Archive of Our Own ^beta

Henry isn’t starstruck. 

He can’t be, in this line of work. Most of his clients prefer him the opposite anyway; blasè and coy, a little mean, if the situation calls for it. He isn’t someone else who’s going to just pander blindly to them, and they pay him handsomely for that. 

Because of this, he tries to stay out of gossip columns and rumour mills. Most of the names on the classified contracts Pez forwards his way are unknown to him. Small indie musicians that struck a one hit wonder or a B-list actor that Henry vaguely might recall scrolling over a post of from the Met Gala the year prior. To be honest, he hadn’t really known them any better after the fact. 

He doesn’t often make a habit of reminiscing these things. In fact, he actively wishes he weren’t, attempting to enjoy his morning tea and read his emails while David snuggles sleepily into his robe-covered lap. 

But he catches sight of the client name on the newest contract from Pez and it’s enough, apparently, to spark a trip down memory lane. The sort that’s less nostalgic and more life flashing before his eyes. Henry nearly drops his phone, smears jam all over the corner and curses at himself as he tries to swipe it off again. He can hear Pez cackling from the opposite side of the screen. 

Sucking a sticky thumb into his mouth, Henry hesitantly clicks back to his email. It’s still there, then. Not his imagination. Not a precursor to heavenly ascent. 

How’s this for something new? Pez’s comment reads above the contract link. 

Right below it, a name. 

Alex Claremont-Diaz. 

Henry should say no. If there’s a risk of his professionalism being neutralized by the singular leather-wearing, guitar playing, ballad crooning fixation of his twenties and nearly thirties, he should absolutely not take it. 

His teeth sink into the meat of his thumb, the sweetness long gone. Henry taps reply and hovers over N-O. 

Another notification pops up from Pez. He can do next Thursday. Asked for you specifically. 

Well. Bullocks. 

Henry finally reaches for an actual napkin, gathers up his plate and silverware to take to the sink, lets David gently onto the floor and refuses to think about the response he sends back for the rest of the day at minimum: 

I’ll be there. 

+

It’s not a tour bus, though Henry isn’t sure whether to be pleased or disappointed by the fact. He can’t honestly say he’d have minded regardless. 

It’s a hotel suite instead, on the top floor of some ritzy place next to the venue the band is playing tomorrow evening. Henry isn’t a stranger to these places. It’s a common fantasy for people to ‘notice’ him at the hotel bar and ‘invite’ him back up to their rooms for a ‘clandestine’ affair. It’s a three act story, and Henry performs it flawlessly. 

This time, he’s not told to wait at the bar. 

He’s directed to the front desk which promptly provides him with the key to Alex’s room, a hotel employee taking him to the lift and directing him the right way. Evidently Alex is still at sound check next door, but should be finished soon. It takes away a good bit of his nerves, at least. 

The suite is sprawling and spacious, with a view of the city overtaking the entirety of the outside wall. Velvet black curtains rest at either end, likely controlled by a remote somewhere in the room. Henry shuts the door behind him and leaves the key on the standing table, slipping off his coat to drape over the nearest chair. 

The list of Alex’s requests had been surprisingly vague. Sometimes he or Pez will turn someone away for that, especially if the client has a history of being unpredictable. In this particular instance it’s as nerve wracking as it is thrilling. Henry has nothing to work off of, no preferred clothing items or props or persona to put on. 

Unsure of what he should do with himself, Henry takes a slow perusal of the room at surface level, eyeing the clothes strewn over the side of the sofa and the half-drunk water bottles left on the coffee table, the wrappers peeled off and balled up. He rolls up his sleeves and steps around a few of the stray ones that’d tumbled to the carpet, taking a tentative seat on the couch. It feels like he’s intruding, though he’s been assured by Pez, Alex’s manager, and the hotel staff that it’s where he’s supposed to be. 

Luckily he isn’t left feeling like a voyeur for long. The scanner on the door beeps as a card is inserted into it, and the handle clicks down. Henry forces himself not to strain to look around the corner to the entryway, opting instead to lean further back into the sofa as the heavy wood hits the door stopper and thuds closed again. 

There’s rustling; low cursing with a southern twinge that Henry immediately recognizes is thicker alone than it is in media interviews. One shoe hits the carpet dully before its counterpart, the tinkling of what sounds like jewelry touching around the corner. 

A blurry heap of curls is what greets Henry before anything else, Alex’s hand buried in them and his head facing the floor as he walks into the living area and shakes them out. Perhaps he’d been wearing a hat before, Henry thinks idly. A shame. He’d have loved to be the one to take it off of him. 

He’s aware, distantly, that he should announce himself. But Henry finds the hint of an amused smile pulling at his lips as Alex continues mumbling to himself, walking over to the nightstand to plug in his phone and then crossing over to the mini bar to pour himself a drink. It’s only when Henry eyes him tugging down a bottle of brandy that he finally clears his throat. 

Alex curses again, louder now, as he scrambles to keep the glass from breaking, setting it gently on the cabinet and swinging his gaze over to Henry. He flushes immediately, and Henry can see the recognition on his face as he puts the glass back in the cabinet. 

“Expecting company, were you?” 

Alex laughs, rich and melodic, as if he’s incapable of doing anything otherwise even when he’s nervous. 

“Yeah, shit. I just—forgot. Not that I’m not excited about this. I’ve been looking forward to it, actually. But not in a weird way, it’s—” he pauses, drags in a breath, and lets it out in a nervous laugh that Henry’s going to think about for years. “Fuck. Just—I’m Alex. Obviously. Can I get you something to drink?” 

“Henry,” he offers, though he’s sure Alex knows. He tilts his head. “I can come back, if now’s not a good time.” 

“No, stay,” Alex rushes, turning to face him. He bites his lip at his own eagerness, lowering his tone.  “I do want—I want you to stay.” 

Appraising him slowly, Henry lets his eyes wander deliberately down to Alex’s denim-clad legs, his tight black shirt and back up to his face again, even more flushed now. Good. There’s no way he survives this if Alex isn’t half as obsessed as Henry is. 

“In that case, a sparkling water would be lovely.” 

He breaks the tension with another soft chuckle, bypassing the liquor to open up a mini fridge and grab two of the waters. “Coming right up.” 

Shutting the fridge, Alex brings both of them back over to the sitting area, handing one to Henry and keeping one for himself as he takes a seat in the chair opposite the couch. Not yet comfortable enough to sit beside him. Henry had expected differently on that one, inconsistent with the layered charm from his interviews. Still, Henry can work with it. 

“It is actually a good time, yes?” he asks as Alex settles in, uncapping his water. “You seem a bit winded.” 

“Yeah, no, this is good. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t after a real show, ‘cause I get a little wired,” Alex takes a long sip. Swallows audibly. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Plus, if I come out of all this with my voice wrecked then they’ll just think it was from going too hard at sound check.” 

Raising a brow, Henry smiles to himself and takes a sip of his own drink. He could match Alex’s energy if he wanted to, but it’s entirely too tempting to monitor the way Alex keeps watching his mouth instead. 

“Your email was intriguing,” Henry says. 

“Was it?” Alex asks. “I didn’t read it.”  

“Oh?” 

“My manager—Nora—she sent the inquiry for me. I asked her to set this up,” he explains. 

“Why not you?” 

“‘Cause I was afraid I’d chicken out,” Alex admits with a self-effacing grimace. He picks at the lid of his bottle. “And, uh, a little afraid that you’d laugh at me and just delete the email altogether and it would hurt less if I just made Nora do it so I couldn’t obsessively check it to see if you’d answered or not.” 

Oh no. Henry feels horribly fond. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Well, I mean—your clientele is pretty intimidating.” 

“I know many people who would describe you similarly,” Henry wagers. 

Alex snorts. “Maybe. But I’m not—fancy like that, I guess. I’m just a man.” 

“Indeed you are,” Henry says, perhaps an octave lower than necessary, “and so am I. And I’ve answered your email, no stress-induced panicking necessary. So, why don’t you tell me more about why I’m here?” 

Under the attention, Alex shifts and purses his lips, then scratches the back of his neck as his lips part. His legs open a bit as he sets the bottle between his thighs, and Henry resolutely does not look at the muscles that bulge to keep it in place. 

“I’ve never really been with a guy before,” Alex prefaces. “Not like, fully, anyway.” 

Henry nods. “This is curiosity, then?” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “I already know I’m bi. In theory. Just not—in practice. Yet.” 

“Alright,” Henry says slowly. “Forgive me for prying, but it doesn’t seem like there would be any shortage of people willing to help you explore this part of yourself. Why me?” 

Beyond his own self-sabotage, Henry finds himself actually interested in the answer. 

“I mean, it’s not really as simple as it sounds. Everything I do is either live streamed or recorded or talked about in sometimes disturbing detail online. There’s the NDA’s and shit, of course, but most people aren’t into paperwork as foreplay. And if I take somebody home it goes bad, then…” 

“Word gets around,” Henry finishes. 

Alex blows out a breath. “Yeah. Even with all the legal stuff, it’s—there’s loopholes now. I’m not a huge reputation guy, but I’d rather not spread the word that I’m completely fucking awful at blowing somebody, or whatever.” 

“Makes sense.” Henry disposes his water on the coffee table and leans his elbows on his knees. “So what is it you’re looking for from me, then? Just to practice?” 

Glancing off to the side, Alex hesitates. “The problem is, like—I don’t like shit that I’m not immediately good at. You know?” 

“You’re a perfectionist,” Henry says. 

He chuckles. “A little, yeah.” 

“Well, surely you weren’t perfect at playing the guitar when you first started.” 

“Well. That’s true. But I learned guitar before I started feeling like I needed to be perfect, so.” Oh, Henry has questions. “At this point it’s like breathing.” 

“Like breathing,” Henry echoes, “is that what the song is titled after?” 

Alex’s nervous smile shifts into smirk territory, his focus narrowing.  “Do your research, sweetheart?” 

Something like that. It isn’t as if Henry has the special edition live recording version on vinyl, or anything. 

“Maybe I did,” Henry allows, “and you’re avoiding the question.” 

The confidence falls again, wavering back and forth throughout their entire conversation so far. Henry is more than a little intrigued. 

Alex sighs and reaches up to run a hand through his hair again. 

“Is it really relevant?” 

“Vulnerability is key to perfecting intimacy, Alex.” 

The use of his name seems to do the trick. It’s breathier than before when he exhales, “Fine. Yes. That’s what that song is about.” 

“Noted. Thank you for telling me.” 

He perks up a bit again at the gratitude, eyeing Henry curiously. 

“D’you track down the name of the band too?” 

“Bit difficult to miss,” Henry says. “Honestly I’d figured it was about ‘vibes’.” He raises his hands into air quotes, for good measure. 

A private smile flickers at the corners of Alex’s mouth. “Midnight Cowboy is a bar in downtown Austin. We always wanted in there—we’d busk outside their place, ‘cause it was always packed. Waitlist and everything. Turned us down every time. Now, they practically beg us to come and play. And we’re the ones that get to say no.” He grins. “Also, their socials are drowned out now with all our shit instead. Poetic justice.” 

Henry runs his tongue over his bottom lip and watches Alex’s eyes drop to the motion. 

“You named your own band out of spite?” 

Alex shrugs. “Fuckin’ love doing things out of spite.” 

The silence is thick with possibility when they fade into it, neither of them willing to look away. Alex has relaxed into himself more now, just enough for Henry to push a little. 

“But not this,” he adds. 

“Not this,” Alex agrees. He clears his throat. Looks away. “I guess I’ve rambled for long enough. Sorry about that.” 

“Don’t be. I like the sound of your voice.” 

He blinks up at Henry. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Henry nods. He leans back into the sofa again invitingly. “I’d like it closer to me, if you’re open to it.” 

The direction lands beautifully, Alex’s legs moving before the rest of him. He abandons his water in the chair and rounds the corner of the coffee table in his socks, his lip caught between his teeth when he falls into the open spot beside Henry’s body. 

He’s even more beautiful up close, really. Henry supposes he can retire happily after this. Surely he’s hit his peak. 

He lifts the hand he’d had resting on the back of the sofa and raises it to Alex’s face, slowly moving a bit of his hair out of the way. Alex’s inhale is steep and sharp in the dwindling space left between them. His eyes run over Henry’s face, waiting. 

“What now?” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone shy on me,” Henry teases. 

“I haven’t, swear. I just…” Alex trails off. 

“I’m afraid I’m not going to give into your need for perfection,” Henry tells him bluntly, boldly sinking the rest of his fingers into Alex’s hair, transfixed by the softness. “I find that the best iterations of intimacy happen during the inconsistencies. The unexpected.” 

Subtly leaning back into the touch, Alex’s lashes flutter when Henry’s grip tightens. His breathing hitches. “Really?” 

“Mm,” Henry agrees. “There would be no point, if everyone was the same. Nothing to explore. Push the limits of.”  

Alex swallows. Henry strokes a thumb over the side of his throat. “There’s gotta be, like—some things that you enjoy, though. Just in general.” 

“Perhaps,” he agrees. “I suppose you’ll have to find them out yourself.” 

The prospect of a challenge makes Alex’s pupils dilate. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and Henry watches openly. 

“What about, like. Rules, then?” 

Henry bites back a smile. He’ll keep Alex’s need for structure in his metaphorical back pocket—typically, alongside it, praise is also well received. 

“I’m usually very flexible, ” Henry prefaces, “but I do have hard limits about communication. You tell me what you like and what you don’t and if you need to stop for any reason, and I’ll afford you the same courtesy. I won’t be upset, and I won’t enjoy myself if you aren’t enjoying yourself.” 

With a very serious furrow in his brow, Alex nods. “I can do that, yeah.” 

“It goes both ways. If I have a question, I’ll ask you. I expect an honest answer, and I’ll give you my honesty in return if you’re ever unsure about what to do or where it’s alright to touch.” 

At this, Alex’s eyes flick away and then return. 

“But I can—I can kiss you?” 

“Of course. You’re free to do much more than that, if you’d like.” Alex’s eyes widen again, and Henry assures him with a smile. “But I think that’s a lovely place to start, yes?” 

Admittedly, Henry likes this part of it, likes structuring things so that the other person has to come to him first. It’s less about power and more about understanding how the evening is going to go; he can tell so much about someone based on that first movement, whether they start timid and slow or rough and fast. 

Alex, dizzyingly, is a mix of both. He’s eager—in his eyes and the shift of his body across the sofa, but he’s also tentative with the hand that he uses to reach up and grip Henry’s jaw, his thumb soft on Henry’s cheekbone as he turns his head to the side and leans in. 

Henry lets him lead at first, a little lost himself to the press of Alex’s lips. Light at first, then firmer, heavier. His breath is hot each time he pulls back a little to shift the angle or turn his face, chapped lips wet with spit and sparkling water as they move against Henry’s. 

It’s thrilling, feeling him getting more confident about it as he goes. Henry allows himself a hand on Alex’s hip, pressing into warm skin just above his belt and pressing him closer. One of Alex’s folded knees rests on top of his thigh and Henry touches that too, greedy strokes of his palm while the muscle twitches beneath the denim.  

“Okay?” Alex breathes, pulling back to blink slowly at him. 

Henry hums affirmatively, and wraps a hand around the back of his neck to pull him back in. 

With the encouragement, Alex opens up that much further. The weight of his lips turns a little hotter, a little messier, and he groans when Henry leads with his tongue. He’s right up close now, their sides pressed together on the couch. Every push and pull of their mouths ripples through his body like a wave as if controlled by his lips and tongue, and Henry feels something shift, unmistakably, inside of him. 

The bend of his leg brushes the bulge of Henry’s cock in his lap, and Alex slows his kisses, breathing heavily as he pulls back to glance down between them. 

He slips a hand off of Henry’s face to his chest, down. “Can I..?” 

“Go on,” Henry says, widening the split of his thighs obligingly. 

Alex’s palm drifts the rest of the way down his abdomen and over the button of his trousers, and he pauses only for a split second before he commits, curving his hand fully over the shape of Henry’s cock over the denim. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, feeling the weight. Henry moans, half in a show of encouragement and half painfully genuine, and gives a mild roll of his hips into the pressure as he uses a finger to turn Alex’s face back to him for a kiss. 

Between both of them they manage to get the clasp undone, and then Alex’s palm is one less layer away from bare skin. The nice, expensive material of Henry’s boxers doesn’t do much to dull the sensation, not with Alex’s curious, insistent fingers rubbing over the length of his cock, down to the base and back up to the sensitive head. 

“Tell me the one thing you want most,” Henry murmurs against his mouth. 

Alex doesn’t hesitate. “I really wanna fuck you,” he says, “if that’s okay.” 

With a quirk of his mouth, Henry takes his time sucking Alex’s lower lip into his mouth before he answers. “That would be lovely, Alex.” 

It’s a prompt just as much as it is Henry’s own thinly veiled want, a reason to move from the couch toward the bed. He’d be content to just use his mouth on the sofa all night if Alex asked for it, but the eager press of his hips against the outside of Henry’s thigh tells him otherwise. 

“You selected no condom.” Henry presses into the side of his neck with his teeth as he slips a hand underneath Alex’s shirt. “Is that still what you’d prefer?” 

“Yeah,” Alex nods, nearly tripping over his feet as Henry walks him backward. “Yeah, I mean. You’ve got all of my results. I haven’t been with anybody since I made this request, so. I’m all yours.” 

Henry likes the sound of that. 

“You’re quite the planner,” he teases, nipping at Alex’s collarbone. 

Alex snorts somewhere above him. “I try.” 

He strips Alex’s shirt the rest of the way off and then pushes him back on the bed, and he bounces a little as he shoves a hand down to work himself out of the skinny jeans. Henry appreciates the view while he stands between the spread of Alex’s knees, undoing the buttons of his own shirt as he watches. 

The moment his jeans are discarded, Alex sits up in his boxers to take over the job. With him sitting and Henry standing his face only reaches his torso, dimpled chin inches from Henry’s navel and the dark blonde hair underneath it. Alex’s eyes flicker over everything all at once as he tugs the shirt the rest of the way from Henry’s trousers and goes straight for the zipper, fingers hooking into the belt loops to tug them down. 

They fall to Henry’s ankles and he kicks them away, threading his fingers through Alex’s hair to hold him still. When Alex glances up at him Henry uses the grip to drag him forward and close the distance, the split of Alex’s bitten lips grazing the skin of Henry’s stomach between the hanging panels of his shirt on either side. 

It earns him another small noise from the back of Alex’s throat, his eyes fluttering shut as he smears light kisses over the skin, hands tight, flexing at the sides of Henry’s hips as he goes. He slips his shirt off of his shoulders and leaves it with his trousers, then gently tugs Alex away to push him back on the sheets. 

They wrestle about it for a minute, rolling around and trading turns on top while they kiss. Now that his nerves have eased more, Alex kisses with the same fluidity that he carries behind a guitar or a microphone, spits out curses just like he croons lyrics. 

When he gets Henry on his back, tongue in his mouth and a leg between his thighs, Henry presses a hand against his back and then trails lower, testing, over the curve of his ass. 

“I assume you don’t want anything here today?” 

Alex wipes some of Henry’s spit from his mouth with his thumb, propped up on a hand as his face darkens in color. “I mean, I’m down. Maybe not for like, fucking, but. If you wanna just use your hand or fingers or something. I did all the, uh, housekeeping.” 

Henry grins. “Housekeeping?” 

“Shut up,” Alex groans, dropping down to hide his face in Henry’s neck. “God. This is so fucking embarrassing.” 

“It isn’t,” Henry hums, stroking over the back of his head. He leans up to press a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re doing wonderfully. I promise.” 

The shaky exhale he gets in response is enough to prove his theory on praise. With a private smile, Henry drags his fingers back around to the side of Alex’s hip, inches from where his cock is hard and pressing incessantly up against Henry’s. He slips two of them past the stretchy band. 

“Let’s get you out of these, hm?” 

Alex tilts off to the side and falls back against the sheets, raising his hips agreeably when Henry begins peeling them down his thighs. All of him is a vision—from the toned planes of his torso to the thick muscles of his legs, dark hair covering golden skin and surrounding honeyed brown eyes—but Henry admittedly loses his breath a little at the sight of his cock. 

“Look at you,” he marvels as he tosses Alex’s boxers somewhere behind himself, lying on his stomach between Alex’s legs. He slips a hand up and over his thigh, wraps it loosely around the base. “Gorgeous, Alex.” 

The compliment makes Alex’s head drop backward with a groan, hanging between his shoulder blades as he props himself on his elbows. His cock twitches in Henry’s grip, the whole generous length of him, the wetness smeared at the tip. 

Henry can’t resist a taste. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Alex curses, laughing a little as Henry sinks down onto him with his mouth. “Thought I was gonna be the one with a sore throat tomorrow.” 

“We’ve got to preserve the instrument.” He pulls off with an exaggerated smack of his lips, using the spit to work his fist over him. “Can’t have you being anything less than perfect for them, can we?” 

Dragging his nails up the inside of Alex’s thigh until he jerks, Henry relaxes his throat and lets him fuck up into it as he pleases, humming at the taste. It’s not often that he accepts requests to go bare, and he plans to enjoy every last bit of this. 

He lets Alex work out some energy, then presses a hand to his hip to hold him to the bed. Then, fisting him again, Henry pulls off completely to catch Alex’s eye, making sure he’s watching as he purses his lips and spits to slick him up further. 

Alex’s hand finds its way into his hair as he sinks down onto him again, taking him deep and swallowing around him before pulling back up to use his tongue underneath the head. He’s a quick study but it’s anything but boring, the lull of it allowing him to focus more on Alex’s face as he moans and fists at the bedsheets. 

One hand curves around Alex’s thigh to tug it over his shoulder while the other drifts further in between his legs, knuckles pressing into the sensitive swell of his balls and daring a tease back even more. 

“Shit, Henry,” he hisses, hips bucking up when Henry begins working him in earnest, quick and intentional. He waits until Alex’s thigh is twitching and his fingers tighten in Henry’s hair before he pulls off. 

He smears sticky kisses over Alex’s hip, up his chest. “Still want to fuck me?” 

“Yeah. Yes. Let’s do that.” 

Laughing, Henry removes his own boxers, both of them finally fully nude. He thinks of asking Alex which position he prefers, but finds eager hands already in the process of showing him. 

He lets Alex arrange him on his back against the pillows, moving only to direct him to where the lube is in Henry’s bag. He fetches it with just as much vigor, in a rush to get back in between Henry’s thighs. Henry prefers the excitement; he’s had other clients who get to this point and suddenly have some sort of epiphany about themselves that he is not qualified enough to handle. 

But Alex doesn’t break stride. If anything, his focus hones in and sharpens, slicking up a few of his fingers instead of making Henry do it himself. They slip between Henry’s legs with the ease and tentative fumbling of someone who’s likely only ever done this to themselves before, but Alex takes instruction and feedback exceedingly well, and within no time he’s picking up the slack of where Henry’d left off opening himself up earlier before he arrived. 

Henry breathes deep and allows himself the pleasure of someone else’s fingers, stretching, preparing, before he gently tugs Alex’s wrist away and grabs his hip to pull him forward instead. 

“Do you want me like this?” Henry asks, a hand pressed to his side. 

“I want you a whole lot of ways, to be honest,” Alex chuckles above him, eyes flicking over his face. “But, yeah. Is this—okay?” 

“It’s wonderful. Some people find it a bit too intense, is all. Just making sure you’re comfortable.” 

Alex takes another long look at him then, assessing, and nods. “Yeah, I’m—I want it like this.” 

Henry lets himself settle a little more then, one foot planted against the bed, the other nudging against the back of Alex’s thigh. His hand curves around his side toward his lower back, multiple points of adjustment if necessary. 

But he doesn’t push just yet. He waits for Alex to make the first move again, thumb stroking over his hip as they both watch him fist himself, spreading a generous amount of lube over his cock before he nudges forward into the split of Henry’s legs. 

The head of his cock rests blunt and demanding to be felt where it sits just outside of Henry’s body, and Henry aches to slip a hand around his own prick while he waits, only narrowly holding himself back. He doesn’t want to miss a second of this, not even if it’s pleasure that’s distracting him. 

Then, between one breath and the next, Alex angles himself down and forward slightly, pressing, and the head of his cock slips past the tight ring of Henry’s muscle and into the heat inside. 

“Oh, Alex,” Henry groans, reaching up to pull him down for a lazy kiss. “More. Give me more.” 

With a choked noise of his own, Alex’s forehead drops to his shoulder as he follows orders. But even then his face is tilted, glancing down his own body at where they’re connected. 

It’s a dizzying back and forth as Alex pulls out and then tucks himself in a little deeper each time, going slow enough that the stretch is a low, aching simmer instead of anything too sharp. He’s suspiciously silent, overwhelmed, Henry suspects, but he answers affirmatively each time Henry checks. 

With a final, helpless snap of his hips that closes the last of the distance between them, Alex’s hips press flush against Henry’s pink skin, his cock seated fully inside. 

Henry sighs, content, and slips a hand up his spine to feel the gathering sweat and goosebumps, further into Alex’s hair to scratch careful nails over his scalp and hold him close. 

“Fuck,” Alex says suddenly, different from the others as he pushes up on his hands. 

“What is it?” Henry asks, hands running over the outside of his arms. “Do you want to stop?” 

“No, just—don’t move. Unless you need to, of course, but—I need…” he glances, brief and wild-eyed, around the room. “Shit. My notebook’s in the other room.” 

Henry cocks a brow beneath him. “Your notebook?” 

“Yeah, I—fuck. Don’t—don’t say anything else for a sec. Sorry.” 

Sealing his lips closed with an amused smile, Henry watches curiously as Alex steadies himself with a hand on the outside of Henry’s thigh and then leans over and up toward the nightstand by Henry’s head. He rifles through the top drawer for a second before his hand emerges with one of the hotel pens, shoving it between his teeth to yank the cap off. 

It stays there, poking out the corner as he lifts an arm and braces the tip of the pen against his inner wrist, but he’s shaking a bit too much to get it steady. He curses, muffled around the cap, and flicks his wide eyes down over Henry’s torso. 

“Can I write on you?” 

“Ah,” Henry says. “Sure?” 

It certainly wouldn’t be the weirdest thing someone’s asked of him, and the pen is washable anyway. Perhaps he should ask a few more questions first about what exactly is being written, but Henry finds himself entirely too transfixed by the fervor of Alex’s movements to deter him at the moment. 

Alex swoops down then to brace himself against Henry’s chest, one hand spread for support on his pectoral while his other begins scribbling haphazardly across his rib cage. The drag of the small pinpoint tickles and Henry uses everything in him to attempt to stay still and keep quiet, because it appears that Alex is writing lyrics. 

A great many of them, stretching from one side of Henry’s torso to the other, over bone and cartilage and the soft flesh in between it all. Brow furrowed and lip caught between his teeth, Alex kneels over him like a music sheet, and Henry thinks this might just be the best thing that’s ever happened to him before. He’s always enjoyed being used, but this is something decidedly different. More. 

The writing comes to an abrupt stop somewhere just underneath Henry’s lower left rib, and the furrow in Alex’s brow deepens with concentration. He appears to think on it for a second before he sticks the butt end of the pen directly into the cap in his mouth, drags Henry’s leg up higher at his side, and swivels his hips, moving his cock inside of him. 

Henry groans, and Alex starts muttering to himself as he fumbles for the pen to keep writing again, inspiration evidently recovered. 

He gives little shallow thrusts of his hips almost absently as he keeps writing, gentle enough not to jolt Henry’s body too much but pointed enough that Henry has a difficult time keeping his composure. Whatever he’s humming under his breath sounds like something Henry’s bound to have on repeat if it ever sees the light of day. 

The last collection of words is nestled off to the side a bit above Henry’s right hip, and Alex swipes a dot of sweat safely away from them before he caps the pen, tosses it aside, and starts fucking him proper. 

“Sorry,” he pants against Henry’s open mouth, fallen down onto his elbows again as his hips work up to a steady rhythm. 

Henry kisses him firmly. “Don’t be.” 

The ink on Alex’s fingers smears over the outside of his leg when he hikes it up even higher, leaning back for leverage. His pace quickens and solidifies with the new angle, and Henry arches his back to make it even better, meeting him halfway. 

Henry gets paid enough not to care much about the way people look at him when they’re fucking him. In fact, most of the time he’s on his front so he doesn’t have to see it at all. But the way Alex’s eyes roam over him from the ends of his undoubtedly disheveled hair to the line of his waist to the words spanning across his ribs—it’s hard not to feel like a work of art, when someone’s appreciating him that way. 

Alex isn’t only less nervous now, he’s confident. The way he moves doesn’t leave any room for hesitation despite having apparently not done this part before, every drag of his thick cock against the inside of Henry’s body deliberate and rhythmic, like he’s following along to a beat only the two of them can hear. 

Good, Henry thinks. He’s met a lot of people who could stand to be knocked down a peg or several, but Alex has nothing that Henry thinks he shouldn’t own. 

He finds himself eager for it when Alex eventually lowers down over him again, smearing their mouths together as he shoves in deep and rolls his hips in broad, lazy circles. Henry moans when his cock shifts enough to budge up against his prostate, using the leg on his hip to hold him there and press him deeper still. 

He touches over Alex’s shoulders, his arms, his back—anything and everything he can reach. He traces the notches of his spine down and down until he reaches the seam of his ass, testing them further. 

“Alex,” he says, pressing in, “is this alright?” 

“Fuck. Yeah. Please.” 

With only enough space between them to avoid smearing the ink on his chest, Henry holds him close and wets two of his fingers with spit before slipping them back down over Alex’s back. Ordinarily he’d use the lube, but he’s not going to give him much. Just a taste, the promise of what he could have another time if he asked for it. 

God. Henry hopes he asks for it. 

But for now, he rubs the slick on his fingers in between Alex’s ass, the middle one settled over his entrance. Lightly at first and then firmer, more deliberate, until Alex’s rhythm is faltering and his body is caught between the two; the tight heat of Henry’s body, or the alluring temptation of his fingers. 

“Yeah, fuck. There,” Alex gasps, grinding into him quicker. “Henry—baby.” 

Leaning up to take the lobe of Alex’s ear between his teeth, Henry lowers his voice to a rasp and presses the praise in thick, going on about how good he feels, how well he’s fucking him, how Henry’s going to remember this for a long, long time. 

Some part of it manages to strike a nerve, and Alex goes taut all over before he starts to come, only barely keeping himself from collapsing on Henry’s chest as he grunts and works himself through it in short, shallow thrusts until he’s spent. 

His kisses delve into something more languid then, something intimate enough that Henry would usually shy away from it. Instead, he wraps a hand around the back of Alex’s neck and lets them both have it, burying his hiss in between Alex’s teeth when his cock finally slips free. 

“So fucking good,” Alex huffs against him, his kisses trailing south over Henry’s upturned chin and down his neck. He bypasses the ink carefully, then glances up from between Henry’s legs with a smile. “Your turn, sweetheart.” 

Finally, Alex’s fingers wrap around his cock. Henry isn’t proud of the way he twitches so obviously up into the pressure but it seems to thrill Alex, who drops down onto his stomach to guide him past the swollen, slick barrier of his mouth. 

He’s not as coordinated about it as Henry had been, but Henry would hardly expect him to be after what just occurred. He’s aching enough that technique isn’t appearing to be all that much of an issue either way, not when it’s Alex’s lips and tongue hot around him, his flushed cheeks hollowed out, his brown eyes and dark lashes blinking up at him like a dream Henry could swear he’s had before. Multiple times, probably. 

“Alex,” he exhales, slipping a hand into his curls to take back some semblance of control. “So good, love. That’s it. You can take it—doing so well for me.” 

Alex groans, the vibrations a delicious addition to the soft slide of his tongue, and his other hand wriggles underneath his body, intent on seeking out where Henry’s still wet and open between his legs. 

Two fingers slip inside of him easily, then three, and Henry curses at being filled up again. It’s how he prefers to come anyway, even though he hadn’t told Alex as much. The stretch of all three is a pleasant, familiar burn, and when Alex turns his hand and starts fucking them in and out with a concentrated effort on finding his prostate again, Henry hardly gets out a warning before he comes. 

He pushes himself into Alex’s throat a bit more roughly than he means to, but he can’t stop himself, and Alex does nothing to pull away. Henry watches through hazy eyes as he doubles his efforts at the first feeling of Henry coming on his tongue, body squeezing down on his fingers, a broken moan falling from his open lips. 

Even when Henry’s hips collapse back into the sheets Alex follows him down, bobbing his head and slowing the rhythm of his fingers until Henry’s shaky and oversensitive with the aftershocks. He laughs as he tugs Alex back up toward him to his side, leaning over to kiss the taste of himself off of his tongue. 

“I can promise you,” Henry pants, thumbing at his lower lip, “that there will be no rumours floating around about you being bad at that.” 

Alex’s face splits into a grin, his chuckle a little raspier at the edges now. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” 

They kiss for a while longer until Henry’s pulse is back in range, splayed out on the sheets with an arm behind Alex’s head and one of his legs on top of Henry’s. Alex paid handsomely for the entire night, so Henry has no issue taking his time. Though, if he’s honest, he wouldn’t have minded regardless. 

“Did you have a satisfactory experience?” he asks teasingly, nosing at Alex’s jaw. 

Alex laughs. “I’ve never fingered my come out of somebody’s ass before, so. You tell me.” 

Henry grins, fighting a laugh of his own. “Christ. I bet your PR team has their hands full.” 

“Oh, yeah. They hate me, for sure. But. Seriously. Five stars. No notes. That was incredible.” 

“I’m glad,” Henry murmurs into his collarbone, thinking idly about marks he isn’t allowed to leave behind. “You were lovely.” 

“I need a break before round two,” Alex jokes, then freezes. “I mean, not that I expect you to—” 

“Alex. You’ve just—what was it you said? ‘Fingered your own come out of my ass’ a moment ago. I think we can speak candidly with each other.” 

A little sheepish now, Alex relaxes under his touch again. “Well. I am very candid.” 

He dips back in for another few more kisses, then rolls away to start looking for where Henry’d thrown his boxers. 

“Leaving so soon?” Henry asks. 

“Nah. Just grabbing my notebook,” Alex explains, glancing down at his chest again. “The lyrics, I need to—” 

Henry reaches a hand toward the nightstand, unlatching Alex’s phone from the charger and holding it toward him. “Just take a picture.” 

“I…” Alex hesitates, looking between it and Henry’s face. “You’re sure?” 

He lifts a shoulder. “As long as you don’t get my face. You won’t show anyone.” 

“Fuck no,” he agrees, taking the phone. “It’s just for me. And I’ll delete them right after I get it all copied down, if you want me to.” 

He crawls on his knees back toward Henry, kneeling beside him as he opens up the camera app and adjusts the frame on Henry’s torso. Henry smiles at the focused poke of his tongue at the corner of his mouth as the shutter goes off twice. 

“You can keep them. Just for you.” 

Alex laughs again, high and incredulous, and tosses his phone aside as soon as it’s done. Then he lets Henry press him back into the sheets, and they set to smearing the ink as much as they want. 

+

In the entirety of Henry’s current professional life, he’s never once stayed up all night talking with a client. 

With Alex, it was easy. From the bed after a second round to the bathroom where they’d shared the spacious shower and guest toothbrushes, to the lounge area overlooking the city below, taking turns sipping from the same glass of Alex’s favorite whiskey and pecking at the room service sampler platter. 

Henry’s body is pleasantly sore and sated, his face stretched from smiling and doing a poor job at hiding it. When Alex’s phone vibrates with a text from his manager letting him know he should get some sleep before tomorrow if he isn’t already—she knows me too damn well, Henry, I swear—Henry has to admit, he’s a little disappointed to have to go. 

They clean up the food and drinks, slip slowly from the furniture toward the door to linger in the entryway. It’s not until they’re there with nothing left to procrastinate with that Alex begins to shuffle on his socked feet, his nerves returning. 

“I, um. I know somebody like you probably doesn’t need to do repeats, but I…” he starts, glancing at Henry across from him. 

His lips tilt. “Ask me, Alex.” 

“Can I see you again?” 

Henry raises a fondly amused brow. “You’d like to? Even now that you’re a practicing bisexual?” 

Alex rolls his eyes. Bites his lip. 

“I want to. I definitely want to.” 

Pushing off the opposing wall, Henry adjusts his bag on his shoulder and uses the same hand to reach out and touch Alex’s cheek, pressing his mouth to the spot before pulling away. 

“You’ve got my number. When you’re ready.” 

With a last minute surge of confidence, Alex grabs him by the front of his shirt and pulls him back in to kiss him proper, with tongue and teeth and a last lingering bit of desperation. 

“I’ll call you,” he confirms with a smile—not the media trained one, just something soft and simple and, for now, just Henry’s. 

He opens the door and leaves Alex there watching him walk away, unable to turn around for fear that the stupid, unprofessional grin on his face would give too much away if he did. But he catches a glimpse when he reaches the lift and steps inside, and luckily, Alex is wearing the same expression. 

Henry holds his breath until the door closes, then collapses back against the inside railing with a laugh, pressing his fingers to the phantom stain of ink on his skin over his shirt. 

He’ll be thinking of this for a long, long time, indeed. 

+

There are tickets to Midnight Cowboy’s show tonight sitting in your inbox, and if you don’t take me as your platonic plus one I’m afraid I’m going to have to quit. x 

Henry grins at Pez’s text the following morning over breakfast. He doesn’t have to think so much about his answer this time. 

I’ll be there.