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Alex paces by the front window again, but it’s still just as cold and wet outside as it’s been the three fucking days before this.
It’s not like he isn’t used to making ends meet in this line of work. Not everything can go off without a hitch, because at the end of the day, it’s still people they’re dealing with. Evil, vile fucking people sometimes, sure, but still human nonetheless. With nuance and complexity and things Alex’s meticulous planning can’t always account for.
But a hitch doesn’t usually mean getting locked in a safehouse with a guy from the UK agency who’s kind of an asshole and, apparently, was sent on the same mission as if Alex wasn’t capable of accomplishing it himself.
The storm’s mostly over, but the comm units aren’t working again yet, which means that extraction is a no-go until they can get word out that it’s safe to come retrieve them.
Henry offered to keep shifts, which Alex is fine with because it means he’s up when Henry’s asleep and vice versa. The less they’re around each other the better, because they can’t seem to figure out a way to do it without trying to kill each other. In a house stock full of stowaway weapons and not much else, it’s tempting.
Crossing the seventy-two hour line is difficult. Henry seems content to relax in the armchair by the fireplace with the dusty old books they’ve got on a shelf in the study, but Alex is going insane trying to find ways to keep his brain occupied.
All he can keep thinking about is the mission. What variables he’d failed to account for. What might’ve been different if he had. He’s used to being back at base after a mission, with chaos happening all around and everyone else’s problems to focus on when his own are too loud.
But here in this fucking house, it’s just quiet. Like Henry can tell it bothers him and is doing it on purpose.
It means that he picks up on every little noise; the creak of one of the faulty wood panels in the living room, the brush of the tree branches against the upstairs bedroom window, the measured, predictable flick of a page in one of Henry’s novels.
The rush of sudden water from the faucet in the sink in the kitchen.
Alex glances up and over from his spot by the window to find Henry fiddling with the handle, glass in hand, most likely having just gotten up to fetch a drink. But he stops the minute his knuckles brush the water, a furrow in his brow.
“It’s warm,” Henry says, voice thick with sleep and disuse.
Alex stares at him for a second, and then breaks into a brisk walk straight for the upstairs bathroom with the shower. They haven’t had hot water since they got here, and a freezing shower, in this weather and without medical care of any kind, would have been worse than no shower at all. He’s not about to miss his chance.
The sink shuts off, Henry’s footfalls stubborn in pursuit behind him on the stairwell.
“Where are you going?”
Alex scoffs. “Where do you think?”
He rounds the corner onto the landing, stopping at the closet in the hallway to yank out a towel and pointedly shut the door behind him.
“You’re not taking the only hot water we’ve managed in days.”
“Admitting to me that you’re going to take it is probably not the best way to convince me otherwise,” Alex snaps. “I’ll be quick.”
“Sure you will,” Henry agrees, “when I’m finished.”
They stop in the doorway to the bathroom after Alex flips on the light, neither of them backing down. He grinds his teeth, a migraine pushing at the back of his skull.
“Are we seriously going to fight over this right now?”
“No,” Henry says, slipping past him. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Like hell you are.”
Alex follows him into the narrow stretch of the hall bathroom, analyzing the most logical way to remove the obstacle from between him and the glorious warmth of the shower.
“If you want one so badly you’re welcome to join me,” Henry says, reaching for the hem of his compression shirt.
It’s black and long sleeved, clinging to every hard line of his body as he tugs it up to reveal soft, pale skin underneath. Alex thinks back to a similar move he’d used on a client somewhere in Spain, his body as much a weapon as the gun tucked into the waist of his pants.
“You’re honeypotting me? Really, agent?”
“I was under the impression that the promise of hot water after nearly freezing to death was more alluring than a bit of nudity,” Henry says, dropping his shirt to the floor, “but it’s flattering to know that even a basic act of kindness can be a sexual advancement for you.”
Alex pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “God. Can you just—speak normally for a fuckin’ minute?”
“Having trouble focusing, Alex?”
He rips his hand away from his face to glare, but Henry isn’t looking at him. He’s slipped out of the rest of his clothes now, the corded muscles of his thighs and calves, the firm curve of his ass on full display as he leans over to turn on the shower.
The sound of the water hitting the floor is enough for Alex to decide fuck it. It’s not like some nudity is uncommon for them. Alex has had to lose his shirt or pants plenty of times for medical to take a look at him after report.
Steeling his jaw, Alex watches Henry step into (steal) the warm water, stripping off his clothes as quickly as possible. He leaves them in a heap on the floor with Henry’s and marches up to the cubicle, stepping over the side of the tub behind Henry and shutting the curtain to keep the heat in.
Facing away from each other, Alex surveys his side of the shower while Henry’s under the spray. He’s got the water right now but Alex is looking at a shelf of supplies, a couple different shampoos and body washes, a bar of soap in a fresh new wrapper. With a smirk he unwraps it and keeps it for himself, then plucks up a shampoo that looks reasonable before he turns to elbow Henry in the side.
“Move over.”
Henry slides both hands over his head to slick his hair back, letting the water fall over his shoulders. “Where would you like me to move to, exactly?”
“Into the other room, preferably,” Alex mutters.
“How clever,” he says. Even still, he rotates obligingly to let Alex step underneath the spray.
He can’t help the groan when the heat hits him, chipping away at the layers of cold that’ve accumulated over the last several days. His muscles sag under the surprisingly steady water pressure, and he lets himself appreciate it for another few seconds before making himself wash as quickly as possible.
He starts with the soap, because worst case he can rinse out shampoo in the sink if he has to. Lathering up his hands, he scrubs all over his chest and up to his shoulder blades, reaching around to his back and then down to his thighs. He washes in between his legs as thoroughly as he can manage with somebody else sharing the fucking cubicle, letting everything he can scrub off circle down the drain by his feet.
When Henry doesn’t shove him out of the way immediately, he chances the shampoo, too. Scrubbing quickly over his head and digging in with his nails at the root, then dropping his chin to his chest to lean forward and let the spray rinse it all out.
The damp roughness of a wet rag meets his shoulder blade, and Alex freezes.
“What are you doing.”
Henry, unbothered, drags the soapy rag in a slow circle against the tense muscle. He must’ve stolen the rag and kept it for himself the way Alex had with the soap. When Alex glances down at where he’d left it, it’s gone.
“Looking out for a colleague,” he says, with all the lacking enthusiasm of most of his speech. It drives Alex crazy, not being able to read him. “You missed a spot.”
With no way to confirm or deny it, Alex holds himself still as Henry finishes soaping up his back, then clears his throat when Henry nudges him to turn and rinse it off.
“Thanks.”
Henry dismisses him with a hum as they switch positions again.
It leaves Alex standing back against the far wall like he’d been at first, only this time he’s facing Henry, staring at the back of his head like it might make any of it make more sense. Squeezing a bit of the shampoo into his palm, Henry reaches up to scrub it through his hair. Alex watches the muscles of his arms shift and stretch, the broadness of his shoulders tapered down into a slim waist.
He doesn’t let himself look any lower.
“You can stop holding your breath,” Henry says over his shoulder. “If I wanted you dead, I’d have done it ages ago.”
“And the fact that you want me alive for some reason is supposed to be comforting?”
Henry bends his head to rinse out the bubbles, then scrubs a hand over his face to clear the residue. When he glances back at Alex, there’s water dripping from his lashes, the full curve of his lower lip.
“Comforting isn’t the word I’d use, no.”
He turns back around, raising his arm to wash underneath them with the soap, and the sliver of privacy makes Alex feel bold enough to keep talking as he stares at the shower curtain and absorbs the heat into his skin.
“I’m not pissed at you,” he admits. “I’m just—thinking about the mission still.”
“Which part of it?” Henry asks.
“The part where I almost fucked the entire thing,” Alex answers.
It rings harsh against the patter of water against the shower wall. He’d thought getting it off his chest would make him feel lighter, but right now all he feels is…small.
“The mission was successful,” Henry says after a deliberate pause.
“Yeah, because your people put you on the same one without giving us any warning,” Alex argues, nocking his head back against the wall. “I don’t like surprises. And I really don’t like the fact that if you hadn’t been there, I probably wouldn’t be alive right now.”
It’s silent again as Henry switches to the other arm and scrubs off, careful around a recent injury, but there’s something like real human emotion in his expression when he glances over next.
“I believe the phrase you’re looking for is thank you,” Henry says pragmatically, “but I suppose I can accept the overwhelming sense of shame as a token of your gratitude.”
Surprised, Alex snorts. “Fuck off.”
There’s a flicker of a smile on Henry’s mouth as he rotates once more to give Alex the hot water, but it’s gone just as soon as it arrived. With nothing else to wash now, Alex breathes deep under the onslaught, letting it ground him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Henry says from the other side of the cubicle. “I ran the same parameters you did, expected the same outcome. If I’d been in your shoes, I wouldn’t have anticipated it either. My being there was happenstance, an oversight from the agency, and I wouldn’t have stepped in if it wasn’t necessary to get you out.”
It’s the most words Henry’s ever spoken to him. Alex wishes he could say that the sound of his voice is grating enough to cause the sting behind his eyes, but it’d be a lie. Even back at the agency, this type of work just isn’t something that earns him a lot of praise. It’d be insensitive to demand any of it when all of them are risking their lives on a month-to-month basis.
It’s just really nice to hear that even if things sort of went to shit, somebody knows he did the best he could.
He certainly didn’t think it’d be Henry. But.
“Thanks.”
Alex swipes a hand over his face to clear some of the water and then turns, facing Henry who’s leaning against the side wall with his arms crossed over his chest. It’s darker behind the curtain but the yellow light from the bathroom coats the outline of his right side, the slope of a broad shoulder and the curve of his bicep. Alex has seen him knock a man clean out with those before.
He swallows, and Henry traces the dip of his throat with his eyes.
“Water’s still warm,” Alex rasps.
“It is,” Henry confirms with a twitch of his lips. “Good thing we conserved.”
“I’m all about being environmentally conscious.”
“Of course.”
The water falls hot against his back as he waits for Henry to do something or say something or stop looking at him like that, but he doesn’t do any of it, and Alex doesn’t either.
“We should probably get out,” Alex says.
“Probably,” Henry agrees.
It’s unclear which one of them moves first.
Alex thinks it might be him, some base instinct pushing him to press into the firm skin of Henry’s wet bicep with his palm, but Henry’s faster.
He uses Alex’s momentum against him—for once in a way that Alex approves of—to turn him and pin him up against the slick shower wall, and then his mouth is on Alex’s.
The couple inches of height Henry’s got on him are more obvious than ever when they’re pressed up against each other like this, the shower steam making their skin stick together where one of Henry’s thighs splits Alex’s with practiced ease. It’s dizzying to meet in the middle; Alex’s pent up desperation and Henry’s steady, certain want.
He’s hard when he brushes up against Alex’s hip where he’s been trying not to look, and the bit of feedback makes Alex shiver. That part usually doesn’t happen on missions, not even for Henry.
“Fuck,” Alex parts from his mouth with a heavy breath, head tilting to the side as Henry smears wet kisses over the veins in his throat and across his shoulder.
His head lowers, lips dragging across Alex’s sternum and in between his pecs, chasing the trails of water as they fall. His hands are hotter than the water where they span either side of Alex’s hips, and when he glances up with a raise of his brow without ever lifting his mouth from Alex’s skin, Alex nods with as much control as he can manage at the moment.
Henry drops to his knees and makes it look elegant, his hair plastered across his forehead as he drags his teeth over the skin above Alex’s navel. Alex reaches down to push a hand through the blonde-brown fringe that he’s only ever seen styled to perfection, moving it back from his brow so he’s got an uninhibited view of Henry’s crystal blue eyes when he finally makes it to his cock.
It’s quite the fucking view indeed. Alex can see how it’s managed to coax top secret intel from the best of them.
“Shouldn’t I be the one showing my gratitude?” Alex breathes as Henry’s hand wraps around the base of his dick.
Henry pulls back abruptly.
“This isn’t part of the mission.” He glances between both of Alex’s eyes, momentarily intimidating. It makes Alex’s dick—the traitor—twitch in his grip, but Henry pays it no mind. “Do you understand?”
Fuck. Alex nods.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Good.”
And then his dick is in Henry’s mouth, and everything is warm and wet and fucking tight, the pressure more than welcome after going so long with nothing but his own fist to suffice.
The slickness of falling water makes Henry’s mouth feel like a wave, the pink of his lips obscene as he takes Alex into his throat and then pulls back to smear his lips all along the sides, stroking over him with expert flicks of his wrist. He sucks a mark into the top of Alex’s thigh with enough sting to make the muscle jump, then swallows him down all over again.
His own thighs split where he’s kneeling on the shower floor, and Alex hears the familiar noise of a fist around Henry’s own cock between his legs. The idea that he’s getting off on this too is too sweet to pass up, and Alex groans as his hips jerk, Henry’s fingers sinking sharp into the side of his ass to encourage the movement.
He could spend hours figuring Henry out, never bored and probably just as incessantly horny. But right now, with the rush of warm water after nearly freezing and a wet, hot mouth to fuck his dick into, he’s not exactly going for slow and steady.
His fingers tangle in the back of Henry’s wet hair, and he groans around a mouthful of Alex’s cock when the digits accidentally pull. He strokes his free hand up and down Alex’s thigh while Alex fucks his face, massaging the muscle, hitching it up to rest over his shoulder. The angle is fucking perfect, Alex’s head falling back against tile as the sensation threatens to swallow him whole, and it’s just enough of a distraction to not be all that concerned about where Henry’s fingers are going until they slip around Alex’s ass and between.
“Close. Henry, fuck,” he grinds out in warning, half afraid that Henry will pull away and leave him like this as some kind of power play. Unfortunately, Alex thinks he’d probably get off on that, too.
But he doesn’t. The noise of his own fist quickens on the shower floor, the muscles of his throat vibrating with a hum as Alex fucks into it over and over and over again, and Henry’s other hand rubs two slick fingers around his rim from behind—not pressing, but a promise, hopefully.
Alex nearly bangs his head on the tile when he comes, only distantly aware of Henry’s answering groan between his legs as he shivers. Not a fucking drop of it goes anywhere except down Henry’s throat, an over achiever enough to rival even Alex, and it’s—fuck, all of this is really doing it for him.
He digs his fingers into Henry’s hair again and has to physically drag him away when he won’t stop running his mouth and fingers over Alex’s spent cock, with deceptively sweet kisses that dip into that devastating suction all over again.
“Get the fuck up here,” Alex pants, yanking at his shoulder. Henry obliges easily, rising from his knees as he drags his mouth up Alex’s torso and chest, over one of his nipples before taking his mouth again.
Alex’s hand stays on the back of his neck this time as Henry’s tongue pushes against his, thrilled at the taste of himself that lingers there.
“You know,” he tells Henry conversationally, “in the spirit of trying to conserve, we should probably share a bed too.”
The shudder of Henry’s shoulders as he muffles a laugh against Alex’s collarbone is a revelation. He’s never done that before. Alex can’t help his crooked grin as Henry pulls back to run eyes over his face again.
“It’s good for the environment?” he rasps, throat no doubt sore from the rough handling. Alex leans in to press his lips to the outside of it.
“I don’t know about the environment,” Alex murmurs against his neck, “but I could be good for you.”
Henry’s fingers sink into his damp curls and yank backward, and Alex looks at him through half-lidded eyes, pleased to see Henry’s veneer of unaffectedness so shattered by all of this.
“Are you honeypotting me, Alex?”
“Looking out for a colleague,” he returns.
Henry chuckles, his tongue flicking a bead of water from his lip as he watches Alex’s mouth. “You’re dangerous.”
Henry’s halfway to kissing him again when the water over their heads starts sputtering, then promptly spits out ice cold water on top of their heads. They nearly trip over each other stumbling to turn it off and get out, sharing the towel Alex brought from the closet on the way in.
They hit the nearest mattress like a target, not an ounce of space left between for any more near misses.