Chapter Text
Henry knocks on the door with a ferocity just an inch shy of busting the blasted thing down. He’s exhausted, ravenous, and covered in a fine layer of sand he wants to scrape off with steel wool. There’s nothing worse than missions out in the desert, especially when he’s got to wear a suit the whole time to keep his cover intact. Everything that could go wrong did . In the last four days alone he’s received bad intel, had an extraction fall through, and been caught in a sandstorm that sent him halfway through Saudi Arabia to avoid his tail. He was about ready to get captured just for a chance to get out of the goddamn dirt when he managed to find a tall enough grain silo to climb to get a signal and radio his handler. And then his verdict had him considering pitching himself off said silo.
“You can’t be fucking serious,” Henry had groused, clinging to the railing of the tower’s thin metal catwalk. “You’re telling me that despite all the imperialist meddling done in the Middle East we only have one ally that can assist in extraction, and it just so happens to be the American?”
“Sorry to say it, love,” Pez had replied without a lick of sympathy. “And he’s in Dubai, so you have a bit of a trek. You’ll need to get there in three days to make it. Can you do it?”
Henry snorted into the line. “It’s already shameful enough to have Alexander extract me, if I missed the boat I’d rather the Royal Army just off me.”
Despite his confident words, Henry came very close to missing the extraction. He’d been thirty seconds away from the Royal Saudi Army walking in on him hotwiring a car and the resulting spray of fire on his retreating vehicle put a bullet within four centimeters of his skull. But he made it, and with nearly eighteen hours to spare. That is if Alexander ever felt compelled to open the pissing door-
“Never really got that one,” Alex says, swinging the door open so sharply Henry nearly slams his fist into the man’s chin. Alex catches his wrist, smirking haughtily at him. “How can a door piss, y’know?”
“Well, I’d rather it be opening,” Henry drawls, feeling his lip curl. He usually tries to keep things professional, especially when liaising with foreign intelligence agencies, but there’s sand in parts of him he didn’t even know he had. Henry pulls his wrist from Alex’s grip harshly, gritting his teeth. “May I come in, Alexander?”
“Sure can, Foxy.”
Henry toes his shoes off the moment the door closes behind him, tipping his Oxford upside down and watching the sand pour out. The door opens into a small foyer, which Alex pads down with a lazy curl of his fingers, beckoning Henry further into the room. Henry stores his ruined loafers by the door and follows, grumbling the whole way.
“Looks like someone finally got a budget, good for you Alexander,” Henry says when he reaches the main room. The entire far wall is made of glass, looking out over downtown Dubai and the ocean beyond glittering under the midday sun. The room itself is huge, with a fully stocked bar along the western wall and a spiral staircase leading up to a second floor. The low white leather couch could comfortably seat twenty. The floor is black marble that feels cool as ice beneath Henry’s sore feet. Every piece of hardware – light fixtures, the legs of the glass coffee table, the railing of the stairs – is brushed gold. It’s tipping ornate and landing in gaudy, something Henry associates with both Dubai and Alex, conveniently. “Does this excessive suite have a shower, perchance?”
Alex rolls his eyes, leaning against the back of the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. He’s dressed down, just a button-up shirt rolled up to the elbows and a pair of dark green slacks. His hair is slightly wet, pushed back off his face and dampening his collar. His biceps strain the fine weave of his shirt. Henry’s eyes dart to the man’s neck, and it takes him a moment to realize he’s looking for lovebites. He blames sleep deprivation for his lapse in sanity.
“Shower’s that way,” Alex says, jutting his chin at a second hallway across from the bar. “Before that, did you want to go over-”
“There’s nothing in the world I’d rather do before showering right now.” Henry gestures to his suit jacket, which was pitch black three days ago but now appears to be faintly grey. The only reason he hasn’t started stripping yet is that he’d like to contain the sand as much as possible if he’s to stay locked in Alex’s suite for the next day. Pez warned him that Alex would want a favor in exchange for the extraction, but Henry hoped – perhaps foolishly – he’d get at least a few minutes to gather himself before Alex tried cashing in. “So unless you’d like to brief me through a shower curtain, you’ll have to hold that thought.”
Alex holds his hands up, too mocking to be surrender, but Henry takes the out regardless. Henry finds the bathroom after testing a few doors and is so relieved at the sight of a shower head it takes a few seconds to process the fact that he can see the shower head. Henry swears a blue streak, reaching up to turn on his earpiece with a tap.
“Why on God’s green earth do all the resorts think the wealthy elite don’t require a shower curtain?” He nearly spits the question, glaring at the glass wall surrounding the shower. Not even frosted – completely clear glass, only broken up by a long gold bar indicating where the door is. The shower head is in the center of the glass enclosure, the drain beneath it, both the same brushed gold. The whole room is black marble, except for the wall with the floating double sink counter, which is entirely made of mirror. So not only can Henry not hide in the shower, he’ll see himself the whole time. “Have I missed some sort of exhibitionist memo?”
“Well it’s good to know you’ve reached Alexander’s room,” Pez says, a faint chuckle to his words. Henry considers peeling his earpiece out and throwing it down the drain. It’s been off for most of the last three days, both because the sandstorm meant it didn’t have the signal to connect and because he had no way to charge it and needed to preserve the battery for emergencies. He almost misses the silence. “Shower, snack, sleep. In that order, agent.”
“Don’t strain yourself telling me twice,” Henry says, already peeling off his suit jacket. He’s surprised the pile of sand at his feet doesn’t fall into a castle shape naturally. “Alex should have a cord to charge my earpiece somewhere. I’ll check in once I no longer look like I’ve spent a month in the Thunderdome.”
“If I don’t hear back in the next six hours I’ll assume one of you has killed the other.”
“I should be so lucky,” Henry says, before plucking the device from his ear. He drops it on the bathroom counter and pulls the locked case from his suit jacket pocket. The case is about the size of an Altoid tin and contains one of the Golconda diamonds, which Henry nearly killed himself to get from a young despot vacationing in Al-Balad. It’s worth at least a million pounds, but more importantly, it’s on Henry’s list of missing diamonds, a list he’s been tracking down for a year. The Crown’s decision to repatriate important cultural artifacts is an excellent one, and Henry will adamantly support it, no matter how tedious and dangerous it is.
As long as the next one isn’t going to be buried in a fucking sand dune.
He sets the case next to his earpiece, then shakes out his clothes in the corner and folds the ruined garments, stacking them over his items. He doesn’t think Alex will take them, despite their animosity towards one another, but spies aren’t known for being trusting.
Henry moans the second the warm water hits his shoulders. The water is nearly orange where it swirls around the drain. It takes a few minutes for the water to run clear, and Henry is so happy to be clean he could keel over. The hotel-provided shampoo and conditioner smell like sandalwood and citrus. Henry takes his time lathering his hair until all he can feel is smooth silk without even a hint of grit.
Alex comes in halfway through Henry scrubbing himself down with a second washcloth. He’s so quiet Henry might have missed him if it weren’t for the entire wall of mirrors. Alex settles against the sink counter, sipping from a glass of what Henry assumes is whiskey.
“What could you possibly want?” Henry asks, straightening. He’s not ashamed of his body, which he’s honed into a weapon for The Crown, and which Alex has already seen a fair amount of. Even if he were self-conscious, there’s nowhere for him to go in this voyeur's bathroom.
“You invited me to yell at you,” Alex says, shrugging a shoulder. He doesn’t even bother hiding the fact that he’s looking Henry up and down. “The new budget didn’t pay for a shower curtain. Guess I’m too poor for that.”
Henry entertains the idea of strangling Alex for a few seconds. He’d have to get through the glass door and across the room before Alex knew what he was doing, but Henry’s sure he could manage. American Intelligence is so under-equipped it would be easy, even. Eight months ago Alex had the advantage of surprise and Henry still could have bled him like a pig without much effort. He can practically hear Pez imploring him to think diplomatically, Hen, he’s not worth the administrative leave.
“I’m assuming you’re so adamant about talking to me because you have something important you need me to do? The favor isn’t some sexual quid-pro-quo you lied to my handler about?” Henry asks, hanging his flannel on the shower bar and tilting himself back under the water. Alex stares at the place where the water pools and then spills over Henry’s collarbones. He nods. “Is this task something that needs to be done in the next two hours?”
“Tonight. Dinner.”
“Great, then tell me after my nap,” Henry demands, closing his eyes and tipping his head back so the water runs down his neck. “Leave or enjoy the show.”
He can’t deny that his body is responding to Alex’s presence; espionage and responding enthusiastically to danger and risk go hand in hand, and Alex might as well be a walking vasodilator. Henry can spot half a dozen places on the man’s outfit that could conceal a weapon. Alex is also standing between Henry and the bathroom door, trapping Henry in his glass enclosure. It’s all mixing into a disastrously heady rush of endorphins that has Henry’s dick stirring.
Alex doesn’t leave, but Henry is worked up enough that he doesn’t care. He runs a hand down the center of his pecs, eyes sliding shut as he trails his fingers down his chest. If Henry were completely alone he’d take his time, truly play with himself. Alex hasn’t earned the right to see that, but Henry also doesn’t want the man bored enough to try and talk logistics. Balancing entertaining Alex and getting himself off is the exact kind of challenge that gets Henry excited.
He palms himself, hissing at the shock of stimulation that the faint touch sends through him. He hasn’t even thought about his dick in days, but now it’s demanding his attention. The water slicks his way, the leftover body wash making it a smooth glide and he strokes himself from base to tip, thumb flicking over the sensitive spot just below the head of his cock. Eight months ago Alex dug his tongue into that spot. Henry thinks about that sometimes when he’s alone, how the warm heat of Alex’s mouth felt around him. He strokes his thumb down the vein on the underside of his cock, imagining Alex stepping into the shower and replacing his hand.
He also thinks about the show Alex gave him after, rocking on Henry’s wingtip, whining for it. He’d buried himself on Henry’s cock like he was a man starved. Henry’s hand speeds up, jerking himself as fast as he dares. When his eyes slide open he can see himself in the mirror stripping his cock, flushed down to his chest and panting. His eyes slide to Alex, watching Henry so casually, sipping at his whiskey as if he’s watching a horse race rather than watching Henry get himself off.
It’s almost embarrassing how quickly Henry works himself toward the edge under Alex’s unimpressed gaze. The last time they were tangled together, he got Alex off by calling him a good boy. This isn’t the same Alex – there’s something harder in his expression, something that tilts towards danger just enough to get Henry excited. The image in Henry’s mind blurs from Alex tucked between his legs to Henry choking on Alex’s cock, Henry rocking on Alex’s shoe, Henry’s face stinging from Alex’s slap. Alex, the real Alex, stares at him, eyes darting up to meet Henry’s, and that brief moment of eye contact pushes Henry over the edge so fast Henry’s vision goes white.
When Henry comes down, he sees Alex still staring at him, something simmering and hungry in his gaze. Henry stares right back as he tilts his body under the faucet, letting the water wash the signs of his orgasm away. Alex raises the glass to his mouth and takes a long sip, swallowing so pointedly that Henry nearly tells him to shut up. Once he’s clean again Henry turns to shut off the water. When he turns back Alex is gone, a towel sitting on the counter where he sat. Henry walks out of the shower and dries himself off, wrapping the soft white towel around his hips and grabbing his things to leave the room.
The door to the nearest bedroom is open, and when Henry enters the room he finds a robe laid out on the bed, along with a sealed bottle of water and a small pile of protein bars. Henry demolishes three bars, hardly tasting the tart bite of dried blueberries. Adrenaline and cortisol have a way of erasing Henry’s hunger, making eating on missions a distant concern. He normally waits until he’s back in London and crashes for a few days, much to Pez’s chagrin. Even the vague hint of safety has made Henry’s body demand he pay attention to it.
Once he’s had enough food that his stomach isn’t trying to eat itself, Henry shucks his towel and climbs beneath the overstuffed white duvet. The bed is king-sized, a white Pearl in the middle of a dark marble room. The floor-to-ceiling windows are covered with thick curtains that allow only a sliver of light in, enough for Henry to have seen the protein bars and the robe by, but still dark. The duvet is heavy, the silk sheets beneath cool.
Henry isn’t sure he’ll be able to sleep and then he’s waking up to Alex’s hand shaking his shoulder. He’s swinging before he’s fully awake, but once again Alex catches his fist. He’s sitting on the bed by Henry’s hip, legs folded in a way that he could swing his legs over Henry if needed.
“Hey sleeping beauty, we gotta go over the meeting.”
Henry doesn’t pull his arm out of Alex’s grasp because he wants to hit the other man so badly that he wouldn’t be able to stop himself if he was free. “How long was I out?”
“Three hours, I was being charitable,” Alex says, squeezing Henry’s wrist once. It’s a warning, one Henry growls at, but when Alex lets him go he keeps his hands to himself. Henry sits up, rolling his shoulders and popping his neck. Alex watches him, turning so he can lean against the headboard. He reaches over and turns the bedside lamp on, bathing the room in a warm glow. Alex is still dressed casually, but he’s tamed his curls and Henry swears he can see a hint of eyeliner. “Ready to listen or do I need to pump you full of coffee first?” He pulls a face. “Sorry, pump you full of tea.”
“Go on,” Henry says, waving at Alex to continue. He finds the half-empty bottle of water still nestled in the bedclothes where he left it and drinks the rest, chasing away the sleep-stickiness of his mouth.
“I’ve identified a target we’ve been chasing for three months as part of a nuclear arms trade,” Alex says, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s selling refined plutonium to warring leaders in the Middle and South East. I’ve managed to get an invite to a dinner party by posing as an arms dealer from Spain who’s interested in going international.” He lets out an irritated huff of breath. “And the CIA won’t extract me until this is handled.”
Henry nods, picking at another protein bar. “So what, you need a spotter when you kill him?”
Alex shakes his head. “Killing him won’t help me track down how he’s getting the plutonium,” he says. “I need to drop a bug on him to figure that out.”
Henry rolls his eyes. “Is it always bugs with you Americans?”
Alex holds up Henry’s tin, waving it in the air between them. “Is it always diamonds with you English?”
Henry smacks Alex’s wrist with his flat palm, catching the case when Alex’s fingers instinctively straighten. Alex shakes his wrist out, expression pinching, but he doesn’t hit back. Henry curls around his case, pressing the cool metal to his naked chest.
“Don’t touch my things,” Henry says, teeth set in a snarl. He’s fought too hard to secure the diamond, nearly dying half a dozen times. He doesn’t even want to consider what would have happened to him if he was caught stealing from a war-profiting oligarch that was able to sicc the Royal Army on him. “Fine, you need a bug on a man. What does that have to do with me?”
Alex crosses his arms again, a line appearing between his brows. “The target is Onisim Sokolo, he’s a Russian National here to make deals and then go back to Russia to get the plutonium.” Henry glares at him expectantly until Alex sighs. “And he’s a gay man with an eye for blonds.”
Ah. “I forget you Yanks are so precious about honeypotting,” Henry says, huffing out a breath.
Alex frowns at him. “Yeah, what a moral failing, I don’t think it’s right to make you whore yourself out. Next time I’ll be more blasé about your ability to consent.”
Henry blinks at Alex. The man’s posture is drawn, shoulders tight enough to snap. The line between his eyebrows that Henry originally read as irritation now reads more like apprehension. Henry’s a little thrown by the thought that Alex is worried about him, not his lack of abilities or unwillingness to work with Alex, but that he’s making Henry do something he doesn’t want to do.
Goddamn Americans.
“I’m not afraid of a little sweet talking, Alexander,” Henry says, tamping down on his irritation. Alex is being nice. Henry can be… marginally kind. “I’ve done honeypot missions before, plenty of times. If that’s what we need to get an extraction then it’s fine.”
Alex still looks troubled. He’s got a look in his eyes Henry’s seen before, a hesitance that comes when you think about what you’re doing too much and start to question if the nation you’ve sacrificed your life to is worth it. Henry had that look once. There are only two ways forward; you lean all the way in or you step all the way out. It wasn’t much of a choice for Henry. His father died for his country. If Henry gave up, he’d end up dying for nothing.
“It’s different when it’s us,” Alex says, and Henry can practically feel every word fighting not to leave the man’s mouth. He’s curled around his middle, arms crossed over his chest, guarding something in his core. “When it’s just the two of us pushing boundaries that’s one thing. Dangling you like a piece of meat for someone else, that’s different. You can’t kill this guy if he goes too far.”
“I can’t kill you if you go too far,” Henry points out. Alex turns to him, expression tight. “I’d have far too much paperwork to do.”
“Henry.”
“Alexander,” Henry says, holding up his hand. Alex’s teeth click together. “Would you have left the shower if I truly asked you to?” Alex raises a brow, but slowly nods. “Would you have joined me if I asked you to?” Another nod, although Alex’s face heats when he does. Henry waves him off. “If you trust me to say no, you must trust me to say yes. I’ll get the bug planted, and we’ll be out in the morning.”
Henry can see Alex wanting to push it, to fight harder. He doesn’t let him. He shoves off the duvet, standing languidly and stretching. Alex coughs, eyes narrowing on Henry’s naked body. It’s a cheap tactic, but it stops the conversation, so Henry will call it a win.
“Hope you have a suit for me, my last one got sand-blasted,” Henry says, turning to the dresser. There’s a mirror hanging above it, and Henry takes a moment to look at himself. There’s a tender spot on his ribs, but the bruise is a pale enough green that you can only catch it under direct lighting. He doesn’t have any scratches on his arms or neck, and his hips are clear. One of his knees is scraped all to hell from sliding under a Humvee. He’ll need to keep his pants on, but there’s a lot he can do with that in mind.
Behind him, Alex stares at Henry in the mirror. “You’re going to be posing as my fiancé,” he tells Henry, and while his voice is back to that no-nonsense neutral, his eyes haven’t lost their nervous shine. “I have a suit for you, your handler sent me your measurements. I also have jewelry. I’ve already established you’d be coming to this dinner. I let Sokolo speculate things about you, so he’s expecting a spoiled blond princess.”
“Which I’m sure you were happy to oblige,” Henry says, sighing as he turns. “You give me a name?“
“Harry Kraft,” Alex says, tilting his head to the side. “Apparently this is a known persona. I got a driver's license and a passport for you. Someone slipped it under the door in the middle of the night.”
“Pez thinks he’s funny like that,” Henry confirms. “Suit, please.”
Alex stands, straightens, and disappears into the — evidently walk-in — closet, emerging with a black garment bag. He comes over to hand it to Henry, and now that the man’s hands are full, Henry can grab him. He gets one hand on the front of Alex’s shirt and the other on his shoulder, dragging Alex forward. He drops the garment bag on the dresser by Henry’s hip, fingers digging into the wood.
“I’m your promiscuous, spoiled, trophy husband, right?” Alex nods. “And I arrived this morning?” Another nod. “Hmm. Hold still then.”
Alex doesn’t, hips jerking forward when Henry bites down on the side of his throat. He doesn’t push Henry away. Alex leans into Henry, fingers going white where they clutch the edge of the dresser. Henry leaves a trail of bruises down the side of Alex’s throat, the darkest right at the spot where Alex’s collar will half-cover it. He pulls back, tilts Alex’s chin up to assess his work, and nods seriously. “There you go.”
“What the fuck, Fox?”
“You think your fiancé was going to see you for the first time in days and not fuck you into the mattress?” Henry asks, scoffing. Alex blinks at him. “If I’m playing your whore I’m not going to play for second place, Alexander. Now go get my ring.”
Henry snorts when he sees the suit Pez picked out for him. The blazer is snow white with two large black silk cutouts across the chest that look like two swallows in flight. There’s no shirt for underneath, so a strip of Henry’s chest will be on display all night. The pants are fitted, slightly flared so they settle over his boots, which are startlingly red leather.
Henry finds his earpiece on the bedside table, plugged into a micro-USB charger. He slips it into his ear with a grumbled, “I haven’t killed him yet. And Balmain, man? Isn’t that a little on the nose?”
“Your restraint is truly a shining gem in Britain’s crown,” Pez says, his voice soft with exhaustion. Henry winces. Pez has been up nearly as long as Henry, sleeping at his desk between Henry’s communications. He makes a note to buy the man a pint when he gets home. “And bad guys don’t keep up with FashionTok love, you’ll be fine. Tell Alex he better snap a picture of you.”
“Hack the hotel cameras.”
“Nothing in the room, unfortunately. Alex must have killed the hotel’s security, because I’m blind right now.”
Henry hums his approval. It’s been a while since he’s been inside without surveillance. “We’ll be downstairs for dinner. You’re not allowed to laugh when you see me make a jackass of myself.”
“Taskmaster.”
“Turning this off, I’ll update you once I’ve confirmed extraction.”
“Break a leg, Harry.”
Henry finds Alex in the living room, a stripped pistol sitting in pieces on the glass coffee table. He’s cleaning the gun with deft hands, moving so fluidly it’s almost a dance. Henry leans against the arch of the hallway, watching Alex at rest. He’s sitting on the floor, legs crossed, tongue poking out of his mouth as he works at a spot on the slide. He’s changed into a new pair of slacks, but his button-up and blazer are lying on the couch, leaving him in a white undershirt that’s molded to his muscular chest and stomach. Alex’s body is built for their kind of work – lovely to look at, but with a clear strength that’s deeper than vanity. There are a few scars on his arms that are small enough to explain away, but Henry knows the tight pucker of a bullet wound, the dotted line of a serrated knife carving flesh. Alex is one of the strongest fighters Henry’s ever faced. He’d hate to meet the man’s ghosts.
“Your ring is here,” Alex says, jutting his chin at a blue gift bag on the table. It’s Tiffany blue with a white ribbon, and when he approaches, he can see the entwined TCO logo. Henry sits on the edge of the couch and opens the bag, finding a small stack of white boxes within. He opens each one and learns more about Harry as he does. The man prefers gold to silver, rose gold especially. His engagement ring is a band of rose gold knotted like a chain with small clear diamonds in every link. Harry likes clear stones – there’s another on the pendant he finds deeper in the bag, and a string of them on the bracelet. There are more rings, enough that both hands have two apiece. The cufflinks are small roses with diamonds in their center. Harry is pampered.
Harry can’t get his necklace on by himself.
“Put it on,” Henry says, holding out the necklace. It dangles on one finger, the light catching the stone and reflecting little spots on the table and ceiling. Alex looks up from the gun he’s cleaning, brow climbing up his forehead. “Are you going to make me say please, darling?”
Alex sighs, putting the slide down and standing. He settles behind Henry on the couch, twirling his finger until Henry turns. He undoes the clasp of the necklace with deft hands, looping the chain around Henry’s throat. “My cover is Alvaro Torres,” he says, doing the clasp behind Henry’s neck. The pendant sits in the hollow of Henry’s throat for a second, before Alex curls a finger in the chain and tugs it back, shocking the breath out of Henry. “We’ve been together for two years, and even though you’re a spoiled little brat, I love you very much. Enough that I haven’t slept with anyone else on this trip, despite numerous offers. You’ve got to show them why.”
Henry tips his head back onto Alex’s shoulder, looking up at the man through his lashes. “That’s easy, darling,” he says, leaning into the man behind him. “I fuck you better than any other slut could.”
Alex draws a shuddering breath. Henry’s reminded the man didn’t get off earlier, and if he’s to be believed, hadn’t slept with anyone in the week he’s been in Dubai. If Henry had extra time, he’d make him come off just to be sure he had a clear head over dinner.
“Why did Harry come to Dubai?”
Alex leans forward, pressing a kiss to the skin under Henry’s ear. “Because Alvaro missed his husband-”
“If Alvaro missed his betrothed he would’ve bought a whore,” Henry says, feeling the shadow of possessive, pampered Harry in the words. “Or bought a lapdance and fucked his fist after. You don’t fly him to Dubai for one night when you’re leaving the next day. You have to need a man for that.”
Alex leaves a bruise right where everyone will be able to see it. The chain will leave one to match if Alex doesn’t stop pulling. Henry leans into the pressure.
“Your daddy has money,” Alex says, almost reluctantly. Ashamed. So Harry has more money than poor little Alvie, despite the man’s global ambitions. Harry needs to be taken care of, and Alvaro loves him enough to do that, to go into debt to do that. Now he’s breaking out into a new field and needs a check from his pretty little boy toy. “And connections. You gotta sign off on everything. At least until I marry you.”
Henry laughs at that. “You think that, Alvie,” he says, reaching up to curl his fingers around Alex’s wrist. “But you need me, and I’m smart. That’s why I’m here, why you’ve been loyal. You know the money isn’t going to be yours, even when you’re my husband. The best you can do is keep me happy well fucked so I keep paying for you. Is that it?”
Alex spins Henry, gripping him by the chin and kissing him hard. His finger is still looped in the necklace, choking Henry with the dainty chain as he kisses him breathless. It’s teeth and tongue more than anything else, and when Alex pulls back he bites on Henry’s lip, enough to leave a mark. “I don’t fuck you, we make love,” he says, whispering the words against Henry’s bruised mouth. “That’s why you put up with me. That’s why you let me spend Daddy’s money. That’s why I asked you to come to Dubai and you came running. Right, baby?”
Henry slots that piece of information into Harry. Alvaro loves him, despite his higher mind telling him Harry has other options, has better options. Harry is promiscuous and Alvie turns a blind eye, but Alvie himself is loyal because he has to be. Alex has given Henry all the power in their dynamic, putting his trust in a spy he claims to hate.
“Don’t want to break the chain, it cost a pretty penny,” Alex says, smoothing his hand over Henry’s necklace. His thumb lingers on the far side of Henry’s throat, and if Henry leaned forward the man would be choking him. “And if anyone touches you tonight-”
“I don’t dally with small fishes,” Henry says, lip curling in distaste. “If the guy with the money touches me, then I’m doing whatever I need to make connections. Because I love you ever so, Alvie.”
He finishes the words with a pinch to Alex’s cheek, patronizing and heated. Alex smacks Henry’s hand away and Henry slaps him, palm cracking on Alex’s cheek. It’s not a hard hit compared to what Henry can do, louder than anything, but Alex blinks at him. Alex works his jaw, reaching up to prod at his cheek. Henry almost apologizes, the words on the tip of his tongue, but then Alex is kissing him again. He grabs Henry’s wrist, gripping it like Henry’s going to hit him again and pinning it to the cushion behind him. Henry tips toward the back of the couch, Alex’s other arm coming up to grab Henry’s chin. Henry scratches the back of Alex’s neck with his rings, burying his fingers in the man’s curls. They kiss long enough that Henry nearly runs out of air, blinking dizzily when Alex pulls back.
“That’s how Alvie kisses Harry,” Alex says, squeezing Henry’s wrist. Henry’s eyes dart down to the slight red mark on Alex’s cheek. He hit Alex the last time they were together. Henry didn’t get to watch the bruise form then with Alex between his legs. “That’s why Harry wanders, but he always comes back.”
Henry draws in a shaky breath. “Alvie’s a lucky man.”
Alex’s eyes drop to Henry’s neck, where the diamond of his pendant hangs amid the forming marks Alex left behind. “Sure is,” he says, pulling away. He stands, smoothing out his slacks. “Come on, bombón, we need to get a move on before we’re late to dinner.”