to pick them up at the club, tears in his eyes. He’d never seen his brother cry, even at their father’s funeral, and it had startled him so much that Henry had started thinking about how Philip had lost his father, too. He’d checked himself into rehab with Bea two days later.
Henry had the drug problem under control now. But the sex? He likes it too much to give it up. He always uses a condom now. Gets tested regularly. He doesn’t think he could truly give it up because he likes how full he feels when a man fucks him a little too much. Loves sucking dick too much to give it up. He’s much safer about it all now though.
He’d been shamed too many times for this before. By Bea, by Philip, by bloody Martha. They did it in a way that made Henry feel like he was doing something wrong and bad and that he was cheap, but Pez has always had his back. He always said what Henry needed to hear, and it had taken so much effort, but Henry was no longer ashamed of being a slut. He goes out and pulls whenever he wants to and he’s fucking proud of it.
Pez says he’s in his “responsible slut era,” as he ruffles his hair and Henry adores him.
Henry finds a man to hook up with at the club.
The best way to get over someone is getting under someone– Pez’s words echo in his mind as he laughs a little hysterically. There’s a man across the dancefloor, sitting at the bar, who has been staring at him all night, his deft fingers twirling the glass. Henry stares. He knows those fingers will feel incredible inside him. The way he’s playing with his glass makes Henry’s stomach swoop, so he looks at the man from beneath his eyelashes and lets his lips stretch in that grin that sends men down to their knees.
His fingers stutter, and the glass goes flying over the counter. Henry smiles. It’s oddly charming. Henry leans back against the wall, raising an eyebrow. He shifts a little in a way that has the collar of his shirt falling open, exposing the skin at the base of his throat. Then, he tilts his head invitingly, a smirk rising on his face when the man gets up from his seat to saunter across the floor towards Henry. He stops a couple of inches away from him, his face pleased.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says. “What’s your name?”
What’s your name, sweetheart? Alex’s voice echoes in his mind. Right. This is what he needs to forget.
“I’m Henry,” he says, resting a hand on the man’s pec as he slightly digs his nails in. “What’s yours?”
“Stephen,” The man—Stephen—smiles, resting his hands on Henry’s hips to pull him close. He kisses Henry on his cheek, lingering. It’s the freckle that sits there, Henry knows. People have a weird fixation on it. That, and the mole that sits on the top corner of his lip. “It’s lovely to meet you, Henry.”
“You as well,” Henry exhales, a little shaky, fisting a hand in the collar of Stephen's shirt to eliminate the space between them. “I think you should kiss me.”
Then, his brain shuts down as the pretty man leans in to kiss him.
Henry is being given a hickey by Stephen, his head thrown back against the wall when he spots him. Alex.
He should’ve fucking known. He’s never once caught a break in his life, and why should it start now?
Henry’s eyes are half-lidded as he spots Alex dancing on the dance floor bathed in the pretty pink light. He watches as Alex’s skin glows as the lighting changes to purple, changes to blue. He looks gorgeous under every shade, and Henry is never going to love anyone like he loves Alex Claremont-Diaz. He’s there, just dancing, but Henry can’t look away. He’s gorgeous like this, not a single care in the world. The way Alex’s hips move brings back memories that he absolutely should not be recalling, not when Henry’s wrapped around another man. That doesn’t stop it from happening.
“How are you real?” Alex groans before kissing Henry like he holds all the answers to the universe.
“Maybe you dreamt me up,” Henry laughs.
“I’m convinced I did, baby.”
Henry had never moved on.
Alex is dancing, and reality slaps him across the face. Alex’s hands are holding a girl’s waist; she's swaying her hips against his as he holds her in place, his chin resting on her head. His eyes are closed, but there’s a slight smile on his face. She’s tiny, engulfed in his arms, and Henry feels a pang in his chest. Despite it all, Alex does have a type, and Henry is not it. It’s time he gets that through his thick skull.
Henry is not Alex’s type, but he is Stephen’s.
So, he lets Stephen slip his hands under Henry’s shirt, tracing Henry’s spine with his warm hands. The way his hands engulf Henry’s back have his knees going weak, and he wraps his arms around Stephen’s shoulders to hold him up. Indulgent, he arches into the touch, eyelids drooping. He moans when Stephen’s insistent tongue brushes his as he kisses Henry, and he wraps his leg around his thigh. Stephen’s nails leave scratches down his back, and Henry delights in the sting.
It’s a thing for him—marks. He loves seeing them on his back, scattered around his hips. Alex had left his mark on him, and Henry had admired them in the mirror for days. He had half a mind to get them tattooed, a visual reminder of what had occurred between them that night. A reminder of something that would never happen again, no matter how much he was gagging for it.
That, and he loves being dragged, tossed around like he weighs nothing. Strong men have his pants tightening obscenely, and if the way Stephen's arms bulge in his shirt are anything to go by, Henry knows he is going to have a fantastic night tonight, Alex be damned.
Henry lets Stephen manhandle him, feeling giddy. Stephen wraps an arm around Henry’s waist to steer him away from the crowd, and shoves him into an alcove, secluded, but not hidden from view. He lets him skim his hands down the back of Henry’s thighs to lift Henry up so that he can pin him against the wall with hands under Henry’s thighs, his legs wrapped around Stephen’s waist. He tightens his hold, his cock leaking a bead of precome. That was unnecessarily hot.
The corner they’re hiding in is dark and secluded, sure, but he still has a clear view of the dance floor. Of Alex. Henry forces himself to close his eyes so he doesn’t think about Alex too much, and then he doesn’t have to force himself anymore when Stephen thrusts up against him, his cock snug against Henry’s arse.
He pushes back, rutting back against Stephen, needy whimpers falling from his lips. The friction is delicious and he needs to be fucked now, and he opens his eyes to look down at Stephen to tell him as much, but instead, his gaze meets Alex’s unwillingly.
A jolt runs down Henry’s spine as he watches Alex watch him, and he can’t rein in the loud moan that pushes through his lips. His mouth drops open, lips slick with saliva, his arms tightening around Stephen’s shoulder. Alex’s stare is intense, never straying away from Henry, even if the girl in his arms demands his attention. He simply runs an absent hand over her torso as he looks at Henry, jaw clenched tight.
Then, peering at Alex, Henry slips a hand in Stephen’s hair to give it a harsh tug, biting his lip. Stephen buries his face in the crook of Henry’s neck, fingers digging into the meat of Henry’s flesh, and Henry watches as Alex’s mouth drops open slightly, eyes fixated on Henry’s hand. He licks his lips, and Henry can see how his hold tightens around the girl. Henry almost smirks.
When Alex looks back at him, his eyebrows are furrowed. Henry notices his breaths quicken, watches how he turns the girl around so that she’s facing him. Alex lowers a hand to cup her arse just as Stephen pushes up against him, and Henry has to drop his chin to rest it on Stephen’s shoulder because the sight does something to him. Alex’s hands are harsh and Henry relishes in the fact that he’s making Alex feel some kind of way, even though he’s not touching him at all. Even though he hasn’t touched him in weeks.
Suddenly, the possibility of Alex fucking him again isn’t improbable.
He needs to put on a show. Despite it all, he can’t resist looking back at Alex. He knows that he should be focusing on Stephen, on how good he’s making Henry feel, on how he has been holding Henry up like it's effortless, but nothing else is as important as having Alex fuck him again. The world could be ending right now, but Henry’s only goal would still be trying to make this look good for Alex so Henry can have a turn again.
Alex is staring at Henry, lips pursed. Having Alex’s attention on him while Stephen murmurs filthy nothings in his ear is doing things to him; Henry can’t stop moaning as he meets Stephen’s thrusts. Henry pulls at Stephen’s hair so he can slot their mouths together, lose himself in his taste, eyes still on Alex. He sucks on Stephen’s bottom lip, trying to make it look better than it feels.
Alex doesn’t look away. Instead, he matches Henry, toe to toe. Alex dips his head to kiss the girl without breaking eye contact either. They’re both kissing other people while staring at each other, wishing they were kissing each other, and Henry is sure nothing hotter than this has ever happened to him in his entire goddamn miserable life.
Henry opens his mouth when Stephen’s tongue swipes his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He angles his head so that he can lick into Stephen’s mouth as he stares at Alex, tugging at his lip with his teeth, just how he knows Alex likes. Watches how Alex looks back at him as he moves his lips against the girls, his hand gripping the back of her neck, just like Henry likes. It’s a game, and they go on for a while, trying to one up each other, mouths open, and Henry doesn’t think he’s ever going to forget the intensity of Alex’s eyes as they meet his, even in his dreams. Fuck, he’s never going to move on from his man in his entire goddamn life.
Henry’s head makes a little thud as he rests it against the wall behind him when it gets too much, mouth swollen, chin slick, holding on for dear life as Stephen unbuttons his shirt to sink his teeth into Henry’s collarbone. The move is so reminiscent of Alex on their first night that that’s how he comes—Stephen’s mouth on his neck, Alex’s stare on him, memories of their night playing on a loop behind his shut eyelids.
Alex never diverts his gaze away, watching greedily as Henry comes, breaths leaving him in short pants. His hands are clutching the back of the girl’s top, and Henry imagines that it’s so he can resist the urge to reach out to Henry. He can dream. Stephen kisses him, setting him back down on his feet.
Henry finally looks away.
He knows that Alex is going to come looking for him after this whole— this whole fiasco— deep in his bones. And, well, he can’t wait to see how this plays out. It might just be in his favour, if he plays his cards right.