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Devastatingly beautiful.
That was the first thought Henry Fox ever had about Alex Claremont-Diaz. He's read a few articles here and there about the newest First Family of the United States, of course, but he’s realizing now that he’s never really seen Alex.
While he’s tucked himself into a corner, Alex is floating around the place like he owns it, that infamous maga-watt smile plastered on his face. Henry has been to enough of these things to know how exhausting it is to keep up a fake smile, so either Alex is much better at maintaining this charade than Henry is, or his smile isn’t fake at all, and he’s legitimately enjoying the event. Either way, Henry feels inadequate by comparison.
Alex’s genuine nature is one of his most appealing attributes, and it’s clear everyone in the room is falling for his charms. His hair is a mess, falling over his forehead in loose ringlets. A style that appears effortless, but Henry gets the impression that it took a lot of time to get it that way. His suit is perfectly tailored, and he wears it like a second skin.
He looks so young, which is a relatively silly thought to have, since Henry is pretty sure they’re about the same age, but Alex's youth shows in his boisterousness and his charisma. Henry’s youth manifests in his naivety; it waits around the corner of each decision, reminding him how little he truly knows, how irresponsible and impulsive he is.
Every casual hook-up and NDA has come back to bite him in the ass at one point or another. Each interview or appearance is spent fighting off anxious tremors. His entire life has been dedicated to being as well-spoken as possible, and yet he still struggles through every networking event. His ‘perfect prince’ facade always feels so fragile, ready to crack at any moment.
He didn’t even want to come to the Olympics, not that he’s a stranger to attending events against his own desires, but this one feels like his own personal hell. He’s spent the last few days either watching hot male athletes performing stunts, or smooth-talking old rich people who just want to brag to their other rich friends that they shook hands with a real-life prince.
The palace believed it would represent the family well to have the Prince of Wales photographed next to some famous Olympians. Henry had asked multiple times during that meeting why Philip couldn’t go in his stead, but his dad piped up to insist that this would be a good opportunity to find some friends his own age. He could show everyone how ‘charming’ of a prince he is. Henry just rolled his eyes at that.
His father always has his best interests in mind, he knows that. Him and Bea have been the only people keeping Henry sane the last couple of months. Arthur Fox is a good man, and an even better father. He’s trying his best to help Henry with his anxiety, but most of the time his plans revolve around pushing Henry out of his comfort zone. It may be good for him in the long run, but it feels like torture now.
Part of him believes his dad sent him here with the sole intention of torturing him for a week. It’s not like he’s come out to his father, but he has to know, right? He assumed his own queerness was just this unacknowledged truth that everyone in his family already had. Henry tried his best to silently communicate to his father through his eyes. You’re sending me of all people to the male diving final? You’re sure?
Arthur didn’t even allow Shaun to chaperone, worried Henry wouldn’t socialize if he could just hide behind him all night. Henry arrived in Rio with nothing but his luggage and a handful of PPOs.
Henry already feels like he’s not meant for this, and here comes Alex Claremont-Diaz, flawless. Beautiful, clever, courteous, and all of it seems so frustratingly effortless.
Henry hates him. He hates himself for hating someone like him, someone so kind. It’s not Alex’s fault that Henry is so hopelessly inept.
Half of Henry is desperate to run away, fully aware he is incapable of holding a conversation with someone so gorgeous without making a complete fool of himself. The other half of him is like a moth to a flame, needing to speak with him even just for a moment. To feel the warmth of his palm as they shake hands. Hear his name come out of Alex’s mouth as he tries it out, lets it roll off his tongue. It might permanently alter his mind, ruin him. If someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire.
He’s probably been staring for far too long. He tries to let his eyes fall but before he can, Alex turns away from his own conversation to meet Henry’s eyeline, directing that blinding smile towards him. Alex’s gaze on him has a way of making him feel like he’s the only person in the world. Suddenly, it’s just them two in this stupidly giant event center. As Alex makes his way over to him, Henry feels the walls closing in, his anxiety like a dagger sinking into his chest. He couldn’t run away if he wanted to, his feet are glued to the floor.
This is it, he thinks, the nail in the coffin. Alex is in front of him, reaching his hand out, “Prince Henry? Or uhh…am I supposed to say your majesty?” The nervous chuckle that follows instantly becomes Henry’s new favorite sound. He lets it echo in his mind for a moment, filed away in his head for future use. “Sorry, I’m Alex. Alex Claremont-Diaz.” His brown eyes are looking up at Henry, pleading for a moment of connection that Henry’s not sure he’s capable of returning right now.
Alex raises an eyebrow at him, a suggestion that maybe the pause Henry has taken before responding was just a smidge too long.
Henry tries to subtly wipe his sweaty palm on his pant leg before returning the handshake. “Oh, yes. Nice to meet you. Just ‘Henry’ is fine, please.” He’s looking down at the floor. Each second of eye contact absolutely burns.
Alex leans just a bit closer, enough that Henry can smell the deep, smoky cologne on his neck. He lowers his voice conspiratorially, as if they’re in on a secret together. It makes Henry shiver. “I hate these things. Not that everyone hasn’t been really nice or anything, it’s just…” his eyebrows scrunch, trying to find the right words. He leans back into his original position. Thank god. “Tiring, I guess. I’m grateful though, of course.”
“No, I-” Henry’s voice comes out scratchy at first. He coughs into his fist. “No, I certainly understand. I’ve been here for a few hours already and I’m…I fear I’m in need of a nap.” He regrets saying it almost instantaneously. The thought is so childish, and he hasn’t exactly perfected his playful tone of voice. It comes out deadly serious, but Alex just throws his head back and laughs.
I made him laugh. I made him laugh. I made him laugh. I made him la-
“You want to get a drink?” Alex is just a foot or two shorter than Henry and his eyes are wide as they gaze up at him.
The question pulls Henry out of his trance. “Um…I think they’ll be ushering us out soon.”
Alex’s face seems to drop just the slightest bit, but Henry is sure he must be imagining it. “Oh, not here. I was thinking we could go to a bar. There’s one a few blocks over that my friend recommended, but like obviously if you’re busy, it’s totally cool.” Alex is rambling, actively pulling his body away from Henry as he speaks. “Actually, nevermind. Don’t worry about it. Forget I said anything.”
Henry panics at the thought of Alex leaving. His own hand flies up without his knowledge, and grips Alex’s forearm before he can back away any further. “No.” It comes out louder than he intended. Alex is staring at him, wide-eyed. “I mean, yes. We should do that.”
Alex’s smile returns for a moment, only to drop once again as his eyes land on the hand still wrapped around his arm. “Um-“
Henry pulls his hand back at lighting speed. The warmth of Alex’s body lingers on Henry’s palm. “Sorry,” It comes out whispered and high-pitched at the same time. This is exactly what he was afraid of. He’s incapable of being normal in the presence of beautiful people.
If Alex notices the anxiety spiral Henry is in the midst of, he chooses not to say anything about it. He pulls his phone out, looking up directions. “Yeah, it’s just right around the corner. That cool?”
“Yes. Sounds lovely.” It doesn’t sound lovely. It sounds utterly terrifying. This is already so insanely awkward. He knows himself well enough to know it only gets worse from here.
Alex leads them both out the door and onto the sidewalk, Henry staring at his own feet. The warm evening air feels sobering in a way. This is a very normal situation, just two people in similar political and social positions getting to know each other as friends. Friends, Henry. Friends.
The walk is relatively silent. Alex makes a few attempts at small talk, asking if Henry has been enjoying the Olympics so far, (moderately so) if he’s enjoyed Rìo, (absolutely gorgeous) and what his drink of choice is, (gin and tonic.) Alex seems to find that last answer amusing, but doesn’t explain why when Henry asks.
It’s only when they step inside the bar, that Henry realizes he forgot to ask Alex any questions in return. He needs alcohol, desperately.
“Find a booth. I’ll grab drinks.” Alex leaves no room to argue, already shuffling towards the bar.
Henry hasn’t spent a lot of time in bars, but this one seems nice, all things considered. The music is loud enough to curb the awkward silences in conversations, quiet enough to hear each other talk. Busy, but not overly crowded. The booths seem well-worn, but not gross or falling apart. He finds one in the corner, and sits down.
Alex's smile is wide and absolutely contagious. The minute he turns to walk towards the booth, he looks at Henry like he hung the moon, and doesn’t let his face drop even after he’s sat down, placing the drink in front of Henry.
“Thank you, Alex. This is very nice.” He takes a sip, and is grateful to have a glass in front of him to hold onto, grateful to have something to do with his hands.
“Thank you for coming. I felt like you were the only other one in that room who was as nervous as I was.”
That one stings a little. ”Was it that obvious?”
Alex instantly flushes, stuttering over his words, “No! I didn’t mean it like that, I just- not that you’re awkward- I just thought that we both had enough of that…networking. It sucks.” Alex is chuckling again. Henry wants to bottle that sound.
“It’s okay. I was definitely done with that. I’m ready to go home, frankly.”
Alex raises his brows, “Really? I would have thought this whole thing was right up your alley.”
What is he referring to? Watching men in speedos dive? Henry coughs on his most recent sip, “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Just- you’re so…fancy and stuff.” Alex laughs at himself. At least, he’s aware of how ridiculous he sounds. “I just assumed royals would be all about the art of the dive.” He adds a terrible English accent to the last few words, flourishing his hand in the air for emphasis.
Henry laughs. Maybe, the first genuine laugh anyone’s gotten out of him all week. “I’m here for the same reason you are, I’m assuming. Because, a bunch of men in suits told me to be.” The gin is definitely soothing his anxiety, the buzz of it slowing to a quiet hum.
Henry is entranced with the way Alex’s smile forms wrinkles around his eyes, a singular dimple appearing on the right side of his face. Henry wants to press his lips to it. He has to stop himself from physically shaking his head to erase the thought.
“Yeah. Wouldn’t be my first choice, a diving final. I got to see some gymnasts earlier in the week though, which was really fun. But, it was a woman in a suit that told me to be here, actually. Seems we have a lot more inclusivity on our side of the pond.”
“I’m not going to even try and argue against that. I think this is the first conversation I’ve had with someone who’s not an elderly white man in the past month.”
Alex throws his head back. The laugh bubbling out of him is so joyous, Henry can’t help but laugh along with him. He leans across the table to smack Henry lightly on the arm, “You’re funny, Fox!”
Fox. Henry can’t remember the last time someone called him ‘Fox.’
Henry scoffs, “God, Alex, don’t sound so surprised. You think I’m just some uptight prick who watches diving competitions for fun?”
Alex looks up from his drink, his face as serious as Henry has ever seen it. “Can I be completely honest with you?”
He has no idea where this is going, but he’s excited to find out. He motions for Alex to continue.
“One hundred percent. I definitely believed you were just an uptight prick who watches diving competitions for fun.”
Henry lets out an embarrassing snort. He can feel the goofy grin spreading across his face, but he can’t stop it. He knows he’s quite bottled up in public, but it could not be further from the real him. It’s a persona, a defense mechanism. He’s enamored with Alex’s candor. “Well, I hope that opinion of me has changed.” His response barely coherent through his laugh.
Alex's smile is smaller this time, private and comforting. “It definitely has.” He keeps his eyes on Henry’s as he sips his own drink. Henry is mesmerized by the way his throat bobs as he swallows.
One drink turns into two, and two into three. The conversation is flowing as fast as the drinks, and everything has gone pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. Alex keeps insisting Henry stays for just ‘one more drink.’ He wonders if it’s possible to say no to someone like Alex.
It’s late, and one of the Olympic gymnasts walks in with some of her friends, sits on a barstool by the door. Henry recognizes her, the twenty-something Swedish girl who’s been sweeping up all the gold medals this year. Alex nods in her direction. “Man, I had the biggest crush on her for the longest time.” Alex is flushed, blinking down at his glass.
The sentence twists something inside Henry. Never at any point in the evening did he think they would be anymore than friends, but it still hurts to see Alex actively ogling a beautiful woman right in front of him. Of course, Alex is straight.
“She’s beautiful.” It’s the only response he can manage right now.
“You got your eye on anyone?” Alex asks, nodding in the direction of the athletes crowded around the bar.
This city is currently filled with the finest athletes in the world. Fit, young people in the prime of their life. Most of them are even looking for some fun to decompress after the stress of competing, but all Henry can do is look at Alex. He could play along, point out a woman in the crowd, make up some lie about his affection for her, but the gin is giving him a bit more confidence than he would normally have. He’s also tired, so very tired of pretending. He keeps it simple. “Yes.”
“Oh.” Does Alex sound…disappointed? “Who?”
There’s that familiar pressure in his chest, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He could say it. It would be so easy…
“Excuse me.” He launches himself out of the booth before he’s even realized what he said. He bumps the table on his way out, and a bit of his drink splashes over the rim of the glass, making a mess of the tabletop. He mutters an apology and darts towards the hallways. He hears Alex call after him, but he doesn’t stop until he’s in the bathroom with the deadbolt locked behind him.
How long has he been in here? Too long? Alex must think he’s really sick or something. He should go back out there. But he can’t. He can’t look at Alex’s stupidly gorgeous face right now. All he sees when he looks in the mirror is a very pathetic and very gay man in the middle of an overly-dramatic panic attack that stemmed from a hot guy simply asking who Henry finds attractive.
You. You. You, Alex. Who else could it possibly be? I’ve known you for a few hours, and I’m convinced I never want to stop knowing you.
There’s a knock on the door.
Henry is well aware that if he attempts speech right now, it'll come out as more of a squeak than any kind of comprehensible sentence. Whoever is at the door will leave eventually once they realize it’s occupied. Right?
“Henry?”
Of fucking course.
“Alex?” He shouts through the door. Just like he thought, his voice is scratchy and pathetic.
“Dude, let me in.”
That is the last thing he expected Alex to say, “And why would you want to join me in the restroom?”
“You’re having a panic attack.” Not a question. A fact.
Henry isn’t quite sure what to say to that. This is already a humiliating situation and now he has to falsely deny the accusation through the door? It’s either that or open it, which feels even worse. Alex cannot see him like this. Puffy-faced and snotty-nosed, his eyes swollen beyond belief. It’s been a while since he’s had one this bad, but he’s trying to focus on the smooth voice on the other side of the door, asking again calmly, “Henry, can you please let me in?”
It’s almost a plea, leaving Henry no choice but to comply. The bathroom door unlocks with a loud clunk, echoing in the tiled bathroom.
Alex cracks the door open and slips in silently, locking the door behind him. His eyes catch Henry’s and it’s all sympathy. His arms wrap around Henry’s shoulders and squeeze. “It’s okay.”
Henry lets out a breath, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “You don’t even know why I’m crying.”
“That’s true. I know it’ll be okay, though.” Alex has tucked his head under Henry’s chin, like two puzzle pieces slotting together. His warmth feels oddly familiar.
This is good. This is right. Alex is not judging him. He’s here to offer himself as a safe space. In this moment, Henry couldn’t stop himself if he tried. He lets it all go, releasing loud, hiccupy sobs into Alex’s hair. His arms are wrapped around Alex’s waist, his hands scrunched into the fabric of the jacket splayed across his back.
Once Henry’s tears start to subside, Alex pulls back, and Henry’s worried he might have gone too far. Embarrassed himself to the point of being irredeemable, but Alex walks over to the counter and grabs a tissue, passing it to Henry, who smiles awkwardly at the floor as he accepts it.
Alex is studying him now, leaned against the counter, arms crossed against his chest. His presence feels like a weighted blanket, heavy and grounding. Henry feels overwhelmed by it. This kind of long stretching silence usually feels like static against his skin, but now it feels soft as velvet.
“How did you know? That I was having a panic attack?”
“I’ve had like a million. I just had a feeling.” He takes a deep breath. “Today has been a lot. I’ll walk you back to your hotel.” Once again, spoken as fact, no room for discussion.
“Alex, thank you, but I’m not a child. I’m perfectly capable of getting back on my own.”
“I know, but-” Alex tilts his chin down, his fingers are scraping along his cuticles, nervously picking at the soft flesh. “I know that I hate doing these trips alone. And I was meant to be doing this one with my sister, but she bailed last minute and I’m just…struggling. It’d be nice if we could kind of stick together.”
“So, what you're saying is that my company is a last resort?”
Alex's head pops up, “No! No! I’m just saying that-”
Henry is grinning ear to ear. He hasn’t felt this giddy in a while. “Relax. I’m kidding. I’m staying at The Belmond.”
Alex’s whole body actively deflates. “Oh, cool. I’m staying right across from there, actually.”
Henry nods, and all of a sudden it's awkward again. Their small polite smiles aren’t wavering, yet neither of them have made a move towards the door. It’s hard for Henry to be motivated to head back, when that means Alex will have to leave him behind in the hotel lobby. This night can’t end if they just keep staring at each other across this bathroom. Henry could spend an eternity here studying Alex’s freckles, finding constellations in them. Calculating the exact angles of his cheekbones and jawline. He needs to know the exact color code of his hair, and skin, and-
A loud rap on the door. “Já terminou aí dentro?!”
“Oh, shit.” Alex mutters as he shoves Henry towards the door. They stumble out in a heap, flushed and giggling. The man in the hall at least has the decency to look apologetic.
Alex pulls up the directions on his phone and leads the way. Henry really doesn’t care if they’re going in the right direction or not. He’d walk around forever like this. The city is stunning. The air warm, but not sweltering at this time of night. They don’t talk, but their shoulders brush occasionally and it feels like a lightning strike every time, traveling all the way down Henry’s body, making his toes tingle. The sound of Alex’s breath next to him makes his chest feel tight. He’s getting dizzy. He has too many ideas in his head and too much alcohol in his system.
“You know what that guy thought, right?”
The break in the silence startles Henry for a moment. “The guy at the bar? What do you mean?”
Alex forms a wicked smirk, “He totally thought we were hooking up in there.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Henry can feel his ears heating into a bright red. He sputters, “What? Why would he think that?”
“Dude, we were in there for like twenty minutes, and you were panting quite a bit.” He’s laughing. How can he think this is funny?
“I was crying! I was trying to catch my breath!”
“I know that! He doesn’t!” He’s not walking anymore. He’s doubled over, laughing towards the ground. Henry is baffled. Laughing, yes, but more of a nervous laughter than anything else.
“It's not funny, Alex. What if he tells the press?”
“I don’t think he recognized us, and besides, no one's gonna believe that shit if he did.” He finally gains his composure, leans up and continues walking. He turns his head to squint at Henry. “Wait, you’re not like…homophobic, are you?”
“Jesus, Alex. No. Definitely not.”
Alex gives the smallest nod, exhales through his nose, “Definitely, huh?” He has the audacity to fucking wink.
Henry is dead. That is the only reasonable explanation. His plane crashed on the way to Río and he is now being forced to suffer through his own personal hell. A hell full of impossibly gorgeous, quick-witted, trouble-making straight boys that Henry can’t have.
This is one of those moments that Henry will tell Pez about later and he’ll respond with something along the lines of, “Oh, my delicate, gorgeous, oblivious, little baby firefly Hazza. He was so obviously flirting with you! Why didn’t you take him home and-” Henry doesn’t want to think about how Pez would end that sentence.
But it’s easy to say those kinds of things from an outside perspective. Henry is living it. And right here, right now, Henry knows it is impossible for someone like Alex Claremont-Diaz to want him. Straight men make jokes like that all the time, because the thought of homosexuality is laughable to them, right?
“You really are trouble, aren’t you?” He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but he finds that he doesn’t regret it.
“Sweetheart, you don’t know the half of it.” That wicked grin is back, the one Henry wants to kiss off his face. He’d teach him a lesson if he was given the chance. Make him beg until he has nothing to smirk about anymore.
“This is me.” Alex points to the hotel across from Henry’s, and his heart shatters just a little bit. Is it stupid to have had the best night of your life, with a man you just met in a foreign country, who doesn’t even like you in the way you want him to? Maybe, but it’s true. Henry feels sick at the thought of this ending.
“Come up to my room.” He’s desperate, though he’s trying his best to sound casual. He’s hoping Alex will attribute the blush on his cheeks and the shakiness of his voice to the alcohol, and not the wild, debaucherous thoughts currently creating a whirlwind in his head. “Just for one more drink.”
Yes, Henry can’t help but imagine Alex tangled up in his sheets, but it’s just that, a fantasy. He doesn’t care what they do when they get up to Henry’s room, as long as Alex is there. Looking at him. What was Henry doing with his life before Alex started looking at him? Did anything matter then?
He feels frantic with it. This blazing chemistry between them. He can’t be imagining it, can he? He feels it in every square inch of his body. It’s burning him up from the inside out.
Alex is taking an excruciatingly long time to respond. He’s making doe eyes up at Henry, like he’s never been asked such an intimate question in his life. It’s infuriating. It can’t be true. Henry’s sure that with a face like that, this type of thing must happen all the time. Both men and women constantly propositioning him. He’s starting to get nauseous thinking about it.
He needs an answer, “Please. Just for a bit.” It accidentally comes out as a whisper. Fuck. It’s like he just revealed every thought running through his mind just by lowering his voice. Nothing innocent has ever been spoken in this tone, not with this much desperation in it. Not this breathy.
“Yeah, okay.” He knows. They’re stepping into dangerous territory, but they are also making a silent pact to not acknowledge it. Let whatever happen, happen. Together.
Henry’s walking into his hotel, legs shaking, Alex trailing behind. Instinctively, they’re both keeping their heads down. It’s two in the morning, and Alex is putting his sunglasses back on, hiking the collar of his jacket up around his neck.
The panic sets in once the elevator doors close. Henry’s heart is pounding.
“Are you okay?” Alex looks into Henry’s eyes, staring deeply into his soul. The real question painted on his face instead of spoken out loud: Do you still want to do this? I can leave. We won’t ever have to acknowledge this.
“I’m okay. I’m good. Really good.”
Alex beams. “Good. That’s good.”
The elevator doors open and Henry gestures towards his room. Once he unlocks it, there is no turning back. He swings the door open before he can change his mind, letting Alex enter first. Alex Claremont-Diaz, world's biggest flirt, in his hotel room.
Alex makes himself comfortable, throws his jacket on the hook and splays himself out on the lounge chair, legs spread. He unbuttons the first couple buttons around his neck, then slides his hand down to his opposite wrist, and starts to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. Christ, this man will be the death of me.
Henry has wanted a lot of men before. He’s had a lot of men before, but he’s never felt like this. It can only be described as a hunger. He’s ravenous, as if he needs Alex’s body to survive.
His mouth is dry, “What do you want to drink?”
“Whiskey, if you have it.” Alex's voice is husky, pouring out slow like syrup. Henry likes the slight Texas drawl buried in it.
He nods and digs around in the minibar. They don’t have whiskey, but he finds two small bottles of gin. The whole drink thing is a formality, anyway. He hopes that in a moment, they’ll be too busy to drink.
Henry leans past Alex to place the gin on the side table. He lingers for a moment, wanting to be in Alex’s space for as long as he can. He’s testing the waters. He knows Alex is anxious, but he’s not alone in that. The only way forward is to take this slow, as painful as that is.
He stands there, pressing his legs against Alex’s. He’s still not close enough. He executes his next plan and downs his gin all in one go. That way, he can place the empty bottle on the side table as well. An excuse to lean back into his space.
He’s hovering over Alex’s shoulder when he hears it, “Henry.” Whispered like a prayer. It’s a question, a request. He’s begging.
Thank god.
“Alex.” He’s still leaning over him, inching his face closer, still scared he’s reading this wrong. He is determined to give Alex every opportunity to back out before anything irreversible happens.
But their faces are so close, and Henry can feel Alex’s breath on his cheek. He can’t take it anymore. He lowers himself down fully, pressing their lips together and it’s good. God, it’s so good.
Alex instantly opens up underneath him, soft little breaths escaping between their lips. Almost instinctively, Alex’s hand reaches up to cradle Henry’s hip, and the touch feels like fire. It’s all Henry can do to stay upright, to not collapse into Alex’s lap.
With the desperation threatening to rip open his chest, he expected this kiss to be more urgent and rushed, but Alex is in charge here, and he’s taking his time. Leading them into slow, purposeful kisses. It’s as if he’s never kissed before, like he’s trying to make sure he’s doing it right because-
“Wait, Alex.” He pulls away to see Alex’s lips swollen and his hair mussed. He must have been running his fingers through it without realizing. “You’ve been with a man before, right?”
Alex just stares. Shit. Henry takes the silence as his answer.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He’ll stop in an instant if Alex says so, but he’s also selfish. So selfish. And every daydream he’s ever had is coming true in front of him. He’s aching for Alex to beg. To say, “Don’t stop. Never stop. Kiss me and kiss me and fuck me and don’t stop, not even after I co-”
“Henry, please.” His voice cracks at the end. More proof that Henry could never say no to someone like him.
He leans down and captures Alex’s lips again. He decides to take the lead this time around, tilting Alex’s head at an angle, so he can delve deeper into his mouth. Alex is perfect and pliant, releasing small moans and hums that have Henry dizzy with want. His thumb is tracing circles into Henry’s hip. He bites the bullet and sits himself down in Alex’s lap, straddling him.
Fuck. It’s immediately obvious how affected Alex is. All of the air slams out of his lungs as the reality of the situation hits him all at once. I am making out with Alex Claremont-Diaz. And he’s hard. Hard for me. This is once in a lifetime, Henry. Commit every detail to memory.
He grinds down, and he thinks he might’ve blacked out for a second. It’s good, yes, but it’s also devastatingly right. They were made for this. For each other. Whatever is happening outside of this hotel room, whatever responsibilities they’ll have to get back to in the morning, it’s all secondary. Secondary to the agonizing pleasure that’s igniting between them. They were born to make each other feel good, and it appears that Alex is on the same page. Every time Henry grinds down, there Alex is, grinding back up into him. Grabbing Henry’s hips and pushing them down. Rocking back and forth. Manhandling Henry like he’s just a vessel for Alex’s own pleasure, and Henry couldn’t agree more.
He runs his lips along Alex’s neck, tasting the built-up sweat. “What do you want?” Alex’s big hands are still clutching Henry’s hips like a lifeline. His fingers are so long and Henry can’t help but picture all the places they could be instead.
“Dios mío, I-” He’s panting, too distracted by Henry’s cock sliding against his own through the layers of fabric. So, Henry stops moving. Asks again, “Alex, what do you want with me?”
He’s whining, high-pitched and bratty, “Henry, por favor. Joder.”
“I know, love.” He grips Alex’s jaw, looks into his eyes. “Just answer me. Then I can make you feel good.”
“Henry.” His eyes are darting between Henry’s and the floor. He’s agonizing over his next words. A big deep breath, then whispers, “Can I suck you off?”
Did he just-? There’s no way.
“Nevermind. It wasn’t-“
“Yes, Alex. Please.” Henry’s flying out of Alex’s lap, stripping on his way over to the bed. His shirt hits the ground first. He’s unbuckling his belt when Alex makes his way back to him.
“Baby, slow down.” Alex is chuckling while working on unbuttoning his own shirt. Henry loves the way he’s looking at his body. It’s one of the few things about himself that Henry’s never hated. And Alex doesn’t seem to hate it either. His grin is massive and infectious, “Don’t get too excited. I’ve never done this before.”
It’s strange to think Henry had spent the entirety of their time at the bar anxious out of his mind, while Alex had tried to lure him out of his shell. Now, standing here half-dressed, almost the complete opposite is true. The bedroom is one of the few places Henry feels confident. He’s had enough experience to know what he likes and what he’s good at, but Alex isn’t the same. He’s been with plenty of women, Henry’s pretty sure of that, but he’s nervous about this. It’s his first time with a man, and he wants to do a good job. It’s actually pretty reassuring. It’s nice to know Alex is concerned about his partner's pleasure. He’s not of those dickheads who’s all about traditional penetrative sex and believes foreplay is overrated.
He steps behind Henry, pressing his own bare chest to Henry’s back. His hands roaming over Henry’s pecs and stomach. He’s kissing along his shoulder, making him shiver, his lips traveling up along his neck. Wet, open-mouthed kisses, like he’s trying to consume Henry whole. He should be worried about marks, but he can’t find it in himself to care.
He reaches down to help undo Henry’s belt and he slides it free, tossing it to the floor. He grips Henry through his trousers. The moan that escapes is frankly embarrassing. It’s like he’s never been touched before, like every sexual encounter before this was just practice, preparing him for this, the real thing.
“I’m gonna unbutton your pants now.” Alex’s voice is shaky and unsure. He’s clinging to Henry like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. It’s a bruising grip, at least Henry hopes it is. He already has a picture in his head of what it will look like tomorrow. Of how he’ll press his fingers to the tender flesh, trying to turn back time. Back to this moment.
Henry nods and Alex’s hand moves slowly, as if he’s trying not to spook a wild animal. His hand slides into Henry’s pants and grips him properly, and god damn it. He’s ruined. Ruined for anyone else.
Alex’s hand is warm and all-encompassing. It’s a slow, gentle movement, but it feels life-changing. Henry squeezes his eyes shut and lets his head fall back. He hopes Alex is prepared to hold them both up, cause his legs are turning to jelly.
Alex’s other hand is hooked in Henry’s belt loop. “Can I?” He’s not even sure what Alex is asking, but he nods anyway, and feels Alex lower his trousers down, just enough that he can pull him fully out of his pants.
It’s overwhelming. Alex’s rich scent surrounding him and his breath hot against Henry’s ear. The feel of his chest heaving against his back. His hand making quick work of Henry, twisting on every up-stroke. The visual of Alex’s hand on his cock is enough to make him come, but all of it together might kill him.
“Alex, I’m-” He’s choking on the words.
“Yeah, okay. Get in bed.”
When Alex removes his hand, it’s agonizing. He didn’t realize he was whining, but he must have been, since Alex is now shushing him as he lays him down on the covers. He pulls the rest of Henry’s clothes off, and crawls up his body. “You’ll have to…tell me what you like.”
“Just touch me.”
Alex shrugs. “Fair enough.”
He does as he’s told. He’s kissing Henry with fervor. Running his hands across his chest, teasing his nipples, scratching his nails along his stomach. His lips travel a similar path. Biting, teasing, sucking. Henry is arching off the bed, chasing Alex’s mouth, already on edge.
“Baby, relax.” His Texas drawl isn’t cute anymore. It's infuriating. He’s pressing feather-soft kisses everywhere, except for right where Henry needs it most.
“Alex, I’m going to kill you.”
Alex’s smirk is unapologetic. “Really, baby? It seems like I’m already killing you right now.”
“I’m not above begging.”
“Do it.”
Henry’s brain is foggy. The room is so warm and his body is aching. “What?”
“Beg.”
What the fuck? Where did all this confidence come from?
“Alex-”
“You want me to blow you? Beg.” A villain. A selfish monster incapable of remorse. The man who will be the eventual cause of his death. Here lies Henry Fox. He died how he lived, gay and horny.
“Please.” It’s barely audible.
“Please, what?” He’s blinking innocently. Fluttering his honestly obscenely long eyelashes. “Use your words.”
He heaves a huge sigh, “Please, suck me off, Alex. The thing you were practically begging to do five minutes ago?”
“I wasn’t begging, I was asking politely.”
Henry rolls his eyes, “Yes, Alex. How very gallant of you.”
“Do you want my mouth on you or not?”
“Desperately. I’ve wanted it all night.”
That finally shuts him up. Henry’s not sure if that was too far or not, but Alex doesn’t seem put off by it. He just sinks onto Henry like it’s a privilege. It feels like coming home.
Henry’s loud, too loud probably. He’s panting out “Yes, darling“ and "Just like that" and “Don’t stop.” He sweeps Alex’s curls into his hand, trying to find something to latch onto before he falls through space and time. Before he crashes through reality completely. If he doesn’t hold on tight enough, he might wake up and realize this was all some cruel, fantastical dream.
Alex is clearly enjoying it, moaning around Henry’s cock with every tug of his hair. It creates a brilliant loop of moaning, pulling, and pleasure.
He uses it to show Alex what he wants, pushing his head down, letting it bob back up. Alex is so good, so eager to do a good job, and he lets Henry control him with ease. “Such a good boy.” He whispers more to himself than to Alex.
But he pulls off for a moment, gasping for air. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Fuck you.”
Henry nods in agreement. “Yes, fuck me.”
Alex rolls his eyes and gets back to it.
He isn’t flawless, but he’s enthusiastic. Eagerly swallowing him down with the energy of a man starved. His large hand is wrapped around the base of Henry’s cock, stroking what won’t fit into his mouth. It’s messy and indulgent and wild and perfect.
Henry is already on edge, that familiar feeling rushing in all too quickly. He’s trying to warn Alex, but he feels like his voice has melted into the ether.
“Alex.” Sigh. “I’m sorry, but-” Moan. “I’m so close.” Whine.
Alex just doubles down. His hand is moving faster as he tries to take more of Henry into his mouth. He gags and pulls off, only to go right back in, pushing Henry to the brink.
A ridiculous little laugh comes bubbling up his throat as he comes down Alex’s, who stays working Henry’s cock until the overstimulation becomes too much and Henry has to tap Alex's temple a few times until mercifully, he lets go.
Alex is bellowing a laugh like he just got off a rollercoaster. All flushed and wide-eyed. His hair is slick with sweat and sticking to his forehead. It’s infuriatingly charming. “God, you’re such a fucking asshole.”
Henry scoffs, “And what the fuck did I do?” Henry has barely caught his breath and Alex is already back to his usual self.
He’s kneeling over Henry now. His pants are still on, but his erection is clearly visible through them. Henry still lay completely naked underneath him, and a part of him enjoys the power dynamic of it.
Alex gestures vaguely to Henry’s entire body. “It’s just the…everything about you.”
“Well, if you hate me so much, I suppose I don’t need to return the favor.”
“Are you being serious right now?”
He might legitimately think Henry’s being serious. Christ, it’s fucking adorable, his stupid little indignant huff. Henry knows how dangerous it is to become infatuated with every little detail of this man, but he can’t help himself. Not when Alex is staring at him with big puppy dog eyes, feisty, yet so achingly tender-hearted.
Henry lays back with his hands behind his head, “Should I make you beg?”
Alex leans forward on his knees, crashing his body weight into Henry. “You motherfucker.” There’s no heat behind it. He says it while smiling into a kiss and Henry knows he could stay here forever. Being crushed under Alex. They could stay here and kiss and kiss and kiss until they both turn into dust and blow away in the wind.
He slips his hand into Alex’s slacks, and fuck, he feels good. Big and solid. He's clearly been leaking into his briefs. Henry’s hand slides over him with ease.
Alex doesn’t babble nearly as much as Henry would’ve hoped. He’s tucked his face into the crook of Henry’s shoulder and is biting down into the soft flesh. His hand is digging into Henry’s side and Alex might as well have his hand on Henry's cock with how good it feels. He’s clearly trying to keep himself quiet, but little sounds are escaping, and each one fills Henry with pride.
He’s the one making Alex feel this good. He’s the one who Alex is going to coat with his cum. He’s the one who already came down Alex’s throat. He’s the one who Alex feels safe enough around to be this vulnerable, to offer himself up so completely.
Don’t be fucking delusional. It’s just sex, not some grand emotional connection. It’s people making each other feel good, because they’re in the same country and it’s convenient. Alex doesn’t care that it’s Henry getting him off, he’s just glad someone is.
Alex is shaky, his moaning growing higher and higher in pitch. Henry panics, realizes he’s been distracted and almost missed out on his one and only opportunity.
“What the fuck?” Alex pulls back and stares down at Henry the minute his hand leaves his slacks.
“You can’t come. I need to get my mouth on you.”
“Remember that thing I said about you being an asshole.”
“Get on your back and shut the fuck up.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
Finally, he removes Alex’s clothes and he lies naked in front of him. He's coated in a thin layer of sweat, and his chest is heaving from being pulled off the edge. His cock is prettier than Henry could’ve imagined and he wonders how he’s gone this long without something this beautiful in his mouth.
This is what Henry wanted. The word vomit pouring out of Alex is practically incomprehensible. A blend of praises, insults, expletives, and pleads, all having their own English and Spanish editions. He could listen to it for the rest of his life.
He's keeping his eyes trained on Alex’s face, terrified to miss a single scrunch of his eyebrows or twitch of his lips. This is the most provocative scene he’s ever witnessed, or will ever witness. He needs to memorize it. Capture it like a Polaroid he can revisit over and over again. Alex’s hands are tangled in his own hair, head thrown back. Henry wants those hands in his own hair, pulling, clawing, begging for release.
It doesn’t take long before Alex is shaking. Henry swallows around him and feels the warmth pour into his mouth. He briefly wonders how long he could keep it there.
Alex lays stunned, eyes trained on the ceiling. “Holy shit.” Alex is just too goddamn pretty. He’s pretty when he’s on edge and desperate. He’s pretty with his face screwed up in pleasure. He’s pretty like this, sweaty and satisfied. This is all quite horribly unfair.
He climbs back up the bed, lying on his back, shoulder next to Alex’s. Careful to leave an inch or two between them. If he feels the heat of Alex’s skin one more time, it might ignite a spark he can’t put out.
“Alex, did you want to-“
“Where are my pants?”
Alex is rifling through the covers. When he doesn’t find them, he jumps up to dig around the hotel room floor.
“Trousers, dear. And they’re by the settee.”
Alex swings his head around to gaze at Henry, “the what?”
“The settee?” He’s pointing, eyebrows scrunched.
“The couch?!” He sounds horrified. He scoops his pants up off the floor, sliding them on. “Sorry, my liege, I didn’t know the proper title of your velvet throne.” His horrible English accent from earlier in the night has returned. Why does Henry find it so endearing?
“I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but you can be awfully over-dramatic.”
“You Brits are the ones who have to have stupid fucking names for everything. Tomorrow, I’m gonna tell my friends I got laid last night while you’ll probably say some shit like, ‘oh my, I had the most pleasant evening performing the hibbly-hobbly with a handsome and spry young fellow.” Alex has one hand waving wildly, the other miming drinking out of small teacup, pinky out.
Henry snorts, his laughter surely waking up everyone on the floor. Alex is standing in front of the bed in nothing but his slacks, chest up and hands on his hips, looking much too proud of himself.
It’s funny, yes, but Henry doesn’t like the implications.
“I’m not…we can’t tell anyone.”
Alex looks nervous for the first time in ten minutes. He breaks eye contact with Henry to stare at the floor, “No, yeah. I just meant- it was a joke.”
God, this agonizing. But it’s not like they can just move on and not have the conversation. They need to be on the same page. “Yes, I figured. I just felt I should make sure.”
“Yeah.”
“Yes.”
They both seem to find the floor quite fascinating now. The colors are actually quite ugly now that Henry’s really looking.
“Henry?”
When he looks up, Alex’s eyes are wide. He’s pulling his shirt back on. “Thank you. For this. You’re gorgeous.”
How dare he? Obviously, it’s flattering, but it’s also representative of everything Henry is not. He’s gorgeous enough to be a one night stand. Not gorgeous enough to take home. The kind of gorgeous that makes for a fun experiment before you find the one. Will he ever get used to this way of life? Where the only sex worth having must be had in secret?
His mouth is dry, and Alex is speaking again before he can get any words out.
“I’ll see you around.” He grabs his jacket and leaves. The sound of the hotel door closing echoes like an omen. A death knell. The final dagger through his heart.
*~~~*~~~*~~~*
It’s been four days since Henry arrived back in London.
The funny thing about living such a monotonous life is that when it’s all you’ve ever known, there’s really nothing to be unhappy with. Since arriving home, he’s already been to two separate charity events, a wedding, and a dog show. Events he’d usually just grin and bare, but now he’s jetlagged and heart-broken and every second feels like nails on a chalkboard.
Because he’s tasted freedom. He’s tasted fun and risk and adventure. He’s tasted the First Son of the United States. His daily princely duties used to be quite boring, sure, but now they make him want to jump off the top of The Gherkin. All he can think about is Alex. He thinks about him in meetings, in the shower, when he’s eating, when he’s sleeping. Three nights in a row now, he’s woken up from wicked dreams to sweat-drenched sheets and his cock throbbing painfully in his pajama pants.
Bea’s even started to get quite worried about him. Luckily, she hasn’t asked yet. He’ll tell her when he’s ready. He’ll tell her about the colossally stupid decision he made in Rio.
Sleeping with a man he was already halfway in love with the moment he laid eyes on him. A man who will never feel the same way. A man who will think of that night as a crazy fluke. Who will never tell his future wife. Who will live a pristine, heterosexual life with a picket fence and a cul-de-sac and two-and-a-half kids.
It’s a tragedy, but worth it. Having him in that one small way, so temporarily, is better than never having him at all, right?
He’s in Bea’s room. They’re watching Love Island together. He’s on his second box of Jaffa Cakes when he feels his phone buzz.
It’s three texts from an unknown number.
baby
i miss your mouth
are you gonna be in melbourne for the climate conference next week???? ;)